Asmodeus fled to find the last thread of his host's consciousness, barely clinging to life in her worst memory, the place he kept her trapped when he took control of her body. It was a place he was surprised to find he recognized, an abandoned Italian island rife with ghosts and horrifying history, just the sort of place a demon could love. Why this was her nightmare place, he didn't know, and there was no time to take in the scenery, not with that meddler Hellstorm ready to tear him to pieces.
She was easy to find, a shade of her former self, a pale and bloodied simulacrum dying on the dirty floor of a derelict asylum chapel in her own mind. That she wasn't dead yet was no matter; that she had asked for death and accepted its inevitability was enough to break her last defenses. It was enough that Asmodeus could take what he'd come for. When he loomed over her, Wanda's consciousness stirred, and he changed his form to keep her from fighting, transformed into the one terrible thing that she most feared, that she'd never been able to defeat. What was left of Wanda opened its eyes to see herself in effigy, kneeling above her, eyes black and smile wide.
The demon dug his fingers into the avatar's chest, clawing into a bloody mess (so dramatic, the demon doppelganger rolled his eyes) to find a heart that beat erratically, lit from within by a strange glow growing dimmer. The soul, yes, the shard. Perfect, easy. No great traps or defenses, nothing to protect it but her own broken psyche in a frail shell. Asmodeus took a bite, bloodying his lips and laughing to himself. Wanda's dying manifestation, stared as the last of her soul was gnawed apart by her own ghastly reflection.