A trail of ash and bugs, squirming and melting, followed behind the wounded demon, wherever it'd gone. Daimon would finish Asmodeus later, but for now, turned to Wanda, watched her stir, and knelt beside her, the fiery rage in his eyes dimmed so that when she looked at him, she would see someone familiar. He didn't say anything at first, simply looked her over before he sat and carefully pulled her into his arms. "It's almost over," he muttered, hand glowing over the hole in her chest. Wanda wasn't dead--that her tired soul still had a little fight left in it meant everything in that moment, meant that there was hope for her. Her ribs fixed back into place, curling over the hollow safe where Wanda returned her humanity. Muscle and vessels and flesh mended at the seams, folded over the cavity and healed completely. Once he was finished, Hellstorm met her gaze, pushed the bloodied locks of hair off her face.
"Still with me?" He rubbed his lips with the back of his hand and sniffed. He glanced into the darkness, sensing Asmodeus' recovering energy. "I need you to hang in there a little while longer. Think you can do that?"