The ritual was complete; the Goddess had summoned the soul, and yet, nothing was happening. There was no great flash of light, no mysterious chill filling up the room. Nothing one would expect to accompany such a grand ritual was happening, which terrified the four summoners. The Goddess, looking from above, seemed almost amused at the sight of the four of them, each silently beginning to freak out.
The four were struck with a crippling sense of disappointment, crushed by the fact that all of their efforts, all the years searching tirelessly for ingredients, all of it was for naught. There was no hope for their world. There was no superpowerful being answering their call. They had failed, monumentally.
With all of these thoughts rattling through everyone's minds, the silence stretched on, and on...
Finally, the Goddess had grown impatient, and more than a little irritated. Sick of waiting, she reached down with an almost immaterial hand, and slapped the slumbering form, rocking its head to the side violently.
No reaction. The room lapsed back into an awkward silence. At this point the healer couldn't take it any longer, falling to his knees, he was about to let out his emotions in a wail, one that would no doubt touch the hearts of even the cruel, uncaring Goddess above when out of nowhere came the most fantastic sound-
*Toot*
That's right. It farted, the body farted! That means it must be alive. A wave of relief flooded the healer's body. "He's alive, brothers. Alive!"
...
"Sorry, Orion. That was Rufus. You know how he gets when he's emotional" The Shameless shaman was quick to pass the blame, but Rufus wasn't one to back down so easily.
"Damn shaman, you know full well that wasn't me. It was obviously Skelly."
"I'm a skeleton. Skeletons don't far-"
*Toot*
"It's ALIVE/ Holy shit/ I told you guys/ It wasn't me!"
"Ahh. I see now. This queer noise must be the soul's native language." Rufus, the self-professed smartest of the group, had figured it out. or so he believed. "It must not have control of its body yet and is trying to communicate with us. Quick, all of you, toot with me. *Toot* *Toot*
"But the smell though, its smells like a far-"
The shaman was quickly shut down by Rufus, who began to *Toot* over him. The rest just decided to follow his lead and slowly began circling the prone figure on the table, trying their hardest to communicate with him.
***
Tiny was terrified. Completely and utterly scared shitless. His burning rage had long since been doused by the chilling fear which now had him in its grip. He was ready for death, and he had thought of it many times, being apart of so many wars, one could say he spent nearly every day surrounded by death.
Thus, it was only natural that Tiny had wondered if there was a life after death. On more occasions than he cared to recall, he had heard from demonkind victims that they were all going to be punished in the afterlife. That they would burn in undying flames for eternity, that they were to be disemboweled and then healed every day forever etc. All rather dull compared to what he had seen his kind do to others.
So what could possibly have our Tiny so terrified? Well, he had felt a falling sensation after the stomach acid of the Carlothump had fully engulfed his body, making short work of it. This sensation was then followed by what he could only describe as a tugging feeling. It felt like someone, or something, was reeling him in. And whatever it was, brought him here.
Where is here? In a weirdly red chamber. Underground from what he observed, three strange imps, with no wings and white, soft-looking skin, were circling him along with one skeleton, making obscene farting noises. All of them looked at him with fervent gazes that made him more than a little uncomfortable. But that wasn't what terrified him the most, no.
They were all naked—level with his eyes and way, way too close for comfort.
'So this is it. This is my fate. To be raped by these soft-skinned imps for eternity.' thought Tiny, his body beginning to tremble with fear. His sphincter puckering as his ass cheeks clenched.
Wait. Where was his tail? Wherever was the familiar weight of his wings? The familiar steam that is given off by his tiny red body?
Saying a prayer to all the Demon Gods he could remember; Azathoth, Krebeliel, Nyarlokel, Boolzebeekl, and Sayron, he lifted his head and looked down.
The first thing that stood out to him was that he, too, had white skin, though his definitely didn't look soft; it almost looked leathery. Though, rather than wrinkled, it was stretched taut over vast planes of muscle, the likes of which he had rarely seen even in the demon army. Where the larger demons were ugly, misshapen beasts, this body was a work of art that even Tiny could appreciate. Symmetrical, smooth, and as solid as stone. He knew, instinctively, that this was a body made for battle. Lifting his massive arm, breaking his bindings with ease, he noted the hands had five fingers rather than the three he once possessed. He no longer had his large claws, and, looking over his shoulder, he noted that he had lost more than just his claws.
He had indeed lost his wings, as well as his tail. His body had none of the features expected of a demon. Reaching up, he found that he hadn't even got a decent pair of horns. He looked exactly like the four creatures surrounding him(except the skeleton), still making their indecent noises, except larger. Much larger.
In comparison to them, he was a giant—a fact he was quick to take advantage of. The idiots had not even thought to restrain him with quality bindings—arrogant fools.
He leaped into action with a grace that surprised not only those around him but himself too. The control he had over this body of his was frightening. It was like it had always been his, and he had been trained with it since birth. He used skills that seemed natural, movements that flowed seamlessly into a chain of physical attacks that pulverized the little soft-skinned. He couldn't tell the difference between them, none of them had tails, at least, not ones he cared to look at. So, he attacked them all in as little time as possible, which, it turned out, was but a couple of seconds.
He went to slap one in the face open-handed, and went right through him, following this motion, his hand rotated, flattening. He turned with his arm still outstretched and cleanly sliced off the heads from two of them. This left one more, the one he was least willing to look at, the skeleton.
Even though this one was the only one out of the four without its penis hanging out, it was the one Tiny was most reluctant to look at. Necromancy was a perversion of nature, and even demons don't raise the dead, they eat them, honoring them. This thing that was in front of him needed to be smashed and smashed it was.
He captured the undead head in both of his hands, bringing it forward for a savage headbutt. Fragments of bones splintered out like an explosive and embedded themselves in the heads of the other two. Heads that had yet to even reach the peak of their ascent through the air. He was just that fast.
Though he realized he was moving at a supernatural speed, his mind somehow kept up, so he resolved to think of it later. He had more significant problems right now, like the weird glowing female that seemed to be descending from the sky, in a cave... yep, priorities.