Jason stared into the minion's black eyes.
The creature's body was still pinned beneath his grip, its throat crushed, its limbs twitching uselessly against the cracked stone. The crater around them smoked faintly, dust still settling in the air.
Their eyes met.
And the minion began to experience visions of its death.
Not memories. Not warnings. Visions—vivid, absolute, inescapable. It saw itself impaled on roots. Saw its scales flayed from its body. Saw its essence consumed by the very lord it served. Each death was more horrific than the last, each one shown in excruciating detail.
The minion's black eyes widened. Its mouth opened, but no sound came out.
"This should be impossible," it whispered, its voice cracking. "You are not... you cannot be..."
Jason's expression did not change. His grip did not loosen.
The minion's heart gave out.
