It had been calling her, and she answered its call. It was something primordial and gnarled from the depths of human thought. By either miracle or curse, the point of its spiritual impact had only been two days of consistent travel from Ria; a small, now desolate town that had fallen pray to the Southern Islands' occupation force. It was the same miniature army which had threatened to annihilate her village over a century before her birth, and they would have succeeded there too, had the White Devil not answered their prayers. The unspeakable evil was here, still partially formless, as it brooded over the ancient agony that rested in the village's ruin, churning and moaning out for revenge and retribution. For these lost, hopeless spirits, there was no respite. Perhaps this itself was the origin of that fell power. Looking upon a decaying and aged farmhouse at the far edge of the destruction, Maere Jun Eschaton shook her head. "... I feel you. Where are you, being who has been calling me?" She moved forward, plunging into the bowels of incarnated despair.
The festering power that dwelled here had indeed been calling, but out of a more primitive instinct than for a reason. In its premature form, it was something akin to a fetus or embryo, feeding on the sadness and hopelessness that lingered in its surroundings. A black spirit of hatred and destruction, a demon. Calling out to its demonic kin, Maere was lured in as its first meal; it was an unexpected development, but a fruitful one none-the-less, as the girl herself was a host of much of the dark emotions it feds on. Resembling a brimstone-esque, ruddy grey mound of pulsating flesh, it was a true terror of the natural world. Even more terrifying was the fact that it spawned from the world itself, not another plane of being. Growing, nearly ready to be born within this cocoon, was the Enduring Dead Dreams of Agony-Tempered Flesh, one of the infernal spawns of nature. Its heartbeat-like resonance with the surrounding world echoed, drawing its prey towards it, a beacon of unidentifiable misery and pain.
Passing by demolished house after demolished house, Maere lamented the pointless loss of life and looked skyward, as if searching for answers in the clouds. "... Closer, closer. Do you still call out to me?" The thrumming had invaded her chest, each of its fell beckonings coinciding with the slow beat of her heart. It drew her inwards to the central of the village, where children had once frolicked and festivals had been celebrated. The pinnacle of depression, where joy and tradition had fallen to agony and neglect. Here, the dark Practitioner came to the womb of evil that contained the being who had called out to her ceaselessly for days. "You... Are in there? I feel you... You're like me. Are you a poisoned part of nature, too?" Cautious, measured steps led her , almost longingly, towards the cocoon; whatever lay within here was similar to her, and she felt some disgusting kinship to it. "Are you... Ready to awaken?" Emboldened, the girl pressed her left hand, the hand of death and decay, against the evil shell.
The moment her palm laid against it, the demon within stirred, ready to break free. A dark, disgusting light poured forth from the thin, magma-like cracks that lined the beating flesh's form, and the air was suddenly filled with a brackish, hateful mist that embodied the world's pain and sorrow. She pulled her hand away and stepped back, but it was too late, the damage was already done. The demon's transformation from embryo to individual was elaborate but quick; a final blast of hellish fire from within tore apart the degrading remains of the shell, and fiend within emerged into the world. An abomination with dark red flesh that bulged with muscles and horns, it was the very definition of a demon. How had something so immense, ornamented with mast-like wings and a whip-like tail contained itself within such a small vessel? It was clearly not willing to part with such knowledge, nor give any words beyond the rage-filled roar it uttered to the sky.
Its awakening complete, the demon gazed downwards at the diminutive girl who had awakened it, the almost reptilian face twisting with a perverse, evil grin; it had found its first meal, one fit for the gods themselves. The air surrounding the evil spirit's bulging left hand rippled as if afflicted by a mirage. In the next instant, the space around it nearly boiled, heat spiraling out of control as a flaming, chain-forged whip that radiated dark power ushered itself into existence. The hunt began, and its prey was still astonished and amazed. A swift flick of its wrist and the whip lunged at her with snake-like reflects, ready to entangle its prey.
Very few mortals would possess the reflexes to dodge such a strike, but the Tabernacle of Spite possessed many skills, one bordering on precognitive reflexes. This did not save her flesh from being scorched the flames and whiplash, but a quick dodge to the left prevented her from being ensnared by the whip. Reeling slightly at the sudden attack, she took several swift steps back, trying to push futile distance between herself and the being that just now revealed itself. "A-Ah... What?" This was not what she had expected! ... But had she honestly been able to expect anything less from such an evil scent? There was no way to escape, turning her back meant instant death. She could not outrun those fell wings, nor escape that weapon without focusing all her attention; the only option left was to fight. "Stop this, I do not wish to fight!" Failing to halt its advance would endanger more lives, and more importantly, her own existence.
Her plea went on deaf ears, the demon just laughed violently and trudged forward on its mighty, clawed feet, thrusting its free fist out in an attempt snatch the girl up and crush her. The air around it was alight with fire and the earth beneath its feet seemed to wither and die with each step. Before her was a literal embodiment of death and destruction. Even amongst the marginal magical community of the world, such spirits are made of fearful rumor and legend.
