Well, wasn't Hellstorm was just full of surprises. Asmodeus rolled his eyes at the spectacle, as the scornful cacophony faded in and out like radio static, it's creator too distracted to sustain it. If Hellstorm's intention was to divert her attention, then he'd clearly succeeded. Wanda was preoccupied with staring, rapt and astonished, at Hellstorm, regretting that they were both so ethereal here. Witnessing their disgusting little romance wasn't on the demon-lord's agenda (useful information, though, he'd have to pass that on to Mephisto), and Asmodeus seized the opportunity afforded by their inattention.
Before the girl even had the chance to act on Hellstorm's command, Asmodeus crossed the space between them to make a wild grab at Wanda. He dragged her back by her hair, shoving her to the ground with one arm and blasting a fireball at Daimon with the other. So much for their little fairy tale moment. The demon glowered above Wanda, mirror face a mask of rage and desperation, as it scrabbled its fingers at her chest again. When she shrieked, the demon mocked her with a scream of its own and slammed a knee against her stomach to hold her down.
Panicked, Wanda grappled with her diabolic double, fighting against Asmodeus's last resort attempt for her soul. The demon's attack caught her off guard, but she wanted to defy him and all his hateful condemnations. Daimon's interruption had, sincere or not, done its job. The nightmare voices were silenced and Wanda, when she recovered from her shock, was angry. Fingers blazing with light she shot a hexbolt right into her own stolen face. Asmodeus rocked back, howling, his features twisting into something uglier, closer to his true form, skin bulging and horns sprouting from the flesh of his forehead. Asmodeus clung to the failing illusion, a grotesque monster hybrid of its own corpulent body and Wanda's.