The abyssal path existed for a single purpose.
To turn a living being into sothing less than human.
Step by step, piece by piece, flesh and soul were reshaped toward a final ideal.
A true demon sovereign.
Rowan rcer understood demons very well.
He had encountered them across multiple worlds. So were born. So were summoned. So were engineered.
He had even created a few himself.
Compared to the greatest dark archmages Rowan had once studied under or surpassed, demoncraft in this world was crude.
Which made it easy to improve.
If Rowan devoted serious ti to building a demon from scratch, he was confident he could produce sothing that rivaled the upper echelons of this world’s supernatural hierarchy.
Jason Belial did not require that level of effort.
He only needed to be good enough.
Good enough to kill Duke Nigan.
Good enough to survive long enough to escape.
Half an hour later, Rowan released Jason from his inner space.
Jason’s appearance hadn’t changed.
Internally, he was sothing else entirely.
"Let’s go, Jason."
Invisible threads tightened.
Jason’s body erupted into its demonic form and launched skyward, clearing the outer wall of Duke Nigan’s estate in a single bound.
The enhancent Rowan had applied was obscene.
What had once been a modest physical transformation now carried monstrous kinetic force. Jason crossed hundreds of ters in a heartbeat, tearing through the air like a living artillery shell.
The sonic boom alerted the estate’s defenders instantly.
Storm Church executors rose into the air, hurling arcs of silver lightning toward the incoming threat.
Rowan shaped a massive greatsword in Jason’s hands.
Molten crimson tal fused with pale blue fla, forming a grotesque, oversized blade.
Jason swung once.
The lightning disintegrated.
Originally, Jason’s abilities could never have achieved this. His weapon would have shattered. His body would have been blasted out of the sky.
Rowan’s alterations changed that equation.
Jason crashed directly through a window.
Into the correct bedroom.
Duke Nigan no longer slept in his official quarters after the previous assassination attempt.
Rowan knew exactly where he stayed.
At that mont, Duke Nigan sat on the edge of a bed, half-dressed, gripping a terrified young maid by the wrist.
Jason’s arrival sent both of them into shock.
To Nigan’s credit, he reacted quickly.
He tore a conch-shaped relic from his neck and blew into it.
A piercing note rang out.
A call for divine reinforcent.
At the sa ti, Nigan thrust a hand forward.
"Incarcerate."
A viscous, transparent substance surged outward, wrapping around Jason’s body, attempting to lock him in place.
Rowan answered with fire.
Black-red flas burst from Jason’s skin.
The binding evaporated into steam.
Nigan’s face drained of color.
He understood imdiately.
This assassin was far beyond him.
Panic overrode dignity.
Nigan grabbed the maid and hurled her toward Jason as a living obstruction, then turned and sprinted for the window, trousers still unfastened.
If he reached his guards, he lived.
If he held on for a few seconds, the Storm Church’s archbishop would arrive.
He didn’t get either chance.
Jason stepped past the flying girl.
The greatsword flashed.
Duke Nigan split in two.
His body slid apart and collapsed across the carpet.
No scream.
No final words.
Rowan extracted what he needed from the corpse without ceremony.
The doors exploded open.
Executors and estate guards poured into the room, eyes burning at the sight of their dead patron.
They unleashed everything.
Wind blades.
Lightning spears.
Whips of compressed energy.
They did not care that a maid lay screaming in the corner.
Collateral damage was acceptable.
Rowan clicked his tongue.
"This is why I prefer the Night Church."
Jason drove the greatsword into the floor.
A towering wall of fla surged upward, intercepting the barrage.
Rowan reached through the puppet and yanked the trembling maid behind the barrier.
Then Jason’s horns flared.
A pulse of invisible force detonated outward.
Every attacker collapsed mid-cast.
Unconscious.
Jason leapt.
At the sa instant, Rowan sensed a violent presence descending from the sky.
The Storm Church’s archbishop had arrived.
A stern old man in black robes embroidered with storm sigils, silver eyes blazing beneath a soft-brimd hat.
He saw the corpse.
He saw the fleeing demon.
Rage twisted his features.
Lightning poured from the heavens.
Rowan did not fight back.
Jason tanked the storm head-on, body cracking, smoking, flesh charred black as he bounded across rooftops toward the densely populated districts.
Before the archbishop could close the distance, Jason vanished.
Rowan pulled him into his inner space.
The demon dissolved into fla.
Minutes later, Rowan reappeared inside Jason’s villa.
He repaired the puppet’s ruined body, restoring it to its original human appearance.
Jason Belial would continue living.
Still a banker.
Still a respectable citizen.
A baited hook.
Sooner or later, the one who had commissioned the assassination would co to collect.
Rowan was patient.
High above the slums, the Storm Church’s archbishop hovered, staring at the empty streets where the demon had disappeared.
"That thing..."
He clenched his fists.
"...was absurdly strong."
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