"Wha...!" Incoming attack, far too fast to dodge. Relying on a bit of instinct and a healthy dose of fear, she waited for that split second of an opening. It arrived, moments before it would have struck her, and she launched a counter-offensive. Her feeble, willowy left hand clashed with the massive fist that by itself was larger than her own head. The tension tore open the flesh on the palm of her hand, splattering her corrosive, crimson blood everywhere. Somehow, the demon's hand ended just as battered as her own. It reared back, nostrils flaring, as it shook off the surprise and anger at having its knuckles tore open and ripped asunder by a child's pathetic attempt at defending herself. Rage evident in its molten eyes, it leaped back, placing a lethal distance between them, and lashed out once again with the flaming whip.
She had seen the whip attack once, and instinctively moved to repeat the maneuver, but the whip moved differently than she thought. The burning weapon seemed to possess a mind of its own. Once swung, it preformed a remarkable redirection midair, sailing upwards, then down, then backwards. In a split second, Maere felt a searing pain in her right leg, then suddenly found herself hoisted upside down in the air. The question was how long the coiling weapon would hold it; it felt like the foot was about to burn off. The girl immobilized and stranded in the air, the demon slowly stalked forward, ready to crush her doll-like face with its bloodied fist.
Her mind ran wild, imagining and swiftly discarding potential plans. She would not die like this, not this way! Her options were severely limited, though; there was no way to go casting magic upside down in the fiend's line of vision. She reluctantly decided to rely on the thing that had worked thus far. The Practitioner readied her hand, waiting for the opportunity to break free. It arrived at a moment's notice, but she was ready for it. Swinging her weight she thrust her clenched fist against the demon's looming palm. As the two hands collided, it let out a ferocious roar and threw itself forward, intent on crushing her for her insolence in denying it. That was when she reacted and put her plan into affect. Using the momentum generated by its lunge, she swung herself backwards and upwards in a slight arc, hoping to pass by the whip ensnaring her for even an instant. Her hand flailed wildly and groped through the air, and finally came into contact with its target; she knew because it felt like her hand was being burnt off. She clenched her fist around one chain despite the pain and put her heart into it. As her momentum began to dissipate, she fell downwards towards the ground, but not before the chain broke asunder, shattering and allowing her free. She struck the ground full force, grimacing as she felt something snap.
The demon roared, its heavy voice full of anger and spite. The raw emotions that seeped from its core unwittingly encouraged the dark girl to go on, and she painfully pushed herself to her feet. "... Nhh... You're... So similar to me. But, you're a monster... Are you what I should be like...?" A trickle of doubt panged through her, but it just made a small smirk slip onto her face. "... No, I'll stop you, and show that I'm better." A deep breath rattled her frame as she readied herself for its next attack. The two had already clashed twice; the third time is a charm, but for who? Words, important words, started to fill the void of her mind, and told her the best course of action. The two harbingers of death would break against each other one more time, and that would decide the victor.
The whip she thought she destroyed had regenerated, but despite this the demon tossed it aside. Perhaps it too, in its fit of madness, had come to the same conclusion as her? Cracking its neck slightly, it reared up, displaying its imposing bulk, and roared to the heavens once more, proclaiming its inevitable victory. It had more power, more bulk, and more continuity; how could it fall to a runt like this? Eyes glowing a malevolent red, it raised its now freed fist to the air, ready to bring it down on the girl. Maere let out an irritable huff, eyes narrow, as she waited for the moment of reckoning. In a blur of movement, the massive hand slammed downwards like a falling boulder, flying towards its target.
"... Grasp the Dream's Wound..." She struck now and thrust out her bloody, torn up hand. The two hands connected, and the inevitable happened; the Tabernacle of Darkness grasped the demon's fist with her unnatural might and pulled. The opposing force, completely overwhelmed, tore loose from the arm, unable to withstand the concept of inevitable death sealed within her hand. Stumbling back in shock, it stared at her, seeming almost dumbfounded despite its demonic continence. Her assault was not done, there, however. Dropping the smoldering hand to the ground, she swiftly drew the Suicide Blade Bloodletter and lunged forword. Although she could not extinguish something like a demon from life, she could still slaughter its body. A grim arc, straight through the widening cracks in its frame, and it gushed apart, crumbling to the ground. Feral eyes watch it fall before her hand limply dropped the dagger to the ground. "Hah... And the Dream Ends..." The fog vanished from her head for only a moment; she had been invoking a dream, not a spell.
The disemboweled demon smoldered there, and she watched it for a long, breathless moment. It dawned on her, looking now, that this thing had been born prematurely; the power behind it wasn't there. A brief bit of relief at the fact she had managed to stop it before it gained any true power. "... Demon, are you done dreaming?" The battered body of the girl hypnotically stepped forwards towards it, a pitiable look on her face. "Yeah... Okay."
"You... Traitor to... The darkness... You shall be extinguished." The massive fiend shuddered and hissed at her volatility, its leathery wings thrashing against the ground. "How dare you... Interfere? "
"... I refuse. I will not be extinguished... Not by you." She paused before the giant beast and shook her head. "That said... I don't want to kill your, or allow you to rampage... So, you'll be mine." The waif raised her good hand towards the Enduring Dead Dreams of Agony-Tempered Flesh and channeled a shard of her dark magic through her body---the contract was established.