Mark waddled through the dark, misty forest. He could barely see past his arm's length—his demonic eyes were incredibly acute even at night, but the thing that obstructed his sight was not darkness.
It was mist. Thick mist.
Misty wind lashed against his face. Mark pushed through it cautiously while feeling for the changes in his body.
His wings, especially, felt weird. It felt strong, robust—iron-like. Yet, at the same time, incredibly smooth and flexible like silk.
Sometimes, after a Demon evolves through Tiers, their bodies could change. Just as Mark gained wings when he became a Lower Demon from a Demonling.
Having created his own Ultimate Demonic Art, he had evolved once again and had become a Middle Demon. This time, too, his body had changed somehow, even though he had yet to get a good sight of it.
He had also gained a new demonic trick.
With a thought, his wings vanished from his back. Mark grimaced in slight pain.
