Zatiel stood before the swirling mass of Abyss Aura, its black surface rippling like liquid shadow, its presence gnawing at the edges of reality itself. A faint hiss rose from it, as though the darkness were breathing. He closed his eyes, letting his consciousness sink inward, and entered a deep meditative state to recover the Spirit Force the earlier ritual had consumed.
Around him, the last remnants of the slaughter faded into stillness. The twisted remains of the bandits had long since dissolved, their mortal shells unmade, their souls already claimed. With their offering complete, the oppressive weight of the Abyss's awareness slowly withdrew, leaving only the faint echo of its chaotic hunger in the air.
He breathed evenly, feeling his heartbeat steady.
Now the real work begins.
"Let us begin," he murmured aloud, opening his eyes.
With a practiced mental command, he manipulated the blood-inscribed runes of the array, directing the Abyss Aura to divide. Two portions formed—one large, one smaller—floating in place like twin black suns. The larger pulsed with far greater menace.
"That should be enough for little EZ," he said, half to himself, his lips twitching in amusement at the nickname.
Once the separation was complete, Zatiel stepped into the exact center of the array, stopping just short of the greater orb. Dropping into a cross-legged posture, he exhaled slowly, centering himself for what was to come.
With a flicker of will, the Abyss Aura responded. The glossy black mass stretched and unraveled into countless hair-thin tendrils that coiled toward him, weaving through the air like hungry serpents. One by one, they slipped past his lips, into his nostrils, through his ears, and directly into his eyes.
For any living creature below Rank 1, such a thing was suicide—at best a swift death, at worst a living nightmare. The overwhelming chaos would twist the mind into madness, warping the flesh until the victim became something less than an animal, a mindless killer driven by nothing but hunger and rage.
But Zatiel was no ordinary life form. He carried knowledge almost no being in the multiverse possessed—the second most important secret in his recovered memories.
This was the process that could forge the ultimate living weapon. A transformation so refined that even beings who stood at the pinnacle of existence had needed millions of years of failed attempts and slaughter to perfect it. Without the help of the ancient beings he called the Greyish Bastards, it might never have been completed.
The goal was to create what they had named the Neo-Demon—an artificial race designed to surpass the natural order. Soldiers with power and adaptability that could make even titans, with their peerless bloodlines, burn with envy.
Zatiel's heartbeat quickened. He had walked this path before, but the danger was no less real. One lapse in control and even his prepared soul would be consumed.
The Abyss Aura surged deeper, flooding his veins, gathering in his chest. The runes of the array flared faintly in response, holding the chaos in check as he directed it toward his heart. There, it would become the foundation of the Chaotic Core—the heart and soul of a Neo-Demon.
The Chaotic Core was more than a power source. It was a living engine, a crucible that could reshape its host from the inside out. Through it, the body could channel the rawest Abyssal energies, refining them into strength, speed, endurance, and abilities beyond mortal comprehension.
Forming it was impossibly delicate work. The Core's structure was made from thousands of microscopic runes—too fine for his current weakened self to inscribe manually.
That was where his ever-reliable companion came in.
"A.I. Chip, initiate construction of the Chaotic Core," Zatiel commanded through gritted teeth as waves of pain crashed through his nerves. His body felt as though molten metal were being poured into his veins, while icy claws scraped at his mind.
[Bip… Initiating Chaotic Core construction…]
[Estimated completion time: Two hours and thirty minutes.]
[Warning: The Host must maintain constant resistance against the Abyss Aura's mental influence. Failure will result in catastrophic backlash and probable death.]
Zatiel's lips curved into a hard smile. "Two and a half hours? Child's play."
He forced his breathing to remain steady, shoulders loosening despite the fire tearing through him. Pain was an old companion.
Time passed in slow, grinding minutes. The A.I. Chip worked without pause, arranging each rune within the growing Core in perfect alignment. As it neared half-completion, the structure began to spin, pulling the surrounding Abyss Aura into itself, then pushing it back out through the arteries and veins.
With each pulse, the Core refined the Aura and distributed it through his body. Muscles hardened, bones thickened, senses sharpened. His hair bled from black to a pale ash-gray, the strands catching faint glimmers of the Aura's inner darkness.
More importantly, the Core's rotation pushed back the chaotic influence, allowing him to relax slightly as the final stages took shape.
