The Skin-Bound Tome’s knowledge rushed like a wild river through him. It tore at his mind, seemingly taking more fragments of his very being than it left of its own. But, despite not knowing whether it truly took from him or not, Rosomil let it continue.

After he had accidentally done this the first time he had used the book, he usually didn’t allow it to impart its knowledge into him this way. It was beyond foolish to risk everything for so little, the tome always gave him if it gave him anything. But since the argument this morning, he hoped it could erase the memory as well as the feeling of inadequacy, which had manifested like a burning coal inside his chest.

It didn’t.

The only thing the book seemed keen on imparting into him was the transformation spell. It mixed with his mind and memory, telling him how malleable flesh is. Of how little meaning the exact anatomy is when talons aren’t so different from hands, which aren’t so different from flippers, which, in turn, aren’t so different from wings. Teeth tearing into meat are akin to those used to chew plants. A beak, while not a tooth, is used in an equal manner. To tear. To crack. To break.

Everything different yet alike.

Ever repeating.

Rosomil felt all kinds of different forms and shapes all at once. The sheer amount swallowing him and at the same time throwing him into the air, the ground, and the water. For a few precious moments, he felt his sanity tether at the edge of madness. At the edge, which was the whole of creation. He dangled there, being all living things real and imaginary at once.

Suddenly, it all collapsed into deafening silence. Confused, Rosomil tried to regain his wits and return to his own body.

He couldn’t.

Fear gripped him.

Naked primal fear.

But before his mind could break, a tense calm washed over him. It felt like he was in the eye of a storm. As if he were floating not just in the air but also in time. Confused, he looked around and saw himself inside his bedchamber, preening the Ravendemon’s wing for her. From this angle, he could see her face. The serene expression… The content smile… He wanted to stop the inevitable. He reached out but couldn’t get closer. All he could do was to watch how he looked at her longingly. How she actually let her guard down. How all he did was to insult her. Guilt filled his heart. Why did he have to remember it like this? Why had he to witness it detached yet too close for comfort? Desperate, he forced his gaze away, down at his hands. Hands which had turned into talons like hers.

With a gasp, Rosomil awoke from the torment of the Tome and immediately looked at his shaking hands.

Human.

Utterly and unmistakable human.

Slow, he raised his eyes towards the Tome on the table. It rested there like any other book but this time, instead of being unreadable to him, the transformation spell was clearly legible along a few notes and warnings for the caster.

He took a deep breath to calm his nerves. His heart still hammered against his chest as if it wanted to burst out of it. To calm down, he leaned forward and pulled the Tome closer. It wasn’t the right distraction to read the instructions, but it was all he could do. Yet before he could read the first sentence after the spell, someone knocked at his door.

“Who is it?”, he asked rasping, and cleared his voice.

“It’s Offilo, My Lord”, replied the boy meekly. “Shall I return at a late point?”

“No, come in!”, he said and took a deep breath.

Slow, the boy opened the door and peeked in. He seemed shaken, almost haunted. A sinister gaze on Rosomil’s part was enough to speed Offilo up, who entered the room full a heartbeat later. As the door closed behind him with a soft click, he flinched.

“You returned faster than I expected”, Rosomil told the boy. “Be at ease.”

“Yes”, Offilo responded, but didn’t relax in the slightest.

He seemed much more nervous than usual. Rosomil also took immediate note of the boy touching his left ring finger in an almost obsessive manner. While odd, he wasn’t of the mind to ask Offilo for a reason. Instead, he asked him about what he managed to find out. To his dismay, it wasn’t much. But Rosomil noticed the boy’s reluctance at certain points in the story. Reluctance mixed with more touches towards his left hand.

“Pray tell, Offilo, is there something wrong with your hand? The left one to be precise”, asked Rosomil and narrowed his gaze. “Did you get injured?”

Startled the boy flinched and tried to stammer an excuse but Rosomil didn’t listen. His attention was drawn to something else. A vague feeling of impending danger. Whatever it was, it was closing in.

It was fast.

It was already there.

Alarmed, Rosomil jumped to his feed and pushed a confused Offilo aside. With powerful strides, he went out of his study, while calling the Tome into his mind on the way out. The boy remained frozen for a moment before he managed to follow. Rosomil didn’t wait for him and headed towards the courtyard as he not only felt the magic duel going on there but also heard the general commotion the fight caused.

