Cultist Synonym Mga Nobela at Kwento

That's not what you should be focused on now Lucian, get a grip. He shook his head, snapping out of the trance such a small action had the power to put him under. He huffed already exhausted with the back and forth, "that was a barghest. A creature of the underworld that's comes to the human world only to take supernaturals to the underworld, more like a guide to the underworld." He drawled like he had rehearsed the speech a million times and didn't just see the barghest real life for the first time in his life. A chuckle. A snicker. And then a full blown row of laughter as she heaved over her knees, letting spills of laughter echo round the room, if she only knew she was laughing at her pro

Lukas scooped a handful of nails from within and was about to jam it down his throat when the cultist pleaded. "Please, I'll answer whatever you ask of me! Please!" "Then speak up!" Lukas yelled. "Alright!" The cultist avoided his gaze from then on. "What do you want to know?" "What the fuck are you doing with those girls from your compound?!" "Blood rituals." The cultist answered. "Do you have any idea how wide you narrowed it down?!" He raised his hammer. "NO! No!" The cultist cried. "Sacrifices! Ceremonies! It was for the Demons you have fought earlier!"

Because, of course, nothing’s ever simple in this job. Grace snapped the seal and skimmed the letter, her face turning stormy, line by line. “Camps, way out in the woods. Not rebels, not refugees either, something weirder. People wearing symbols, same ones we dug up at those foul old ritual sites.” “A cult,” Master Ahldric growled, practically spitting. “The Keeper’s originals, back at it again.” “Or leftovers,” Nara muttered, brain already sprinting down threat pathways. “Old believers, the ones who slipped through the cracks when we tried to clean house. Either way, they’re organized, headquarters, recruitment, the whole nine yards.”

Lana’s brow furrows, “You speak of the four horsemen of the apocalypse? Are you saying my sisters are the horsemen? But they’re…men. Arent they? ” Clotho nods, “You’re thinking of the human’s biblical terms. Of course, the humans would make them all males. Zeus forbid that females be just as vicious as males.” she rolls her eyes, which would be so amusing if the situation wasn’t so dire. “However, the basic concept of the horsemen is the same. You are Abaddon, the destroyer, the antichrist. Whatever religious moniker you are labeled leads to you being the ender of worlds. Once the balance was restored, your true identity and your sisters’ souls would be mobilized.”

"It's a spiritual injury." "Of course it is," Alesia chimed in while carefully applying the ointment. "A great man like him isn't going to get hurt with a kitchen knife." In the midst of this strange atmosphere, Mireya gave her report. "The whole city is talking about it, Ray. The Bramasta Family Residence was completely sealed by the Cultivator's Council this morning. The name Mr. Kartadewa is now a new legend. Some people fear you, thinking you're a new devil. Others are praising you for getting rid of tyrants."

— Why did you call me your victus? Cael exhales, his eyes narrowing, weighing whether he should go on. Finally, he yields — like the words themselves go against his nature. — We have rituals… of loyalty. When people like you choose to join a clan, they go through a specific one. Those who do are called victus. A shiver races down my spine. The pieces fall into place in the worst possible way. — It’s a cult, isn’t it? — My voice shakes. — I heard some women saying…

Cult: is considered pejorative by some, for a relatively small group that is typically led by a charismatic and self-appointed leader, who excessively controls its members, requiring unwavering devotion to a set of acts and practices which are considered deviant (outside the norms of society). Tessa I was not nervous about going to his den and meeting his peeps. I was curious and maybe a bit too excited.

“They’re not just drawing on walls. They’re starting to build little altars in corners again. Half‑assed ones, but still. Behavior is shifting.” Rin’s skin crawled. “We expected the cultists to mark their own spaces,” Rowan went on. “We did not expect how quickly their script would jump to ordinary wolves. This is more than a handful of fanatics in caves. This is… seepage."” Mara leaned closer to the glass, eyes serious now. “We’re hearing a lot of the same phrases you’ve reported. ‘Debt.’ ‘Balance.’ ‘Spared flesh.’ People are scared and scared wolves like simple answers. ‘A life for a life’ is as simple as it gets.”

“Demons. And worse.” “Positions,” Caelan snapped, always a general at the ready. The door burst inward. They came pouring through the street, creatures made of jagged bone and smoke, eyes glowing a sickly amber. Cultists followed behind them, faces painted in blood and ash, chanting Sariyah’s name like a prayer and a curse all at once.

The most eye-catching thing was that these people had a tattoo on their cheeks. Although it was said to be a tattoo, it seemed to be a clear red color appeared in the gradually darkening sky. At a glance, it was as if these people's faces were covered with burning charcoal. Seeing these metal rings and tattoos, Caspian already understood. These people were Earlington of Efrax's Sin Cultivators. As the name suggested, Sin Cultivators were cultivators who had been captured after committing crimes. Some cultivators had committed evil deeds, but they were not dark cultivations, so Earlington of Efrax’s six major sects came up with a rule and law.