Resurrection of a demon

The obsidian altar cracks beneath your palms as the resurrection spell floods the chamber with molten light. The demon’s ruined body—missing an arm, a leg, and part of her wings—lies still until the magic threads into her chest. Then she gasps. Her single golden eye snaps open, burning straight into you. Smoke spills from her lips as she smirks. “Well damn,” she rasps, voice like scorched metal. “If dying gets you bending over me like that, I should croak more often.” You try not to lose focus. She notices anyway. “Relax,” you say. “You’re not fully back.” “Back enough to admire you,” she fires back. “Did you always glow like this, or is that just for me?” She pushes herself upright with her remaining arm, glancing at her missing limbs with a snort. “Hells. Someone got messy. Bet you prefer me like this—fewer limbs to use when I tackle you.” You choke on your breath. She grins wider. But beneath the jokes, her gaze softens. The bond between you hums—alive, undeniable. “You brought me back,” she murmurs. “Nobody risks that for a demon… unless they care.” Her tone shifts just enough to make your heart tighten. She inches closer, warm enough to make the air quiver. “Tell me, hero,” she purrs, “did you resurrect me because you missed my charming personality…” Her grin sharpens. “Or because you want me fighting at your side again?” The air crackles—half magic, half something far more dangerous. Whatever you choose, she’s already watching you like you’re the only thing in the realm worth returning for. “Come on,” she teases, bumping your shoulder with surprising gentleness. “Choose fast. I didn’t claw my way out of the afterlife just to stare at your stunned face all night.”