Third-person POV
Demonia saw a familiar forest, covered in strange shadows, shadows of indescribable shapes, the shadows were in plain view but hidden, shifting amongst the tree's he felt trapped, there was no way to navigate through the fog and the trees that he knew of.
He was lost.
His mind was wavering and he could no longer remember his own name, he was a creature amongst the shadows, to him they were faces of people he thought he knew, but they were now strangers, faces of people he couldn't remember, loved ones, enemies, his children.
He had forgotten them all.
Shifting.. walking.. falling to the ground, it had been hard to do anything in the fog, the weight of his body was too much to bear as he walked, passing one tree to the next, they had all looked the same but he paid no mind, he had to walk, to go and not stop.
Demonia was looking and searching, but for what he did not know, all he did know is that if he stopped, he would regret it, so he shifted, walked and fell, it was playing on repeat, he could not remember anything anymore, it was a constant loop of no escape, still he never stopped, he would shift, walk and fall, not remembering what he was searching for, but not giving up.
The faces of the shadows all laughed at him, some were whispering and others just stared, their pale eyes followed him through the misty fog of the forest, he could not escape them as they followed silently, moving from tree to tree to torment him.
At first, he had thought this was his own personal punishment from the great unknown, after all, he would probably deserve something so humiliating and depressing.
But no, he was not that open-minded to forces greater than himself, so he ignored the feeling he had in his gut to keep going, not looking back, he had no destination in mind, he was going straight forward.
Demonia was slowly losing his mind to a greater power, a constant struggle of dominance was at play deep within him without his knowledge but little did he know, he was fighting, shifting, walking, and falling was his attack on his mind, to stop would be to give control.
Since he was a boy Demonia craved control, control over his abusive mother, absent father, the creatures that glared at him on those cold dark wet nights he spent in the cage. Control was all he had as an adult, with his mother long gone he took control over his life, his wants and needs, his desires, he had to build something of himself with no one's help.
But he was alone and forsaken.
His mind was a prison and he was trapped, no one would save him from himself, this much he knew as a child if you want to change you had to do it yourself or succumb to your despair, Demonia had never blinked twice at such thoughts, he wasn't a quitter, he was a fighter.
Shadows of faces watch him crawl, his fingers deep into the ground he pulls himself further, deeper into the misty wood, he would crawl forever if he had to.
The shadows waited, waited to pounce the moment he showed fear, they glided from tree to tree in anticipation of Demonia letting go of his mind, to give in to the inevitable and forsake control, waiting patiently for the moment to arise, but after so many years of waiting...
..The moment did not come.
The thing that plagues his mind would never give up, as stubborn as Demonia they were two in one, constantly at war, neither one of them forming a bond, no.. Demonia did not want to be a monster, he did not see himself being one so he wasn't going to accept one, even if it lived inside of him, he rejected the connection as long as he could.
His mate... he did not remember the name or the colour of her eyes, the sensation to the touch of her skin was a distant memory, someone else's perhaps, he had thought that a face on the shadows that followed him would belong to his mate, but he could not remember, it was just all... blank.
Demonia wanted to shout, scream, tell the shadows to go away, to leave him be, but he could not form the words, the idea of speaking was making crawling hard, so he had forgotten all about speaking, not knowing how to anymore, so he did the only thing he could.
He crawled, hoping soon he would find anything, anyone, a sign... something other than these trees that all looks the same in a forest he swears he had been to before, but had no memory of.
The beast inside of Demonia was growing tired and weak, with each passing day that he kept Demonia in the depts of his mind he was losing the strength to fight him back from escaping and taking control once again.
He did not want to let Demonia out, to walk amongst his mate and people had been a distant dream, to possess your other half had been unheard of but the beast was special, he knew it the moment Demonia knew it, all those years ago trying to kill the beast.
Demonia had come too close to finding out how to banish him, return to normal, the beast knew he would do anything to protect his mind, the control he so helplessly craved, so the beast had him locked away while sleeping before he could do anything more.
He was good at playing pretend, but over the years the beast had grown bored of Demonia's life, war was the only thing keeping the beast from snapping, that and the sweet look of his mate's face as the color drained from her face as he made love to her.
He had loved to play with his mate, not knowing his own strength he had hurt her on multiple occasions without his knowledge or care, in his own way he was making her stronger, much like Demonia's childhood, the beast was molding her to be just like Demonia.
The beast did not only want control over Demonia anymore, with the war coming to an end, but he also wanted to control everything and everyone, starting with his scared she-wolf, Lilian, he had thought she would be perfect to bend to his will, to control one's mate had been a desire of the beast, the first moment he met her, he wanted to break her, if not for Demonia, he would've had his way many many years ago.
Demonia could hear all of the beast's words and thoughts, he could see images from what the beast was seeing, who he was hurting, and what he was eating, yet there was nothing he could simply do but watch on, stoic as he crawled.
He needed to get out of here, but how and why?
Demonia didn't know, but he kept going until he could not anymore.
He was getting out of the shadows, one way or another.