Dynasty of Demons
an excerpt

She was flying.
Her great wings beat slowly but strongly, speeding her high into the sky until she was looking down on the clouds. She roared her dominance to the world below, secure in the knowledge that none could harm her.
Fire burned deep inside her, and she let it free, admiring the way it carved brilliant patterns into the sky. She tumbled and danced through it, taking pleasure in the way that it enveloped her yet did not harm her in the least.
She realised that someone was watching her play, and she roared a challenge. The observer appeared human, but was no longer such - she could taste the death in the air around the pale figure, clinging to existence yet no longer flesh and blood. She roared again, long and low and full of fury. Only man gave rise to such abominations.
"Wyvernsbane," the apparition said, and she hissed her displeasure at the name. She was a dragon, proud and true. How dare the not-dead name her so?
"Watch your words, not-dead abomination," she said, and her voice rumbled and echoed with the power of her blood. "You do not belong here. The skies are mine."
"Not any more," the apparition said, and somehow it managed to sound incredibly sad, despite the fact that it was not-dead. "You are a woman, a human woman, the skies forever denied to you. Your name is Teremy Wyvernsbane. Remember."
Images shot through her mind - a life spent on the ground, a fragile human woman tormented by design and by destiny, her body too weak to handle the bloodlines clashing inside her and so bound by magic.
She doubled over, gasping. She was human again, in her original body, the dragon a fading memory and a series of sensations that she would treasure forever. She glared up at the apparition. It was definitely not-alive, her dragon side had been correct on that count.
"That was a damn dirty trick," she managed, coughing a couple of times. "Where the hells am I?"
"Oh dear. I'm afraid this is where things are going to get rather metaphysical." The apparition beckoned, and she looked around before giving it a Look. "You can follow me anywhere here. Just walk."
"Just walk. In mid-air. I hate this place already." She closed her eyes and stepped forwards. When her feet seemed to find something solid, she opened them and blinked at the sudden change in scenery, deep inside a damp but glowing cave. "Alright, metaphysical. Explain."
"Look behind you, first." Remy turned around and gasped in horror. A woman, of a similar age to herself, lay on the floor of the cave. Violent gashes covered her body, edged with the horrible black of decaying flesh. Beneath the wounds she was slender and pale, ears long and pointed.
"She's an elf?" she asked, and as soon as the words were out of her mouth she realised how stupid the question was. The elves had died a long time ago, about the same time as the dragons... "Or she's got an elven bloodline."
"You are like her, aren't you?" The apparition clapped approvingly. "I thought you might be. She was quick to notice things as well. Ah, she was an interesting one. I can sense her hand in your very existence."
"That's enough. Who are you, who is she, where the hells am I, and wasn't I lying on a road somewhere not long ago?" She panted slightly after the outburst, hands clenching and un-clenching. The sight of the wounded woman was making her feel rather sick.
"You're blunt, I'll give you that." The apparition folded its legs and seemed to hover in mid-air. She rolled her eyes and sat on the floor of the cave, in a position where she could see the sick woman and the not-dead at the same time. "I am Raphael Landen, or at least I was before I died." He shrugged. "That was rather... unpleasant, I will admit. Poor Natalie, she cried for days."
Remy felt her jaw drop. Her grandmother... crying? Nonsense. She had heard the name before, though, on the rare occasions when the formidable woman had felt maudlin enough to recount her youth. She was inclined to believe the not-dead - it wasn't as if Raphael had been important in the overall scale of things, except to a very few people who knew him and were affected by his death.
"She doesn't cry any more. No tears," she said, very quietly.
"She's dead?" The apparition looked genuinely pained, and she took pity on him. Although he was not-dead, he still had his mind, and the not-dead who took on the state by choice would have utterly destroyed her by now, while she was dreaming about flying.
"She bound herself to Haven." She gave him a hard look, to show him that she was telling the utmost truth. "It's the only place the Nine can't go." A pause. "The Nine. Demons. You've been a not-dead for a long time, how can you not have heard about the Nine?"
"How many people do you think come looking to tell me news?" he asked, and she allowed herself a snort of laughter. "Demons walk the Island Kingdoms freely?"
"Demons rule the Island Kingdoms," she replied, unconsciously flexing her arm as if preparing to swing a sword. "Issac Korodin summoned them about fifty years ago. He's somehow managed to bind his soul to a tenth demon. It turns out that the Wyvernsbane reputation as Dragon Slayers wasn't exaggerated."
"By the gods... That explains our friend here. From what I was able to gather before she entered her current state, she's a traveller from Laudeiron." He shrugged eloquently. "Admittedly she was already starting to rave, but she seemed genuine enough. Apparently there's some kind of barrier around the Island Kingdoms, put there by her people, and she was part of a group who got permission to come through the barrier and see if they could assess the situation here. They never even made it to land."
"Poor thing," Remy said, reaching out to brush a lock of hair from the elfin woman's forehead.
::Claws dripping black, pain pain pain pain pain pain, tearing me, why isn't he leaving marks, dear gods he's sinking his teeth into my neck, pain pain pain pain pain pain, someone help me! Why aren't I dying, stop the pain, dear gods stop it, salt water closing over my head and still I burn but I'm not hurt, why do I keep feeling pain, pain pain pain pain pain pain pain PAIN!::
"What the fuck was that?" she moaned, clutching her stomach in transferred agony. "That was the gods-damned Fourth! Fourth is a demon of poisons! Fuck!"
"I was afraid of that," Raphael said with a disgusted expression. "Her soul is dying. Her body is completely unharmed, just a few scratches from being tossed about by the water, but... well, you can see for yourself."
"That's her soul?" A horrible sense of finality settled across her shoulders. "That means that this is my soul... I'm dying, aren't I? I'm still on that road, and I'm dying."
"Yes and no," he said, and she gave him a glare filled with anger and pain. "Your body is dying. The healing ointments you used were made from Spear Root, a herb that only grows where demons have spilled blood. Your body has been slowly corrupted, and now the corruption is eating you away."
"Oh gods... That bastard was right... Oh gods..." She felt tears prickling her eyes and blinked furiously. "I don't want to die..."
"Listen to me! There's still a chance for you, but only for a short time!" She looked up at him with a combination of hope and fear writ large on her features. "Your body is dying, her soul is dying. I can transfer your souls, but only in the next few minutes! If either of you dies before I move you, you both die!"
"You want to what?!" she yelled, slamming her hand into the wall of the cave and blanching as it shifted like dough. "What happens to her? What happens to me? What about our bloodlines?"
"She's already beyond my help, you fool!" Raphael snapped, and she stopped short, looking at his furious expression. "You get to live! You're enough of a dragon in your soul to keep that bloodline, but the rest are gone! You'll get a bit of the elf instead, and frankly you'll be much better off! If someone hadn't limited you in the first place, your body wouldn't be destroying itself!"
Remy looked at the broken soul and felt a pang of sympathy. "If I do this, you'll make sure she dies quickly and painlessly, right?"
"Yes."
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let it all out with a long sigh. "Just... two last things, I swear. Am I still lying on that road? And, if not, is someone out there watching?" She waved a hand weakly, unsure precisely where 'out there' was.
"You're in a tent near where I died, as is the body you will be inhabiting. There are two men outside, they brought you both here. I think they were going to meet anyway, frankly, but as far as I can tell they both hurried once they found you. I could warn them what's about to happen, if you'd like."
"Well of course I'd bloody like!" Calm. Calm. Calm. "We'd best do this."

