Jasfoup released his wings, revelling in the freedom as they became taut, the tingle of fire through the membrane a feeling of utter bliss. The mortal world had been his habitat for centuries but was it any wonder most demons preferred to live at home in Hell?
Mrs. Peterson called to him from the sands, her flesh charring and renewing in a constant, eternal cycle. "You're looking a bit peaky, Mr. J. Been away long?"
"A minute is too long, Mrs. P." He held up his hand and willed the skin tone to darken to a healthy black. "Better?"
Mrs. Peterson had already been swallowed by the sand. Jasfoup let the updraft from the boiling sands fill his wings and with three beats he was up and away, soaring through the umber skies of hell toward the tiny city on the horizon: Dis.