Asmodia's face contorts into an expression of disgust and -- yes, pity as she watches the creature recoil from whatever its own mind has conjured to kill it. She takes the moment to put more distance and the desk between them, knowing that there's still a chance it will not die from this, knowing now that she can hit it again with her magic if need be, and again, and again, she remembers now, she is not helpless --
It is an ugly death, for how clean it is. That's always how it is with this spell. There's no scream this time, only the twitching of a dying body. She's glad, as she always is, that she can't see what her victim attacker sees. Asmodia lets herself breathe a sigh of relief when the body stops moving; she remains trapped on this hellish demiplane but she can allow herself the luxury of a moment of relief, can't she?
Except....
Cold dread twists in her gut and she doesn't even know why at first, only that something is wrong as it can be. It's not until she looks up from the dead body that she sees -- something looking back at her. The wispy shape that formed at her command a moment ago is forming again now and she knows full well what it is but still can't look away, can't convince herself that it's hers to dismiss when it forms into something she doesn't even recognize. This isn't right, that isn't her fear before her. It's not Asmodeus that reaches for her but something primally wrong with arms that outstretch --
"No --!!" The cry is choked off, unfinished as the dream spirals away to nothing in the absence of its dreamer.
no subject
It is an ugly death, for how clean it is. That's always how it is with this spell. There's no scream this time, only the twitching of a dying body. She's glad, as she always is, that she can't see what her
victimattacker sees. Asmodia lets herself breathe a sigh of relief when the body stops moving; she remains trapped on this hellish demiplane but she can allow herself the luxury of a moment of relief, can't she?Except....
Cold dread twists in her gut and she doesn't even know why at first, only that something is wrong as it can be. It's not until she looks up from the dead body that she sees -- something looking back at her. The wispy shape that formed at her command a moment ago is forming again now and she knows full well what it is but still can't look away, can't convince herself that it's hers to dismiss when it forms into something she doesn't even recognize. This isn't right, that isn't her fear before her. It's not Asmodeus that reaches for her but something primally wrong with arms that outstretch --
"No --!!" The cry is choked off, unfinished as the dream spirals away to nothing in the absence of its dreamer.