She shot up into a sitting position with a gasp, almost falling off the low camp bed that she had been lying on. She could hear a low but intense conversation going on outside the plain tent - Raphael and a gentle voice and a rough voice that spoke with difficulty, the not-dead must have been explaining what was going on while she recovered.
She looked around frantically, and found herself looking at what had been, moments ago, her body. It was convulsing, eyes very wide, and a low whimpering moan was emerging from her chapped lips. Doing her best to ignore the severe 'holy FUCK' factor of the situation, she grasped her hand and squeezed gently.
"It hurts..." her old voice said, and she felt tears running down her new face. That had almost been her...
"I'm right here..." she whispered, her new voice slightly husky and her new throat sore from what felt suspiciously like screams. "I'm right here, feel me? You're not alone."
"I want my mother..." Remy reached out and hugged... herself... tightly. "I'm so scared..."
"Shh." Despite the potential horror of the situation, she found herself just wanting to make the poor girl comfortable during her last moments. "I'm scared too. But it will all be over soon. Your mother's going to give you such a hug..."
Her body gave a sudden, violent shudder, and the stranger in her form screamed high and loud. She tore herself free and watched in mute horror as her body arched a final time and was still. A quiet breath escaped her lips and the body that was no longer hers was still.
"Oh gods..." she whispered, the full impact of the event striking her full on. "Oh gods oh gods oh gods oh gods... I'm dead... but I'm not... but that's... but I'm me..."
She scrambled backwards, hitting the low cot and keeping onwards, not stopping until the tent collapsed and tangled her in the stiff folds of canvas. She froze up, her new body paralysed by fear, horror and disgust. She was still her, but at the same time she wasn't...
Finally she gave in to the urges attacking her and screamed.

~ The vast majority of Chapter Eight and my first attempt at writing a body-swap. Props to my IRL Buddy Bill for the idea of having the soul-swapper be a Wraith.