Fantasy (Non-)Demonic Shenanigans

[SilverSuzi]

The demon wasn't certain how he'd caught the goddess's attention. He had only just begun to build a following in this mortal realm, far from the demon hordes and monster armies he had commanded on other worlds, in previous apocalyptic campaigns. No, just an itty-bitty cult, a few human sacrifices, enough to give him presence here and break free of the Dark Plane... nothing that should have warranted full-on Divine Intervention just yet. But somehow he had been noticed, and she had intervened, preaching about holy fire and justice. The battle between them lasted for days; they seemed to be evenly matched. They fought without rest, sometimes on land, sometimes in the air, across miles of various terrain. Never one to back down from a challenge, the demon delighted in this duel, though he would have enjoyed a bit more carnage and collateral damage. The goddess had an annoying habit of always drawing them away from any signs of civilization.

At last, in the middle of the fourth night of battle, the demon knew his triumph was approaching. That incessant white-hot light emanating from her eyes was fading. The goddess's blows and strikes became clumsy, poorly calculated. And he was certain that more of her blood had been spilt than his. She had even begun mumbling incoherently whenever she had a moment to catch her breath. He dealt what was sure to be the final blow, swinging his great, double-bladed, blood-soaked axe, adorned with the skulls of fallen foes, ready to claim another...

Before the blade made contact but too late for him to change it's course, the demon noticed a dazzling grin upon the goddess's lips, as she uttered one last word, and erupted into blinding, piercing light.

Pain coursed through his body and seized his mind, all senses, all thought drowned out by the agonizing sensation. Like being consumed by fire and a thousand knives, and then turned inside out and back again, this pain was nothing he'd ever experienced before. He'd fought in countless battles, faced numberless hordes of foes, even tasted defeat now and then and had to return to the Dark Plane to recover, but never had he felt like this. He bore it for less time than he'd care to admit, and then lost consciousness.

...

When he began to regain his senses some time later, he thought at first he might be paralyzed. It took a lot of coaxing to get his limbs to move, an inch here and there, and the way in which they moved felt... wrong. Though he was burdened with weariness he had the sense that he had lost mass somehow. His body felt foreign and twitchy. He had yet to keep his eyes open for more than a second, as the midday sun struck him with such ferocity it sent fresh waves of searing pain through his skull. However, as he managed to maneuver into an upright position and take stock of himself, he began to realize what was missing, and could no longer bear to forego sight.

His wings were gone, for starters. The lack of their weight at his back nearly caused him to pitch forward, even though he'd yet to stand. Cursing at the ache surging through his head, he squinted down at himself. The first thing he could comprehend was that the ground was far nearer than usual. Rather than thick, broad limbs and torso of rolling muscle and tough, thorny hide, the body before him -- his body -- was a spongy, pale, wiry little travesty. He gaped at his hands -- wriggling, stubby twigs of fingers in place of his once-terrifying claws -- and saw that they were trembling. Trembling! He did not tremble! He made others shake in terror and wet themselves before squashing them beneath his mighty feet! Now, his feet didn't look capable of supporting even this thin, frail body he was trapped in. Mind reeling, he clutched at his throbbing skull, then probed all around it. His horns were missing too, no trace of them. In immense frustration and disgust, he tugged at the limp, tangled locks of black hair that had replaced his glorious full mane, and let out a rage-fueled roar. Or rather, it was meant to be a rage-fueled roar, but to his ears sounded like a pathetic, pained scream, a sound he associated with his victims, not something that should be coming from himself.

How was this possible? How could this be? The demon-turned-human cast his gaze wildly about, in search of answers amidst the serene forest clearing he found himself in.

Myrta

 

[Myrta]

Ryona liked old people. No, really, she did. Youngsters generally didn't appreciate them since their very existence served as a creeping reminder of their own inglorious future, but that was so terribly shallow. Old people were great because, in addition to being veritable treasures of knowledge, they couldn't run as quickly as their younger counterparts. Right now, this particular limit of theirs came in handy.

"Baba Cissryn!" Ryona called out the old woman's name. "Baba Cissryn, I know that you're hiding beneath that large table covered under pelts, so could you please come out? I'd hate to drag you out as that would be rather undignified, but I'll do it if I have to."

"No! No more! Just let me die in peace!" the crone wailed. "I have suffered enough, it's clearly time for me to depart for a better place. A place without nosy healers insisting that fire is good for wounds, fire will help you!" Baba Cissryn looked older than some continents and many villagers assumed that she had somehow traded her mortality for her sense of humor. They generally thought that she'd outlive them all including her own grandchildren, but significant holes had appeared in the theory since that fateful Friday. Baba Cissryn had been feeding her pigs when she had slipped on an unidentifiable matter and broken her arm. The fracture itself wouldn't have been so bad had it not been for the infection that had seized the entire arm. Infection that had been resisting the healers' attempts to drive it out as if it possessed a will of its own.

