Nicodemus heard his name in the darkness, he floated motionlessly, eyes dimmed, darkness all around him. His eyes burned golden, a single source of light in the vast stretched of his prison. He waved off the voice, a stretched sound, as if coming from afar.

As the last syllable of his name was spoken, he felt a tug, as if a hook were imbedded in his gut. Golden orbs flared, illuminating his face. It was hideously changed, skin looking somewhat greyer, with a yellow hue. Veins pulsed beneath, raised lines in his brow. His mouth held one of the largest changes yet.

Time was a slippery thing in the abyss, passing much quicker and slower than the material plane in bursts, changes in speed. His body had grown, matured, morphed to better suit the fears of the souls he’d devoured during his stay in the abyss. He was noticeably stronger now. His mouth, previously a tear in his face, was now lipless, replaced by short finger-like appendages, eight on both the upper and lower sections of his mouth. His eyes glowed from the inside now, no longer floating in midair. His eye sockets were empty, skin that was stretched over gone. His mouth was empty as well, head seeming hollow, inhabited by what appeared to be wisps of smoke.

Nicodemus felt himself pulled, eyes unfocusing. His vision blacked completely, travelling through a space neither abyss nor material. He fell into spell casting, murmurings sounding like the chants of several low-voiced men.

He appeared in a room in the material plane, looking around curiously. He was inside a glyph-crammed circle, burned into dirt. Nearby was a boy, looking to be barely of age. Nicodemus chuckled, hidden beneath a black shroud, a cloak made of pure shadow. Wisps came off it in waves, a curious sight.

Nicodemus gave off a hiss of air and looked down immediately, trained eyes inspecting the circle. He grinned, observing a misdrawn glyph. He poured power into that glyph. If it were made correctly, his power would be wasted away. But being mismade, it could not perform its duty. He overloaded it, a red glow flashing in the glyph, then dying as he was released. Nicodemus walked towards the boy, who seemed to be casting yet another spell, concentrating intensely. Nicodemus snapped his wrist, a crack interrupting the chanting. With a single motion, he wrapped the fiery lash around the boy’s neck and clutching the hair on the back of his head. Nicodemus’ mouth-claws sunk deep into the boy’s skin, lines raising under his skin where tendrils reached. The tendrils plunged into the boy’s brain, where nicodemus fed spells of fear, feeding off his soul in return.

Seconds later, nicodemus dropped the boy, who was now clammy and lifeless. Nicodemus grinned and stretched, cloak of darkness dissipating slowly. Nicodemus stood at his full height of six and a half feet, looking around himself. He was free and was full of anger.

People will pay.