The more time Diane spent around Skusea, the more she picked up on the insect-goddess’ mannerisms. When the divinity was proud she often drew her eight golden swords behind her, arrayed like a pair of wings. When intent they gathered close, like legs around a spider. And when she was at ease, they floated languidly about as if under their own direction.

Diane mulled this over as one of these blades crossed lazily before her vision. The goddess had become quite comfortable around her, and that was encouraging.

“In need of some good news, aye?” Skusea prodded teasingly, well aware of Diane’s internal monologue. “I’m happy to report your transformation is underway. You about ready to head back to the sidereal realm?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Diane said, trying her best to sound grateful.

“You remember the summoning ritual?” Skusea asked for the umpteenth time.

“Yes, Skusea, I remember the summoning ritual.” Diane said, allowing a hint of impatience to creep into her thought-voice. The goddess had all-but-demanded that Diane call her regularly to seek guidance and provide updates. She was beginning to seem more like a matronly nag than a fearsome warrior.

In response to that idle thought Skusea assumed a playfully predatory pose, all blade-tips pointed at Diane and aglow with charging power.

“Matronly nag of a warrior,” Diane clarified aloud.

“I accept your offer of truce,” Skusea said with a chuckle before her blades resumed their easeful dance. “One more matter to attend before your resurrection. I would like you to deliver something for me… a message.”

“From you?” Diane asked curiously.

One of Skusea’s mandibles twitched. “No, it’s from one of Skellish’s reincarnators to another. Inter-dimensional mail.” She manifested a strange silvery disc in her hand, then frowned and transformed it into a parchment instead. “No DVD players in a fantasy world…” she muttered aloud as she showed the newly reformatted letter to a perplexed Diane. “It’s from one Sveta Levesque, addressed to one Ashley Leighton.”

Diane was aghast. What kind of bizarre-ass name was ‘Ashley Leighton?’ It sounded almost alien.

“I don’t know anyone named…” she began.

“Sorry, let me cross-reference,” Skusea said, glaring at the parchment as the letters on it swirled a bit. “There we go. Accounting for reincarnation name correction, the intended recipient is one ‘Psytalla Sidealestes.’”

“Psytalla?!” Diane exclaimed in sharp surprise. “She’s… the current Demon Lord!”

“Oho?” Skusea said, her blades closing in about her in leglike formation. “The plot thickens. Another reincarnator in the role? Interesting…”

Diane did not find the goddess’ metallic laugher following that remark terribly reassuring.

******

The twin-spectacle of a divine incursion and a mysterious flower-cocoon had drawn many curious onlookers to the throne room, to the point where Psytalla’d summoned her guard and cordoned it off. Now many dozens of eager demons looked in from behind a stanchion, while Psytalla and her companions studied the closed flower.

“The insectkin seem especially enamored,” Metokai said in a low half-whisper. “Is it because of that strange mark that startled you so, Psy?”

Psytalla wasn’t sure which shocked her more… the fact that Metokai had instantly understood the source of her distress, or that she had finally begun to use Psytalla’s informal nickname. “Yes,” she confirmed in a whisper just as soft. “You see, that sigil is…”

She was interrupted by the flower, which began to hum and pulse in time to a heartbeat. All present gasped sharply and fixed their attention upon it.

The beat-throbbing flower surged upwards with each pulse, then at ten yards bent at the stem. This brought the enclosed bell pointed downwards even as it began to bloom. Yellow ichor poured from the blossom, and with it fell the unmistakable form of a woman with green skin. She was accompanied by a metallic flash which arrowed down and clattered on the floorstones.

The green-skinned girl blinked her eyes open, revealing their honeyed shine which bore no mark of pupil nor iris. She grasped about, her fingers finding purchase on the sword laying beside her, and she clutched it by the hilt, wedged its tip into the floor, and stood her wobbling legs up. As she rose, a hundred lilac petals blossomed across her cranium, forming a coat of petal-hair.

When the girl looked down, she noticed two things. The first was that she had morphed into a gratifyingly female form, green and streaked with white tattoos. The second was that she was stark naked.

“Excuse me,” she said, turning calmly towards a wide-eyed Nyze. “May I have some clothes?”

******

“Diane is well,” Gary reported after finishing a telepathic call with Yerpe, noting that Tess sagged with relief as he relayed the news. “Her first transformation hit a snag, but the second attempt was successful.”

“A snag…” Tess muttered, recalling the tectonic shock. “Thank goodness she’s alright. Where is she now?”

“Heading to chambers for rest,” Gary explained. “Should I send word you wish to call on her?”

“Oh, no no no,” Tess said, grinning sheepishly. “The Demon Lord is probably going to talk her ear off anyway. Let the poor girl sleep; I’ll catch her tomorrow.” She turned to the softly snoring form of Vynn, who had drunk herself insensate again. “I’d better get this lump back to Valex.”

“Aye,” Gary said, sorry to see his only company of the day go.