Ryona swallowed her comment about demonstrably beneficial effects of fire on a wound and shook her head even though Baba Cissryn obviously couldn't see her.

"Don't worry, Baba, no fire for you today. I promise. I don't heal through fire." At least not when it's been used repeatedly to no avail. Really though, why insist on a method that clearly doesn't work?

"Really?

"Yes, yes, I swear on my honor. I just want to look at the fracture, Baba."

The words apparently had an effect on the old woman because a small opening appeared between the pelts. First it was just her head that emerged, disembodied and creepy, but the rest of her body followed soon. "If you break your promise, I will curse your family for three generations." Ryona did everything in her power to avoid rolling her eyes and reached in her pockets for a band so that she could tie her long, blonde hair. A wound's condition could rarely be improved by adding some hair to it as she had learned the hard way. Relatives of that particular patient hadn't thanked her for almost killing their mother back then. They had attempted to sacrifice her to their god to be precise, but that was a whole different story.

"I'm not a liar." Unless I absolutely have to be one. "Now, Baba Cissryn, stand up and get yourself on the bed. Careful, yes, just like that. I will need to touch the wound which may hurt slightly, but it won't be worse than anything you've experienced so far. Understood?"

Baba Cissryn's rebellious attitude had evidently been exhausted by her earlier attempt to hide herself because she just nodded weakly. Smiling encouragingly, Ryona put her hands on the wound. Concentration marred her soft features as the healer explored the disfigured flesh, her touch feather-like. She scrunched her nose in disgust as an obtrusive stench attacked her sense of smell, but then recognition flashed through her blue eyes. "Oh! I've dealt with this type of infection before. It's a bit uncommon, but I should be able to prepare an ointment that will help you!"

Baba Cissryn shot her a skeptical glare. "You don't have to lie to me, you know. I have come to terms with my impeding death."

"Why does nobody ever believe me? If I say that I can cure you, Baba Cissryn, then by gods I can." Ryona stood up abruptly, aura of fiery determination surrounding her. "I just need to go gather some fresh herbs. I'm pretty sure that whatever I need should be found in the local forest. Don't go anywhere. If anyone else tries to approach you with a torch again, bite them. I'll be right back!"

And that was how Ryona ended up in the forest, a basket hanging over her arm. I wonder if the flowers I need still grow in the same spot. Well, naturally they should be, but if--- A sudden scream made her drop her basket in shock. Before she could even begin to gather her thoughts, her legs carried her automatically to the source of the scream. Someone was in need of help! Only a terrible wound could possibly elicit such a shriek from a grown man!

... Except that the guy screaming his lungs out seemed to be uninjured for the most part. No, Ryona, don't jump to any conclusion. Many ailments are invisible to the eye at the first glance. Surely something must hurt him?

"Um, excuse me. Are you alright?"

 

[SilverSuzi]

On hands and knees, he had just finished his third howl of fury and pain when the voice reached his ears. It had come from behind him. Feeling quite vulnerable and exposed -- his now-puny body protected by nothing but a thin bit of cloth wrapped about his loins -- he whirled 'round to find the speaker. The movement sent a fresh pang behind his eyes, and even kneeling he nearly lost his balance yet again.

Across the clearing stood a yellow-haired, giant human female. No. Wait... She was usual sized, he realized, only he himself was much smaller than he ought to be.

He regarded her with a scowl, judging the level of threat she might possess. He saw no signs to indicate she might be a warrior. His experiences with human women varied from world to world, but most cases consisted of them wailing and clutching their young. This one was not wailing. Her expression lacked any fear, awe, or respect and devotion. Instead, an unfamiliar sentiment occupied her features. It made him irritated. With a look of disdain, he chose to ignore what she had asked, and voice some questions of his own.

Shakily, and with many muttered curses, he rose to his feet. "Where is she?" He growled, startled again by his new voice's lack of depth and volume. His eyes searched for any sign of his opponent, the one obviously responsible for this. "Where is the goddess? What has she done to me?!" His voice grew louder, his searching more desperate. He chanced a few steps forward, wavering as he went. "She can't do this," he roared, "There are rules, rules of combat!" Rules which he often broke, but that was besides the point. "She's a cheat! I had won! She can not just-" his rage-fueled rant was cut off when his foot collided with a large stone in the earth, and he abruptly pitched forward onto his face.

