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"But you can," Aisne corrected, speaking up. "You must remember that Morrigan is a shapeshifter. You could impose that sort of thing upon him the same way you did the ice." she explained.
Vincent just nodded rapidly. "DO IT!" he urged, "It'll work!"
If he would've been raised human, no doubt about it, he would've been a jock.
"You can do this," Aisne insisted, "It's within your ability."

But time had simply run out for Morrigan; Naga ravished her with great pride and pleasure, though for the woman, it was unbearable. Her cries were such that Vincent was nearly ill, though she wasn't immediately aware of it; she was doing everything she could to shut herself down. Saving what she could, she started to lock away everything that mattered, before the man could get a grasp of them. She was a fighter.
She had to be strong.
It didn't take too long for Naga to finish, though every moment was unbearable for the priestess. He slipped from her and began to dress himself smugly.
She was already going over what herbs she'd need to take to prevent a pregnancy; she wasn't going to let them break her, regardless of what they thought.

Naga nodded. "So long as you don't kill her, I hardly give a damn." he replied, shrugging. Morrigan was trying to free herself again, and was screaming herself hoarse with expletives directed at the two.
Naga was bad, yes, but she would have definitely been able to kill him. Konton was another issue entirely.

Aisne nodded a little. "Really, all you are doing.....It's like molding a piece of clay," she explained. "When looking at your reflection, you see yourself. Do likewise for him."
But Vincent looked mighty, mighty ill. "This will not end well," he whispered quietly, frowning. "We're too late to stop them, but we may be early enough to stop them where they are."
He didn't even need to speak it. Morrigan's anguish, suffering, and shame made themselves very well known.

To Aisne's surprise as well as Vincent's, the new druid was getting very adept at controlling his abilities. Slowly, but surely, Vincent started to morph; before long, he was no longer looking like himself...
....though he didn't quite look like Po-ar either.
"Keep focusing!" Vincent instructed, "Mirror! Forget what I look like! Mirror!"

Morrigan glared up at him, barely wincing from the second cut of his. She'd taken worse. She had to be strong.
"I'm not that interested," she retorted, scowling, but her hold was quickly slipping.
Unlike her previous self, she had no magick resistance of any sort.

"Oh, man, you NEED to hurry," Vincent insisted, Morrigan's newfound pain surging into his awareness, eyes widening. "She is NOT in a good place."

Morrigan cried out in pain, not being one to cry out in pleasure, ever; either way, it was maddening, and sickening. That she was all the more influenced by poisons didn't help; she was already nearly delirious, and besides, she remembered what had happened in the past to the other priestesses.
So this was what it felt like to be burned alive. She trembled, trying to break free; she just wanted him away from her. She wanted to be home.
Everything she tried to focus on to keep her strong was fading quickly, and she had little idea of what to do as a result.

Vincent frowned, looking over himself. It was still hard to tell who he was; that much was good enough for him, and besides, Morrigan was...
He frowned. "She isn't herself right now," he assured Po-ar, who no doubtedly felt the same things he did, "you have to make yourself strong."

Morrigan cried out softly, closing her eyes tightly, tears streaming down her temples. If there was any pain she felt it was from the saltwater in her wounds; however, now all she felt was guilt, guilt and disgust with the demon and what she felt. She didn't want him, regardless of what he offered her. This wasn't right.
She wanted Po-ar, not him. She would have cried out for help, but at this point, she had very little faith in being rescued at all. She would have rather died at this point than endure any of this any longer.

Morrigan trembled, looking up at him in confusion. "P...Po-ar....ho...how???" she asked, wrinkling her brow in confusion. She ran her fingers through his hair, but something felt off, something she couldn't place. "If....If that was a dream..." she whispered, trying to sit up. "Perhaps it was a warning."

Vincent started to shift shapes even further; whether Po-ar continued or not, at first or second glance, he looked remarkably like the prince. The moment that he felt the spell had gone far enough, he teleported, disappearing into the ethers.

When he reappeared, what he found was disgusting. Without another moment's hesitation, he snatched Morrigan's feet, and focused on teleporting her far, far away.

Morrigan's eyes widened with confusion, however; while it was indeed Vincent, there was one critical difference Konton forgot to take into account.
They both looked exactly like Po-ar.
"W...what.... how???" she asked in disbelief, trying to grasp and understand the other things he said. Fight as she could, however, she was no match for the spell. She nodded a few times in consent.
Naga meanwhile took on Vincent. He unsheathed his sword, the faery man opposite stunned from the demon's strike; this wouldn't be hard.
Vincent raised his gaze to the younger Nagaroi; it was time to act fast. Weaponless, there was only so much one could do. His main priority wasn't fighting so much as saving his sister.
Naga lunged for the warrior, but Vincent was superior, dodging to the side and kicking Konton/Po-ar roughly in the chest. The sudden shock was enough to free the woman; he dove at her, grasping her arms tightly.
He sent her away, far away, back to Avalon; she would appear in a disheveled, bleeding, wide-pupiled and delirious state of being before those that could help her.
If he didn't teleport quickly enough himself, he already knew the consequences. Dodging more of Naga's attacks was one thing, and simple to do. The blow from the demon's tail threw him off.
He knew it was likely he would die in this place.