“I’ll be back,” Tess reassured him as she gathered Vynn in her arms. “Say, did the message mention what kind of demon Diane became?”

“Yes,” Gary confirmed. “She’s been transformed into a war dryad.”

Tess gawped. “What in the Moons is a ‘war dryad’?”

******

“War dryads,” Metokai lectured while pointing to a diagram in her book, “first arose following the destruction of the Screaming Forest by the Ruin. The nymphs, dryads and other nature spirits intrinsically linked to the forest died en masse when it burned, as did most of the elves, but those few that escaped swore revenge against the Great Enemy for the slaughter of their beloved trees.”

“Wow,” Nyze said, wide-eyed. “That’s pretty hardcore.”

Metokai pointed to the distinctive white tattoos in the diagram, which matched those of the nearby Diane perfectly. “These are treeblood marks which indicate their service to the first Demon Lord, Skusea Aedes, as her personal guard. It’s said the war dryads were among her most elite soldiers. Supposedly, those who survived the final battle all returned to the Forest and helped regrow it, becoming regular dryads once more.”

As the baphomet spoke, Diane cast her yellow gaze downwards, looking at the six-clawed hand symbol outlined at the center of her chest, colored like white snow against green grass. Just like those dryads of old, she’d been marked by a blessing that twinned as a yoke. Even in the Demon Realm, her life would never be free of prophecy.

Oh well. At least she’d found a better god.

“I quite liked Skusea,” she said amicably. “She’s certainly fearsome, but her edges hide a matronly charm. And her irreverence is refreshing compared to the stuffy attitudes of the Thirteen.”

Diane might as well have stated that she’d grown a second head for all the blank, disbelieving stares she received. Even the Demon Lord looked startled.

“Liked? Present tense?” she asked, studying Diane intently.

Diane kept her tone plaintive. “Yeah. Didn’t I mention? Skusea’s the goddess who received me. That’s why I have her blessing.” She had assumed that was obvious.

Metokai shook her head, as much to clear it as in disbelief. “Astounding. I hadn’t even realized she’d ascended to godhood. How auspicious! The first Demon Lord, a goddess!”

“Goddess of War, no less,” Diane added agreeably.

“Hah!” The volume of Metokai’s guffaw caused Diane to wince. “A war-goddess from the warrior-nation. Appropriate.”

“The universe does rhyme quite beautifully sometimes,” Psytalla added, allowing herself to relax a bit. “I’m eager to learn more about her. She is a foundational figure for the Realm, but so much of her life is shrouded in legend.”

“And I should like to ask her about tactics and strategy,” Metokai added eagerly. “She gave you a means to summon an avatar?”

Remembering the goddess’ adorably dogged insistence on regular communication, Diane smiled wryly. “Yes. She is also quite eager to get back in touch with Goezia.”

“We might want to take that slowly,” Nyze said, her voice curiously detached.

Diane fixed her honeyed gaze on the lamia. “Why?”

“Religious implications,” she said, the tip of her snake-tail twitching. “The insectkin I’ve met are effusive in their praise of Skusea. If they learn you bear her mark, they might see fit to start worshiping you.”

“I don’t think they’d go that far,” Psytalla interjected quickly. “But they might become… disruptive. The appearance of a war dryad, on the eve of the first true war the Realm’s seen in two centuries, might be interpreted as a sign.”

“And I,” Diane said, her petal-hair rustling as she stood to her full height, “have had enough of signs and portents. Your warning is well-taken, Nyze. I agree we should proceed cautiously. I’ve no desire to become some sort of… Demon Hero.”

“And I’m glad of it,” Psytalla said as she pressed her lips into a thin line. “You will follow me, then?”

Diane grinned. “I’m a demon now, aren’t I? Skusea would surely damn me if I ever disobeyed the Demon Lord. Yes, I will follow you to the end. How long do we have?”

Satisfied with Diane’s answer, Psytalla nodded. “Two weeks. The zombie forces have already crossed the Wall and are marching for the foothills of the Burning Range.”

“If you can call their plodding pace marching,” Metokai remarked tartly. “We believe they will remain in four army groups and head for the same number of mountain passes that will ostensibly see them safely to the inhabited Realm. Two of these groups mean to converge on Yandar, and the others on Kuudar far to the west.”

Diane shook her head; even she knew what disadvantages an attacking army faced in fortified mountains. She’d once ran those defenses herself. “Foolish. They’ll be crushed.”

“Decisively!” Metokai said proudly, evidently buoyed by a former enemy’s high opinion of fortifications she’d designed. “Valex fed the Supreme Breeder false intelligence that we’d been significantly weakened by your attack on the Demon Lord and couldn’t mount a solid defense.”

Diane stroked her chin thoughtfully. “They know the zombies won’t be enough to bring the Realm to heel, but they’re hoping to at least breach Yandar and Kuudar’s walls before the creatures are routed. That will allow regular forces to fight a foe that’s already been blooded. It’s an insanely optimistic plan, with far too many points of failure.”

