>>6140198“The summoning shapes a demon, as they appear on the Prime Material Plane—on Earth. In the Realms of Hell, the distinctions are less precise. Demons are shaped by their time on Earth, if their egos are not broken before their return. But a demon with UNDERSTANDING can summon and shape themselves.”
“…So, like, that’s what we’re doin’?”
Maladoo nods, and explains: “We are teaching you to desire one thing above all others.. At least, for a moment.”
“…Acceptance?” you ask quietly.
Maladoo grins that sharp-toothed grin, the yellow-white canines barely peeking out from under his floppy lips and jowls.
“Wisdom.”
You’re a little confused by that, at first. Wisdom? It’s not like nerds aren’t cute sometimes, but it’s not really what you were thinking. Still, the demon-dog seems to know what he’s talking about, so you do what Maladoo do—hehe~—and meditate your ass off. It’s not easy, or intuitive, but you DO desire this—to understand and master your nature, to be beautiful again—or at least not ugly and gross and wrong.
You WANT to know how to change what you’ve become.
You <span class="mu-g"><WANT></span> that knowledge!
“Oh!”
You open your eyes at the sudden realization—the crystallization of will and of <WANT>, the realignment of purposes, and the sense that this new, deeper desire has <span class="mu-i">summoned</span> something.
You know it’s worked, too, because when you open your eyes you’re no longer in the forest… or, well, you ARE, but the forest isn’t as it once was. Maladoo isn’t there, for one, and the trees are all different—wreathed in mist, faded and see-through like ghosts of their former selves. The sunlight was already a dying light the east few hours, but when you open your eyes it’s gone altogether, and no moon has replaced it. There ARE, however, twinkling glimemrs of distance stars, and one single, great sphere in the sky between you and them…
“That ain’t no moon,” you murmur to yourself, as the great white orb rolls over and reveals an iris, and pupil.
The big eye in the sky comes tumbling towards you, finally locking on. It is red as hellfire, focused as a ray-attack. The sinuous smoke around it coils and uncoils like tentacles, like snake-tails, until it twists and knots itself together into great, malformed wings—not quite like a bat’s, almost like those of the cave-drake that you bargained away from Maladoo and his gang. Wobbly, boneless black limbs support a body like a big egg with a craning neck; there’s no other face, though, only the eye, framed by horns.
<span class="mu-i">“Ah, one of the twins…”</span>
