The crow soared through the pitch-black night its wings heavy due the long distance it had already travelled. Underneath the forest blazed in an infernal dance of red, yellow, and orange, each hue a testament to the relentless flames devouring the last bits of remaining flora and fauna. The crow's altitude waned as its strength ebbed away with every flap of its wings. The thick smoke consisting of nothing, but particles of death began to envelope the crow. Each gasp for fresh air was a struggle, filling the crows mind with blankness and stopping every thought it once had. Only sheer willpower led it stay in the air and continue its path.
The forest fire seemed endless, a hellish landscape without any escape. With its last strength the crow tried to remain in the sky, but steadily its distance to the ground decreased. It could already feel the heat of the burning twigs and leaves which surrounded it by now. Suddenly, the crow collided with a burning tree, its desperate flight interrupted. Sparks leapt onto its head, and the fire began to consume its head-feathers and slowly scorched deep into its skin. But the crow somehow continued its flight while the immense pain consumed even more of the crow's mind. Another collision with another tree extinguished the flames which had by now only left the bare skull behind, yet the crow continued to fly, defying any rationality.
The ground consisting merely of burning bushes and ash drew nearer with every flap of the crow's wings. The sparks of the bushes reached the remaining feathers of the crow, with futile effort it tried to extinguish these flames mid-air, which finally led to it plummeting into the earth. The impact was nearly painless as its nervous system had already been seared away, leaving only numbness behind. Here the tale normally might have ended, had the crow not landed upon a weirdly drawn circle. The moment, the crow hit the ground, purple light erupted from the earth, piercing through the nearby burning bushes. Within this unholy glow, it felt a resurgence of sensation, agonizing regeneration.
Feathers and skin regrew only to burn again in a cycle of ceaseless torment. The purple light faded after a short time, leaving only the fire and the crow's shattered mind behind. The regeneration kept up with the destruction of the flames, while the crow moved in contort, unnatural ways. The pain slowly took over its brain. Stripped of personality and thought, it became a being of pure agony. Time stretched, an endless expanse of suffering while the crows body reached unthinkable positions and twists. Until finally something changed. The sky darkened even more and heavy drops of rain began to fall, engaging the flames in a tremendous battle. In the heart of this elemental conflict, the crow writhed in pain, caught between fire and water. Gradually, the rain prevailed, quenching the last embers until the landscapes remained motionless under a thick layer of ash.
Weeks passed until suddenly a new being emerged amidst the ashes. The crow's skull, which pierced through the ashes first, was now stained dark but etched with luminous purple veins and glowed eerily. Its feathers had transformed into scythe-like forms, elongated and wickedly curved yet somehow still retaining a soft and fuzzy appearance. Its form seemed weird and incomprehensible, yet reminiscent of a crow. A dark purple aura radiated from the being, a blend of light mimicking long-extinguished flames and dark grey ash fragments, a testament to its victory over death. It was no longer a mere bird. It was something entirely new.
It shuddered, dislodging the remnants of ash from its now inexplicably larger body. Its initial movements were labored, a grotesque dance of writhing and crawling until it could somewhat grasp the use of its feet, now ossified and skeletal. Where once there had been muscle and flesh, only bones remained and yet the feet somehow moved. Each step felt powerful but numb, causing more ash to slough off the new weirdly formed feathers.
After a period of faltering movement, it reached a large puddle formed by all the rain of the last days. The still water reflected the inexplicable manifestation of this reborn being. Its eyes blazed like the wildfire it just encountered, yet radiated in an eerie, bright purple shade. Startled by its own reflection, it formed its first thought: "Deacrow – that's what I am". "A dead crow, yet neither of both." As this thought crystallized, it started to spread its wings. Somehow, this felt more accustomed than its first steps had, as if the sky was meant to be Deacrow's domain. The branching of its wings agitated the surrounding ash into a small, whirling vortex. With one final, lingering glance at its reflection, it launched itself into the air.
Deacrow soared through the different realms of the world. With each beat of its wings gaining more strength and might. Leaving behind nothing but a wispy veil of ash and an eery, purple atmosphere which slowly faded as it sank from the sky. It required no sustenance - neither food, water, nor air - to sustain itself. Its sole existence fed on something beyond mortal comprehension.