“It will fail, decisively,” Psytalla declared. “And my counterstroke will see them blooded instead. We’ve raised forces from all the Demon tribes and split them into four armies which will each stand in opposition to one of the invading forces; once we have routed the enemy on advantageous terrain, I intend our armies to breach Saimonican territory unimpeded and quickly advance through the countryside at forced march. Already we have subverted three human towns; covert Whisperer agents within Lyzikanth, Vuzukanth and Mesonida stand ready to throw open their gates at our armies’ approach. Valedor assures me Aerykanth will soon be within our clutches as well."

Impressed, Diane trilled a low whistle. “Amazing. You’re aiming for all three major fortress-towns along the northern border, along with the major trade hub. Aren’t you overextending, though?”

Psytalla shook her head. “We’ll pull out if there’s attrition. Even seizing one of these towns would give me a needed foothold on the human side of the Wall, and we’re planning a consolidation period after the offensive regardless of the outcome. We have scenarios for success and failure alike.”

“It’s a bold plan, and more grounded than the Breeder’s,” Diane admitted, sliding her eyes over to Nyze. “I suspect you played some part?”

This caused everyone to stare at the dryad, bewildered. “Who do you mean?” Metokai asked.

Diane was equally confused. “Nyze. I was looking at her.”

Nyze grinned and slithered forwards. “Diane, your eyes have no irises. We can’t tell where you’re looking.”

“Oh. Right,” Diane said, remembering her strange visage. Her new form was gorgeous, of course, but its inhuman nature could be unsettling at times. Still, there were some advantages…

“You’re not looking at my breasts, are you?” Nyze asked, her voice low and dangerous.

“What? No!” Diane answered reflexively. “I was looking at Psytalla’s.”

That joke seemed to break the tension, even if the chuckles that followed were nervous. The three of them still weren’t sure how to act around her, Diane noticed. A Hero once, a demon presently, and bound to a goddess intrinsically linked to demonlore. She didn’t know what to make of it herself.

Well, nothing to do but keep moving forwards. She quickly set about putting action to intention.

“I am quite weary,” she announced. “I’d sooner save talk of the war for tomorrow. But I do have one last matter to broach.” Diane clasped her hands together, as if in prayer, and bowed deeply in Nyze and Metokai’s direction, earning endearingly synchronized expressions of startlement from both.

“Nyze, Metokai. We have little time until the war begins. Would you two please train me how to fight properly?”

“Seriously?” Nyze asked, her voice high.

“Seriously,” Diane responded pleadingly. “I have no fantastic god-powers to bolster me now, merely the natural strength of a demon body I don’t yet fully understand. I need experienced demon warriors to teach me. Skusea said her blessing will flower as my abilities do, but as of yet it remains dormant.”

Nyze shook her head disbelievingly. “When we first came here, you wouldn’t even let me fight, for want of showboating. Now you beg me to teach you?”

“Yes,” Diane replied with utter humility. “If you can forgive my hypocrisy, that is.”

Nyze glanced over to Metokai, as if for help, and the baphomet trotted over to her side and gazed up at her gently. “It’s your decision, serpent,” she said quietly.

The lamia grimaced. “Fine, fine. I’ll teach you, Diane, on one condition.”

Diane brightened. “Of course. What is it?”

Nyze placed both her hands on her hips and leaned forwards. “Stop apologizing so much! You look too much like a chastened pup for all the plant-blood in you.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I…” Diane began, then wisely clenched her jaw shut.

“I won’t go easy on you,” Nyze continued, then indicated the baphomet at her side. “And Metokai will straight-up kill you. For training purposes.”

“Instead of transformation purposes,” Psytalla quipped, clearly enjoying the exchange.

Nyze nodded assent. “So you’d best prepare, little flower girl. Tomorrow I will work you until every muscle in your body burns. Sound good?”

“Oh yeah. That sounds great.” Diane stretched and yawned loudly. “I should get plenty of rest. But before… Psytalla, do you mind if I speak with you privately?

“Of course not,” Psytalla said, eyebrows raised.

After the quietly curious Metokai and Nyze had begrudgingly filed out of the room, Diane pulled a folded, sealed piece of parchment from hammerspace and proffered it to the Demon Lord.

“Skusea gave me this to give to you. She calls it ‘inter-dimensional mail’,” Diane said, her tone lightly amused.

Psytalla took the letter and scanned it. Her eyes went wide with shock as she saw the inscribed names.

“Please excuse me,” she gasped hurriedly, and rushed out of the room. The dryad stared after her, bewildered.

******

Diane was up late into the night, for she’d spent a great deal of time abed but not asleep. In darkness and privacy she was content to explore her new form, and relish in finally gaining that which she had for so long been denied.

For the first time, her future held promise. She silently thanked her new patron goddess for that.

Afterwards, Diane drifted off into a long and restful slumber.