The True Form of the Undead

"A freelance demon? That was clever. But you're still his pawn. He controls you, no matter what you think. God," and when he said this he thought of the irony, "You used to be the smarter of us. Then you went and got yourself demonated, and now look at you! Playing some girl along just to get by. I thought you had some morals."

He waited for half a second, and then leapt at him, becoming the dog again. He slashed at the glamour, shredding it, more effectively than any mortal dog could. Eventually, Jet was there in his true form, revealed. Jet snarled, and threw Konrad off him. Konrad had riled him now, and that was dangerous for anything, let alone someone who had already earned the hate of a demon, merely for continuing upon a path he thought they'd agreed upon. He still rankled at the memory. He became his true self, face distorted, mouth wider than should have been possible, skin nearly transparent, fangs exposed in a scowl and nails became claws. As an extra, he added wings, just in case Jet thought he had an advantage. He flapped his leathery, black bat-like wings, and hovered a metre off the ground, his whole face daring Jet to challenge him. He hissed, and the sound reverberated. He smirked.

The End

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