Marvel's master of cosmic magic-Chapter 797

"I should return to the Hermetic Order first. See what kind of world I woke up to."

Zaratul parted the fog of history and stepped back into the present.

The Hermetic Order was his creation. His network. Even if it had changed over the years, it would still be the fastest way to learn what had happened during his long descent into madness.

And more importantly—

To gather information about Rowan Mercer.

The instant Zaratul’s form stabilized, the air ahead of him warped.

A presence descended.

Not loud.

Not radiant.

Just crushing.

A figure stood there, already waiting.

"I found you, Zaratul."

Zaratul’s instincts detonated.

Not discomfort.

Not unease.

Pure existential terror.

Every fiber of his being screamed a single word.

Run.

As a Miracle Attendant, his pathway specialized in foresight and intuition. The higher one climbed, the clearer the warnings became.

And this warning meant only one thing.

If he fought...

He would die.

Zaratul did not hesitate.

His body turned intangible as he dove straight back into the River of History.

The world folded.

Time peeled open.

Rowan smiled.

"That reaction alone digested a quarter of the potion."

He stepped forward.

Rowan could not normally enter historical gaps as a Trickmaster.

But he was not only a Trickmaster.

He was something far stranger.

A being who had shaped worlds.

A wielder of countless arcane systems across countless realities.

A place like the River of History was little more than a hallway.

He followed.

Effortlessly.

"Zaratul..."

Rowan allowed his voice to echo behind him.

Soft.

Close.

"You can’t escape."

Zaratul fled through fractured eras.

Ancient ruins.

Forgotten wars.

Buried cities.

He tore through sealed moments only he should have known.

It didn’t matter.

The voice never grew distant.

Never fell behind.

Always one step away.

Zaratul lashed out.

Tendrils of corrupted flesh.

Waves of black fire.

Cascades of warped miracles.

All of it vanished on contact.

Absorbed.

Unmade.

Ignored.

Rowan strolled through it.

Almost lazily.

"Good," Rowan murmured.

Ninety percent digested.

Terror inflicted upon a Sequence One.

And not just once.

Over.

And over.

And over.

This was something no ordinary Trickmaster could ever replicate.

Finally, Rowan stopped playing.

He raised a hand.

Space crystallized.

Zaratul slammed into an invisible barrier and rebounded, coughing spectral blood.

"No—wait!"

Panic shattered his composure.

"You and I aren’t on the same pathway! There’s no reason to kill me! I’ll serve you! I’ll become your angel! I’ll spread your faith!"

A Sequence One offering allegiance was not a small thing.

Most gods could not possess angels of their own pathway.

They relied on Sequence Ones from others.

Zaratul believed this was his lifeline.

Rowan tilted his head.

"Who told you we aren’t on the same pathway?"

He released his aura.

The Trickmaster characteristic unfolded.

Zaratul’s mind went blank.

"That’s impossible..."

"A Sequence Four Trickmaster?"

A Sequence Four hunting a Sequence One.

It violated everything he understood about reality.

Rowan’s eyes were calm.

"The potion is digested."

"You’re obsolete."

With a flick of his hand, Zaratul vanished.

They reappeared in a vast star-filled void.

A living cosmos.

Rowan’s world.

Chains of manifested law coiled around Zaratul, pinning him in place.

"Where is this...? What are you?"

Rowan didn’t answer.

He reached forward.

The Miracle Attendant characteristic was ripped from Zaratul’s body.

So were the full set of characteristics from lower sequences.

Stripped clean.

Zaratul’s existence collapsed like wet paper.

Rowan turned away.

"Time to continue."

Since the Trickmaster potion was fully digested, he immediately consumed a Sequence Three Ancient Scholar characteristic.

Then he descended to a planet he had created and altered its temporal flow.

"Accelerate." 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

The ritual required separation from the present era.

Three centuries outside history.

In his world, that condition was trivial.

Time surged.

Three hundred years passed in moments.

When Rowan opened his eyes again, the ascension was complete.

Sequence Three.

Ancient Scholar.

He returned to the real world.

Time to test it.

"Zeref Dragneel."

A black-robed archmage stepped out of a historical rift.

"Acnologia."

A colossal black dragon unfolded its wings beside him.

Several attempts failed.

Then—

"Iluvatar."

The creator of Middle-earth manifested between mage and dragon.

Rowan exhaled softly.

"It works."