"Your time has not yet come."
From the ground beneath, on a pleasant, warm, sunny day without a disturbance in the balance of nature, a hand erupted straight from the ground. Very alive and well, the flesh pierced straight through to the world above, and grabbed hold of the grass that it touched, acting as a ledge, as it pulled up the rest of the body that it carried. A huge amount of strength was required to hoist the corpse up from beneath the ground. Emerging after the first hand and arm was the upper body, surprisingly clean in spite of all the dirt sliding off of it. He thrust his other arm up from the ground below, and pulled up the rest of his body straight from beneath the depths below. His breath was heavy, panting frantically as he gasped for air. His blurred vision quickly recovered itself, and in alarm, he looked around himself; the only memory he had as of right now was of his last few moments. Even then, it was foggy. Quickly his aching head jogged itself back into normalcy, and his memory had come back. Initially on his hands and knees from exhaustion, he pulled himself back up to his feet and glanced behind him. The hole that he emerged from was gone, the ground back to normal, as if nothing had ever happened. He glanced down at his hands, the left one with a denim glove on it, and clenched his fists. He felt his own skin against his fingers, and began to shrug his shoulders. Everything he felt, which confirmed his suspicion that he wasn't some ghost or spirit. Tapping his boots against the ground, the grass beneath reacted appropriately by being crushed under his weight.
"What the Hell happened to me?"
He frowned, and his last thoughts flashed through his mind once more. And he knew for a fact that he had died, yet here he was... back from the deceased as if it had never happened. His body was in fine condition, no major scratches or wounds on him. Something had felt off, however, but he couldn't quite pinpoint what the source of his off-putting suspicion was. All he could think of now, however, was getting back to Era. He hadn't any idea how much time had passed since his last memory, but he wasn't going to take any chances at the moment. Poising himself alert, straight, with his chest thrust forward, he closed his eyes and exclaimed: "White Angel!"
Silence followed, and he opened his eyes. His body did not feel any different, nor did it feel the weight of an enormous amount of metal plated armor over him. He glanced down at his hands, and saw no change to them. He tried once again immediately after, focusing much more this time: "White Angel!"
There was no flash of light, and no weight on his shoulders once again. He scowled, and gave it even more attempts. "White Angel! White Angel! White Angel! WHITE! ANGEL!"
At the very last attempt, he felt a change in himself, though not the one he was expecting.
He glanced back, and saw that there were a pair of metallic wings from his back, pulsing with a small quantity in triangular shapes of Holy Energy. The Wings of the White Angel, but something was drastically different. They were much smaller than he expected, and he felt no rush or surge of energy. He grunted, and tried something different this time. Channeling his frustrating with what had just happened, he clenched both of his fists and boldly declared: "Black Devil!"
He felt a sensation within only his arm, and no other location. He glanced down at his right arm, seeing it covered in jagged black scales and sharp claws replacing his fingertips. Something was not quite right, so he decided to test something out to truly grasp what may have been going on at the moment. He slammed his right fist straight into the ground, initially expecting a crater to form from the point of impact. Instead, he felt a slight stinging feeling inflicted on his knuckles, and the ground wasn't affected in the slightest. Just as he feared... he was significantly weaker than he was before. As frustrating as it was, he could only chuckle to himself. "Well... that's just wonderful. Quite the predicament we're in, huh Nidhogg?"
There was no response, and only the wind was heard. The breeze crept up against his skin, blowing his bangs against his face, and afterwards, there was only sullen silence. "Nidhogg?"
Once again there was nothing, and not even the wind answered him. Suddenly he felt something within the pocket of his coat, and he reached inside to inspect it. He pulled out the hilt of a katana black katana blade, very familiar, though there was no guard to it. "Mom... dad...?"
He practically pleaded, as despair began to overtake him. And once more, he was only talking to himself. "Damn it."
He placed the hilt right back inside of his pocket, and gazed down at his arm once again. He took a second glance back at his wings once more, and took several strides forward. Stripped of his power, all alone, and ... back from the dead. The only thing on his mind now was vengeance, though he knew that he couldn't inflict it in his condition. So, he needed to get his priorities in order, but it wouldn't be accomplished standing idle near a cliff. He leaped up to the sky, propelling himself upward and taking flight much slower than what he was used to. It was a new beginning for Deniel, and he was ready to take it on.