I published this story originally on and decided to add it here due to the shameless advertising on Ariadne's (Dead Chick Walking) Heaven and Hell. So... ya.
Disclaimer: I no own-eth the TUC. The Bane is now officially Hawt. Brace yourselves.
I'm dead. I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead, I have to be dead. How else could he explain the brilliant light that he could see without even opening his eyes, or the warmth on his body, the absence of pain? Good. The Underland, I am certain, will be more than happy to see me go... with a few exceptions, of course. Gregor. Aurora. Luxa. Nike and Howard, and perhaps Mareth and Andromeda.
While he might have not been in pain, he sure was stiff, as though he had spent months asleep on the ground. He sat up, feeling himself rubbing up against two others. Ares rolled his neck slowly, each pop sounding muted, as though his were stuffed with wadded fabric. It was when he went to stretch his wings that he noticed something was wrong.
His eyes flew open, though were squeezed shut almost instantly against the light. But the split second had shown him all he had needed to see. In place of where his wings had been at one time were two stubby human arms: not pale, though not coated in the thick black fur he had grown up seeing on his own limbs. The only explanation was simple, yet completely unfeasible. He was human.