Gone Now, O Etrigan!

Deadman turned to Etrigan. "Now that's done with, don't you think you ought to change into something a bit less...auspicious?"

The bright yellow demon grunted, then chanted:

Gone now, O Etrigan!

And rise now the form of woman!

The flesh sank inwards on that frame. Muscle evaporated, skin stretching taught for a moment over bones before those shrank too, assuming a more human size and shape, the horns shrinking in to the skull, the barbed phallus withdrawing into the pelvis. It was like watching a kind of decomposition on high speed...except the eyes stayed the same. Aware, knowing as the demon fled the now-mortal form—and something else took over.

Yellow skin gave way to pale, soft flesh. High cheek bones, full lips that had never known lipstick. Brown hair began to to sprout from the head, with a single long streak of white. The flesh drawn tight over the bones began to fill out, forming broad hips and soft shoulders. The costume had reduced to faded rags, and now began to model itself into a kind of club gear—a ripped black t-shirt, a black miniskirt, fishnets and heels.

Breasts came near the end—a generous set that sagged without a bra, but caused the shirt to tent out and hang. Yet they continued to swell, and the ragged bottom of the shirt continued to rise, until two heavy hemispheres like small bowling balls sat glued to her chest, the shirt barely covering the prominent nipples, leaving an expanse of underboob and soft midriff.

Deadman whistled. The brunette blinked and then surveyed herself. "Typical demon," she muttered, with a trace of a British accent. "I am...Jacinda Blood."