There was a sound like bubbles in water only thicker, oilier, mucosal. To everything its season, my sweet, sweet child. What you see is the form you were ready for; and that I am ready to reveal. As for who I am, I have gone by many names: Abaddon and Belphegor, Paimon, Pazuzu—but in this realm I am usually known as Szambelan, Patron of the Architects and Walkers of the Skies. The Prince of Eyes.
“Abaddon ... Pazuzu ...” Leif fingered his crucifix. “A demon, then ...” He stood straight and crossed himself. “But I am Born Agai—”
You are nothing, hissed Szambelan—even as the crucifix flew from his neck, glinting. You are a child who murdered his mentor and then took his place and would even now kill again if he thought his power was in any sort of danger—so let’s just vomit it out and have
