Mortezan stared at the Hellhound wondering, debating, if this would really work. How he longed to be able to walk again! Though it wouldn’t be his own unique body, he would finally have the chance to walk again. It’s time. I need to do this. He outstretched his hand, saying out loud an incantation from an ancient tongue that had not been used for hundreds of years.
After saying the incantation, he felt the same. No change. Then, piece by piece, he started to flow away into the Hellhound; the hound itself was laying down whimpering.
A few minutes later, Mortezan opened his eyes and could feel the changes almost instantly. It took a couple of seconds to get to his feet, stumbling down the stairs to his nearby table that was centered in the middle of the room. In the middle of the table was a cantaloupe; he grabbed it and with such ease, smashed it between his hands with no trouble. It worked. He looked down at his armored hands, sharp talons at the end of them. It actually worked.
He admired himself, looking down at his legs and thanking the Elders that he was without the tail. He raised his hand, a thick red mist came to life; a wicked scythe forming in one hand, a sword in the other.
Let’s see what this body can do.
For the first time in a hundred years, Mortezan was finally able to teleport out of his dungeon he himself considered a prison. He wanted carnage, and now there was nothing that would stop him from getting it.