SilverSuzi
Daydreamer
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.
@EnkoKasumi
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.
@EnkoKasumi
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