Fight it, so simple. For months she'd been terrified of this intruder inside her, Asmodeus. The horror had a name, Daimon said it could be weakened, it could be beaten. Fighting it should have been easy from the start; she had magic, she'd been an Avenger. The Scarlet Witch could fight for others, and yet she wouldn't fight for herself. All of her power, and Wanda was still a martyr to her own insecurity. Always succumbing to the conviction of that small voice in her head, suspiciously like her father's, that said she didn't deserve any better. Not love or peace, only perpetual pain of her own making. The demon was not the first to break her down, she'd done a fine job sabotaging and doubting herself long before Asmodeus ever reared his ugly head.
That Wanda loathed herself so much was more awful than anything the demon had done to her. All its horrible visions and threats, its accusations and damnation only succeeded because Wanda believed they were true. The monster had driven her to the brink of despair, but it was Wanda who pushed herself over. And now she was spent, jaded, wearied by all this suffering. She was finished with the fear and manipulation, with surrender and sorrow, with being the damsel in distress and her own worst enemy. Wanda started this, and she would end it.
Clinging to Daimon, she closed her eyes and forced the pain of her physical body away, focused on her spirit, energized and tenacious and there was something else. That familiar nest of her magic, her energy, fragile and small but restored by her resolve to resist and remain. Wanda let go of Daimon to stand on her own and gazed into the gloom haunting the spaces between the trees, deep and horrible under the murk cast by this place's perpetual night. Frightening to her, once upon a time, but no more.
This was her nightmare, her memory, her world to change as she pleased. With a flick of her fingers the sinister forest bent and twisted and melted away into grayish dirt and nothingness, and there was the demon lord, still wearing Wanda's face. Asmodeus froze, surprised, but only for a beat before he was leering at them, stare fixed on Daimon. "Come for round two Hellstorm? You won't find me so unprepared this time."