As he reached the portal to the courtyard, he pushed against the massive wooden door. It usually opened easily, but this time something blocked it. A loud crash on the other side made his hesitation vanish in a heartbeat. By using the additional strength his contract with the Ravendemon offered, he pushed once more against the door. This time it swung open as easily as it should’ve been.

This caused Rosomil to stumble through the portal. But before he could fall, he found himself falling against bristled black feathers and a solid body. With a flourish, his demon pushed him back through the door and closed it.

A second later, a thin blade was shoved through the massive wood, almost taking his eye. Startled, he stumbled backward and walked into Offilo.

“M-master!”, he addressed him. “We need to flee!”

“I won’t leave her behind!”, Rosomil replied and went back to the door behind which he could still hear and even feel the fight. “Now help me open this damnable thing!”

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Despite the clear reluctance and fear in the boys eyes, he still nodded and did as asked off him. Together, they pushed the door open once more. Upon entering the courtyard, they found themselves in a more brutal fight than what Rosomil had seen during the fight in Eldebourg.

Another difference was that the Ravendemon was clearly on top of the confrontation. Multiple naked blades floated around the demon giving the impression multiple halos. Despite her injuries, she attacked the angel with glee and an elegance that took Rosomil by surprise.

The angel, on the other hand, had difficulties keeping up with her — a stark contrast to the first time he had appeared. They seemed to lack some of the light they had emitted before.

“Retreat for as long as you can”, the Ravendemon shouted after the angel had barely deflected a volley of blades. “The Lord’s a forgiving one but don’t rely on his mercy.”

“Spare me those vile words!”, the angel replied and attacked with their thin blade.

The demon danced around them. The amused smile along the flourishes of her uninjured wings made it appear more like a dance than a fight. The naked blades followed her like a veil and blocked the angel’s feeble attacks as if infused with a mind of their own. Sparks erupted from the crossing blades, followed by clear clangs of metal on metal.

Suddenly, the angel stopped and glared at her. The Ravendemon stopped as well, folding her wings in a defensive posture save her injured one. Her naked blades circling her in mesmerising patterns.

“Pray tell, Transient, what hath caused those injuries of thine?”, asked the angel, intrigued.

“None of the powers you currently wield”, she replied, a bit more defensive. “Nor one you wielded before.”

“But thou canst be hurt.”

“Everything can be hurt.”

Suddenly, the angel’s burning gaze focused on Rosomil. Startled, he froze for a moment. Enough time for the angel to bolt towards him with their blade extended like it was a part of their body.

Time slowed down.

Rosomil could see in vivid detail how his demon jumped to protect him. Her expression halfway between worry and anger. Offilo was at the same time trying to pull him out of the way by grabbing his blue doublet.

The only thing reacting fast enough was the Tome within his mind.

It made him raise his hands as if he were about to merely push the angel off. Instinctively, the book chose the dark spike and shot it into the angel, impaling and throwing them away.

Time resumed its normal speed but Rosomil couldn’t restrain the Tome. Without him having a choice, the book appealed to more base instincts within him and forced him back into the maelstrom of the transformation spell he had just barely understood.

Claws.

Wings.

Feathers.

He felt his bones snap and rearranged themselves. He felt his muscle tear and reform. His skin started to itch painfully, while his face seemed to be split open. There was no escape from the pain.

Save for one.

He had to tear the angel apart. He had to taste their blood.

Everything became a blurry form that moment on. All Rosomil felt was the warm blood on his claws and its metallic taste on his tongue. He rejoiced as his prey started to fight against him. He even enjoyed the pain the angel’s blade caused upon slicing into his new body. But the movements slowed. Frustrated, he could only screech.

Suddenly, he was thrown off the angel. Angry, he attacked the dark thing which was putting itself between him and his prey.

He attacked.

He needed to destroy whatever was in his way.

To tear apart.

To maim.

To kill.

His claws were suddenly stopped by another set. Sharp, curved nails digging into his skin, drawing blood. A moment later, he was grabbed and his arms almost torn from his shoulders. Confused and furious, he looked up and recognised the pale face. Immediately all of his anger evaporated while embarrassment and lodging took its place. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was for attacking her. But he couldn’t. No words came out of his inhuman throat. Just a meek wail escaped his barely human lips.

“Hush now”, the Ravendemon whispered and ran her uninjured hand through his hair while warping her wings around him. “It’s all right. Calm down. I’ll help you heal and regain your true form.”