 

[Myrta]

Ryona had expected a wide range of answers. The man could have been suffering from a toothache, for example. He also could have eaten a poisonous mushroom after a disastrous bet with his friends who had then left him in the forest for dead after his stomach had started protesting. For all she knew, he could have been just trying to imitate a deer's mating call and failing pathetically. (Yes, all of that had happened in the past. Healers met some, uh, interesting people while at work.) All in all, there weren't many replies that could genuinely surprise her. The man still managed to come up with one.

A goddess? Rules of battle? Some insidious illness had doubtlessly claimed his sanity. Fortunately, Ryona was a trained medical professional who always knew just the right thing to say to a person in such a delicate state of mind.

"Huh?!"

... Or maybe not. But hey, at least she hadn't called him delusional. Delusional people always hated being called delusional, probably because, on some level, they sensed that the accuser was right. Before Ryona could recover from her faux pas, the stranger took the first step towards becoming one of her patients. Quite literally so since the aforementioned step planted his face into the ground. Oh no, poor guy. Her instincts taking over immediately, Ryona knelt next to him and helped him stand up from the humiliating position with practiced ease. "You must look what's beneath your feet!" she reprimanded him in a tone of a caring mother. "What would happen if I weren't here to help you, huh? Do you want to hurt yourself?"

Since the only imperative of all living things was to avoid that exact situation, Ryona guessed that no, he didn't. Too bad that with his mental deficiency, getting injured for real would only be a matter of time. I can't leave him here like that, he'd end up as food for worms sooner rather than later. He looks heavy, though, dragging him to the village against his will is totally out of question. How should I get him to... Aha!

"You know what," Ryona smiled at the man brightly, "I actually spoke to that goddess of yours. She sent me to apologize on her behalf, what she did was really unfair. The goddess is willing to fix her atrocious mistake, but, uh, she's currently busy..." How do gods even spend their days? "... busy creating a new type of animal. A truly revolutionary creature, a mix of a swallow and a cow from what I've heard. Therefore, she can't come. But if you go with me, the goddess will meet you in my village later!"

 

[SilverSuzi]

Before he'd had a chance to recover from the fall, the human female rushed to his side and had the audacity to put her hands upon him. That a mortal would dare to touch him -- without hesitation, without concern for their own safety -- was an outrage such that he had never encountered before. It seized his mind with such fury that he could not formulate a reaction at first. Then she began to speak in the most grating tone, and he drew in a breath to command her silent.

...Or he would have, if he hadn't begun choking on the dirt and miscellaneous plant matter that had got into his mouth when he fell. He wiped debris and spittle from his jaw, then winced at the sudden stinging sensation this produced on both his face and hand. An abrasion marred his palm. He found similar ones on the other hand, both his knees, and face. Minor scrapes by the looks of them, gained from his earlier fall. Appalling that this new body had already sustained damage, and from something so pathetic as tripping over his own feet!

The female was speaking again. He slowly turned to glower at her, uninterested in whatever it was she was saying about... animals or something? Mortals and their livestock, always so obsessed. Wait, what was that? Goddess? Village?

"So, she survived after all." That cheat, robbing him of his hard-earned victory! He grabbed hold of the female human by the shoulders and leaned in close, demanding in the most threatening voice he could manage, "You will take me to her."

 

[Myrta]

"Yes, yes, of course I will," Ryona said in a tone of a patient teacher explaining to a particularly oblivious child that yellow snow shouldn't be eaten. "That's why I'm here. But," she smiled wider and pried his fingers off her shoulders, "you shouldn't touch people without their permission like that, especially if you don't know them. It's impolite. You might even scare someone!" So what if the guy lacked mental clarity? He still reaped the benefits of living in a civilized society, so he should act like it, not as if he had spent the entirety of his existence in a jungle among animals. Their continent didn't even have jungles! No, Ryona believed firmly that if a kind soul explained it to him in simple words, the man would understand.

"Let's get going. I'll patch you up once we get back to the village, too." Right, back to the village! Except that no, Ryona couldn't return just yet. Baba Cissryn trusted her with... Well, probably not with her life, but at least she didn't feel the need to run away screaming upon seeing her anymore. That was more than most healers could say about themselves! And since with great strength came great responsibility, Ryona couldn't possibly fail her. But I can't leave this guy unsupervised, either. Ah, the agony of choice! How am I supposed to pick between two patients, both equally in need of my attention?

Then comprehension dawned upon her and Ryona stopped in her tracks abruptly, just barely preventing herself from letting out a little aha! noise. It had been a false dilemma all along. A true healer worth their salt, something which Ryona undeniably was, should come up with a solution encompassing both issues. A brilliant plan hatched in her head.

