Shen Haoran stood at the center of the devastated wasteland, his fingers steady as he uncorked the small jade bottle.
The air around him seemed to freeze, the molecules of oxygen themselves trembling in the presence of the substance within.
Huo Yue frowned, and just seeing that drop of blood was giving her goosebumps, and instinctively, she wanted to burn that blood from the face of the earth.
Haoran turned towards her, "Take a step back, this might get...chaotic."
Huo Yue nodded and took a few steps back, watching Haoran poured the drop of dark, primordial blood onto the blade of his sword.
And at that moment, a gurgling sound suddenly resounded—a wet, guttural, and rhythmic noise that vibrated through the marrow of everyone present, as if an ancient god had just awakened from a slumber lasting eons.
Huo Yue cringed, feeling an undescribable discomfort coming from the sword.
Haoran stared at the sword in his hand, the Azathoth, the Black Imperial Sword.