At that moment, Rosomil would’ve let her do everything she wanted, even kill him. Miserable, he hid his face within her soft feathers. At the same time, pain flooded his whole body once more, as flesh and bones returned to their original shapes. Groaning, he held on to her as if she alone could keep him from drowning.

Suddenly, the pain was gone. All that remained was a feeling of protective warmth as his tense muscles relaxed. Teetering between consciousness and wakeful dream, Rosomil just heard the suggestion of soft words from his demon. Still, he noticed enough to understand that she was giving an order. Most likely to Offilo. The boy replied something a moment later and ran off.

“You’re an utter fool”, murmured the Ravendemon after a few heartbeats while running her soothingly across his back.

Rosomil wanted to tell her that she was right. That he was a fool. That he was sorry. But this time his throat was just too hoarse to form any coherent words.

“A transformation spell…”, she continued without the usual mockery in her voice but some sort of respect in its place. “Didn’t you read the instructions? Humans need to prepare themselves mentally for their transformations, no matter what shape they chose, or they lose their mind. You lucky, lucky fool.”

He tried to speak once more and once more he couldn’t. Involuntary, he tightened his grip around her feathers and buried his face within them.

“Don’t try to speak”, she continued, her touch almost too gentle. “Just rest.”

Rosomil closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The strange smell of fresh air mixed with strong incense and fresh blood made his head swim. Once more, his conflicted feelings towards the demon reared within his heart. Being this close didn’t help either. Especially her talons now also brushing gently through his hair, created pure agony of a different kind.

Slowly, Rosomil looked up at her face. Her expression was soft and contemplative, so unlike her usual sly smirks or mocking grins. To his delight and distraught, he liked this expression. He wished for her to look more often like this. Especially at him.

Even slower, he raised his blood covered hand. For a moment, he allowed his feelings to guide him.

Upon touching her cold skin, she lowered her face. A few strands of her soft long hair fell over his hand and brushed his face. There was curiosity and a certain expectation in her gaze.

“I’m back!”, shouted Offilo as he ran towards them and broke the moment like a stone thrown into a mirror.

“You’re a fast one”, the demon remarked, amused and looked up. “Got everything?”

“Yes…” he replied reluctant between ragged breaths. “A blanket and a new set of clothes.”

Clothes?!, Rosomil thought, alarmed and lowered his hand.

“Master, do you feel strong enough to get dressed yourself or do you need our help?”, the demon asked in her usual snarky demeanour.

He didn’t dare to react, nor did he dare to remain silent. In lieu of a coherent answer, he let out a sharp breath and tried to hide away.

“Don’t play coy”, the demon continued, amused. “I’ve seen you naked already. Or how do you think I managed to clean you up and tuck you into bed after Eldebourg? There’s nothing bad about this but, should it ease your nerves, I shall take on my male human form.”

Before he could protest, he felt the feathers slip from his hands and turn into the soft fabric of Astatine’s ornate, high-quality clothes. The only thing easing his discomfort was Offilo placing the blanket around him as the wings vanished, and the cold air could touch his skin.

Shivering Rosomil tried to reach for the clothes in Offilo’s arms, but the demon held him back with an all too gentle touch.

“Let met clean you up before you though anything”, Astatine said, and ran his fingers along Rosomil’s hands and arms.

Once the blood was gone, he snatched the change of clothes and began to dress haphazardly. The demon still held him, albeit less tightly. Nonetheless, he wanted to get away from him. Especially the bloody handprint he had left on the demon’s face made his whole being reeling in emotional turmoil. It didn’t help either that despite the more masculine features, the demon looked distinctly like his true form. Rosomil avoided looking at him and stood up as soon as he could without exposing himself further.

“Is… is the angel dead?”, asked Offilo with a reluctant gaze towards the mangled body a few feet away.

“The body’s dead”, Astatine answered and stood up. “Looks like God wasn’t too happy with them intervening once more. Unless they find a body of someone willing to let their soul in, I doubt we’ll get visited again.”

Like a curious child, he walked to the body and crouched down beside it. To Rosomil’s disgust, he started to poke around the remains with his uninjured hand. Usually, he would make the demon stop, but right now, he was thankful to not be the centre of his attention.

Slow, he backed away. He needed time for himself. Time to distance himself from his own feelings. An endeavour he knew to be hopeless.