"I'll take you to the goddess, but not yet. You see, I'm a mortal, so she won't just appear when I call her. That would, uh, undermine her godly authority. She will only come down from the heavens if I bring her a proper sacrifice. Yellow bells. Do you know how they look? Yellow flowers with bell-shaped blossoms," Ryona supplied kindly. "Help me look for them so that you can meet her faster! They should be growing somewhere in this forest."

What? He could as well make himself useful, right?

 

[SilverSuzi]

He snatched his hands away from hers when she began prying at them. Touching him again, while simultaneously nagging him about touching without permission. The insolence! The indignation! Beneath his breath he gave a little growl, narrowing his eyes at her. He might scare someone? Was she mocking him? There could be no other explanation. This human knew more than she was letting on, she was in league with the goddess, no doubt.

He followed her to the edge of the clearing when abruptly she halted. The demon-man gave a groan of frustration. Her excuse about needing flowers was almost certainly a stalling tactic, but on the off-chance she was genuine, he had no choice but to believe her. It wasn't as if he could threaten her with much. He could try to attack her, but... Humans were capable of great violence, he knew that well, having instigated murders and wars between them countless times in the past. His own cursed human body, however -- puny and soft as it was -- still felt weak and wobbly. He doubted he could overpower her, not without some weapon or careful strategy. So, compliance was his only option, for now. He would bide his time until the right opportunity presented itself...

With a huff he began searching, picking his way through fallen branches and thick underbrush as carefully as he could manage. Mind made up to the task, he found his interest piqued, "What purpose do these... yellow bells serve in the sacrifice? Are they a key ingredient in some poison? Does their pollen contain acidic qualities? Or are they merely used as adornment for the creature before it is killed?" Across the multitude of worlds he had conquered, he had witnessed his mortal followers conduct their sacrifices in a variety of ways. Chanting, dancing, singing, the use of specific lighting and incense, to name just a few. Some included frivolous things like flowers, gold, jewelry and fine linens, usually worn by or piled onto the doomed sacrificial victim. He often found the spectacles amusing, sometimes demanding elaborate rituals of his followers, just to watch them go to such lengths for him. But none of it actually mattered. A life was a life, and ending one in his name was all that was needed to gain power from it.

 

[Myrta]

Purpose? Ryona hadn't thought that far ahead. Did gods even have a specific purpose in mind when they decided on the kind of sacrifice they would accept? It had always looked pretty arbitrary to her. Why would an all-powerful being need silly tokens such as pelts or precious gemstones when they supposedly possessed the ability to create these very things out of thin air? Did they perhaps enjoy inconveniencing their human subjects who didn't have limitless resources? Kind of like a bully wanting some other kid's toy for no other reason than the kid having it? Ryona had asked the local priest once using this exact comparison. She hadn't learned the answer to her theological inquiry, but she had gathered other useful pieces of knowledge that day. An important example would be that the principle of non-violence the priests preached only seemed to apply to regular believers. It was also interesting to note that hard covers of a holy book could be a surprisingly effective weapon.

"I'm not that sure," Ryona admitted after a moment of contemplation and picked another flower. "I don't usually do the summoning, you know. That's the priest's job. I bring the ingredients, he does his magical hocus pocus thing." When in doubt, Ryona thought, find a way to delegate your supposed responsibilities onto someone else. That never fails! Not that she did that often, mind you, but her religious education could pretty much be summarised as "yeah, gods exist, I guess." The guy could potentially discover her ignorance if he kept digging deeper. No, needless intricacies were the bane of a successful lie.

"Careful with the bells," Ryona instructed him gently, "they must not be damaged in any way. The priest said that damaged flowers would only offend the goddess! Now we wouldn't want to risk that, would we? Who knows what terrible punishment would await us in such case!"

Once her basket got full, it was time to finally return back to the village. Remembering the importance of positive reinforcement, Ryona patted him on the shoulder. "Good job! Look at all the flowers you have gathered. You are, uh, very talented. At picking flowers. Right." Now that was undoubtedly a contender for the most awkward compliment she had ever paid to anyone, right next to "good thing we amputated that arm, it makes you look thinner."

"Uhhh, let's go." The village wasn't very far, but it took them a while to get there because Ryona kept making sure that the poor guy didn't hurt himself further. Still, not even the snail-like pace could extend the journey drastically. "See, we're here, this is the village!" Ryona exclaimed happily, gesturing towards the bunch of gloomy houses squeezed together. "Village" may have been a bit too generous of a word to describe it, actually, but the locals were quite sensitive about terms such as dumpster. And speaking of the locals...