When the A.I. Chip's internal clock chimed completion, a perfect sphere of rotating black-and-silver light beat steadily in his chest.
Zatiel rose to his feet. The world felt… smaller. His limbs carried more weight yet moved more easily, his vision crisper, colors sharper. He was taller now, his frame pushing past two meters, his build balanced between grace and raw power. His reflection in the faint sheen of the liquid Aura showed a face too symmetrical, almost unnervingly handsome.
"A.I. Chip, display my status," he ordered.
[Bip… Scanning host…]
Race: Neo-Demon Strength: 4.7 Physique: 5.4 Speed: 4.2 Abyss Aura: 7.1
Zatiel's eyes lit up. "Excellent. Infant stage, and I've already surpassed mortal limits in every way. With the Chaotic Core refining my own energy into Abyss Aura, my Abyssal spells are finally within reach again."
Crossing the mortal threshold of 4 points in any physical stat was something no breathing technique or common refinement could achieve. Even apprentice Magi specializing in body refinement rarely reached such heights. And this was only the beginning.
"My current Abyss Aura output matches the Spirit Force of a Rank 3 apprentice Magus… and I've only just been reborn." His grin widened. "The race I poured so much into creating truly is worthy."
His work wasn't finished yet. He turned toward the smaller orb of Abyss Aura and cupped his hands around his mouth.
"Little EZ! Get over here!" he bellowed, his voice carrying like a crack of thunder through the camp.
A chuckle slipped out at his own enthusiasm. What's the point of power if you can't enjoy it?
A few moments later, Ezequiel appeared, weaving through the scorched remnants of the camp. His gaze was drawn immediately to the smaller orb—a black, liquid sphere that radiated a quiet malice. But then his eyes found Zatiel… and widened.
In less than a day, his master's appearance had changed completely. Taller, stronger, sharper—radiating an intensity that made the very air feel heavier.
"Master… what happened to you?" Ezequiel asked cautiously.
"You'll find out soon enough," Zatiel replied. "What I'm about to give you is a path to real freedom and power—a chance to break every chain. But it's dangerous. If your will falters for even a heartbeat, you'll die."
Ezequiel didn't answer with words. His remaining eye burned with steady resolve.
A fine seed, Zatiel thought with satisfaction. This one will endure.
"Sit. Focus. No matter what happens, don't lose your concentration," Zatiel instructed, turning back to the orb.
Though the amount of Abyss Aura he would give Ezequiel was smaller than his own, it still had to be enough to form a Chaotic Core. Too much would kill him; too little and the transformation would fail. This Core would also be tasked with regenerating his missing hand and eye over time.
The Abyss Aura seeped into Ezequiel's body. The boy's jaw tightened instantly as searing heat and crushing madness assaulted his mind.
But Ezequiel was exactly as Zatiel had judged—unyielding. That stubborn will anchored him as Zatiel, with the help of the rune array and A.I. Chip, began constructing the Core in his heart.
Ezequiel's Core was not the same as Zatiel's Primordialis-Core. His was a Genus-Core, designed for descendants. The difference in immediate ability was minor, but in lineage it mattered. Zatiel's Core was the source; all others would descend from it, and every Neo-Demon born from that line would feel an instinctive drive to serve him.
After an hour of grueling focus, the transformation was complete.
Ezequiel stood—now 1.5 meters tall, his frame lean and built for speed, his hair stark white. His new form radiated potential.
"How do you feel?" Zatiel asked.
"I feel… powerful," Ezequiel said, almost in awe of his own body.
"It's natural to feel that way. But remember this, little EZ…" Zatiel's tone hardened, drawing the boy's full attention. "…we're still far from the top. There are millions out there who could crush us. Never speak of the Chaotic Core. To anyone."
The words carried more than threat—they carried command. Through the Primordialis-Core, Zatiel wove the order into Ezequiel's very being, an unbreakable geas.
Ezequiel felt it settle into him like a second heartbeat. He didn't resent it; in truth, he would never have betrayed the secret willingly. His assassin's instincts told him plainly—power without the means to protect it was a death sentence.
Zatiel watched the understanding in his eyes and gave a satisfied nod.
"Well, time to leave this place," he said, glancing toward the treeline. Then his gaze shifted, locking onto a distant shape. A slow, predatory smile curved his lips.
"But first… it's time for a little payback."