The temple was once a large ornate hall, filled with pictures commemorating the glory of the Emperor and the Imperium, filled with priests working in His Name. Now it was blood painted tribute to sadism, the corpses and organs of priests used to decorate an intricate pattern on the floor, their blood used to paint the walls with an eldritch unknowable language that hurt they eyes to rest upon. In the centre resided a man, an angel. He was twice the size of Jibril with large black wings behind him. His skin was an ivory white and he had long flowing black hair as dark as the deepest abyss behind him and at first it appeared he was wearing some light robe that left his ivory arms free but under further concentration Jibril realised it was a robe weaved from multiple corpses, flayed and stitched together seamlessly with their eyes pleading of an unending agony. Under further inspection the mouth moved slowly in a low monotonous wail, ever-present no matter what background noise. Its features were androgynous, perfectly formed, alluring and most of all perfectly symmetrical, not a feature out of line. Its hands had dark, large and sharp nails that gleamed to the eye. The creature looked deep into Jibril, as if it saw past his armour and was looking at him as if he were bare before the universe. Jibril knew it for what it was, a daemon prince, a foul servant of its Chaos god, an enemy of the Imperium and a scourge upon his Chapter. Its mouth opened slowly, angled in a condescending smile like a cat finding a hapless mouse.