"Hey, Ryona, who is that man? I don't think I've seen him before," asked one of them, a tall chap whose face was hidden behind a dark beard.

"He's... What's your name anyway?" Ryona turned to him expectantly.

 

[SilverSuzi]

He wasn't surprised that she had no part in the ritual, figuring she was too dimwitted for anything more than picking flowers. This priest she spoke of, however, could be useful to him. Perhaps he could be used as leverage when discussing terms with the goddess. Threaten the priest's life, if she doesn't restore the demon to his former glory.

He rolled his eyes at the woman's incessant patronizing, tempted to crush a few flowers out of spite. After all, what did he care about offending the goddess? If anything, she deserved it. In fact, if this sacrifice was to take place at some form of shrine, he intended to defile it by any means necessary, as soon as he was restored. But first he would break this woman's hands. "Stop touching me!" He yelled when she mockingly congratulated him on his flower picking prowess. At least they were finally getting on their way.

He tripped several times on the short journey, muttering curses upon every rock and root underfoot. However, as much as he hated the thought of it, he was beginning to get the hang of this new, stupid body. By the time they reached the village, he had gained a few new scrapes and bruises, but was finally able to stand steady for more than a handful of minutes.

The village itself was unimpressive, but he'd hardly expected much of a mortal dwelling. Curling his lip in disgust, he thought of how easily he could have wiped out a place like this -- with one swift kick -- if he were his natural size and strength. The people seemed to look at him with pity and confusion, rather than the fear and awe he was accustomed to. Just another source of irritation to add to the growing list.

One of the obnoxious inhabitants approached them, calling the woman by name -- Ryona, apparently, not that it mattered to him -- and inquiring about the demon-man himself. He glowered at both of them, then threw back his shoulders and declared, "I am Bazoran the Destroyer, great demon lord and emissary of Worldends! Worship me, and I may spare you long enough to bare witness to the glory of the apocalypse!" He paused to let that sink in, then focused on the bearded man and added, "As first tribute, I require clothing, armor, and weapons immediately! And where is your priest? I must speak with him."

 

[Myrta]

The villager sent him a measured look before his confused expression turned into an incredulous one. "Bazoran the Destroyer? Are you sure? Because the last time I checked, Bazoran the Destroyer wasn't a hu- Ouch! What was that for, Ryona?!" he protested when her elbow ended up buried in his soft belly. "Can't you see that Bazoran here is merely inconvenienced by a curse? Of course that he's... whatever he's saying he is," Ryona gesticulated wildly. Bazoran - okay, she would use this name, why not - couldn't handle a confrontation with reality right now. Professionals would attempt to restore his sanity step by step, but forced exposure by an amateur who had no idea how to approach this issue would only hurt him! No, Ryona had to protect his fragile mind. Sadly, the explanation was wasted on her friend because he didn't look very convinced.

"A curse? Is this one of your jokes or have you spent too much time in the sun? He's very obviously a normal guy."

"Don't be such a simpleton, Monrar. Looking like a human is a common side effect to many curses targeting demon lords. I'm a healer, remember? My knowledge vastly exceeds yours in just about every field, so don't you dare to argue with me!" As if this situation wasn't complicated enough on its own, Bazoran chose this exact moment to demand a sacrifice. Ryona frowned. She would go far to accommodate his needs, but giving a person as volatile as him a weapon sounded like a recipe for disaster. What if he got too invested in this persona of a demon and tried to do something stupid, for example conquer the village? The settlement would likely remain safe if the eye to hand coordination he had demonstrated so far was indicative of his fighting skills in general, but he could easily hurt himself. Weapons didn't belong in hands of ill people!

"Look, Bazoran, we are all scared of your terrible wrath but, uh, the problem is that..." Ryona was stalling, "... that we don't actually have any weapons, armor or other fancy equipment you requested. We are a simple people, too poor to manufacture things we don't immediately need. Our last sword got broken when some poor fool tried to chop wood with it. Sorry for that," she smiled at him brightly. "I can lead you to the priest, though." If nothing else, that offer was genuine. The local priest took care of those whose sense had been tainted beyond repair.

"You don't have to, Ryona," an authoritative voice cut through the silence. The tiny crowd that had gathered there to gawk at the stranger parted in reverence to make way for a short, balding man in priestly garb. "Welcome, Bazoran the Destroyer," he bowed deeply. Unlike Monrar, the priest clearly understood what was going on here. Good old Tilbur. At least one person I can rely on! "It is an honor that you decided to bless us with your presence. You look tired, though. Don't you wish to rest for a while to gather your lost strength?"