In a semicircle, they knelt before the black throne. The demonlords who had come to make a request, as well as those who had been summoned, as was the custom. He kept them all waiting. Whether on purpose or because He had a completely different sense of time, N'Arahn couldn't say. The deep shadows that filled the Black Throne did not reveal any facial features. Only with effort and a lot of imagination could one even make out His form. At least if one dared to raise one's head. N'Arahn had no desire to do so.

The uneven red rock stabbed uncomfortably into his knees and legs, and he had propped his head on his fists resting on the ground. His horns touched the stone, while his own hair blocked his view to the side.

No other place, no other situation, would have led him to take such a position. But here, all demonlords were equally humble and none would dare attempt deception before the Lord of Hell. He only appreciated that outside His throne room and everyone would do well to learn that quickly. From the mistakes of others, of course; there was no way to make one's own then.

N'Arahn knew that only he himself had been summoned today. The other demonlords were here to accuse him. First and foremost Tazeel, of course, but the warmonger Rhisa had also come, the seducers Brega and Kollun and the schemer Heten. Those were just the ones N'Arahn had recognized at a glance, another two or three had just sunk to their knees when he entered, having already made their point.

The dialogues with the Lord of Hell were inaudible unless He wanted them to be heard. Therefore, the demonlord did not know what arguments were being made, what exactly the charge was. He had not yet been heard, and he had to think carefully about how he phrased his defense, as he would not know who might be listening in and could convict him of omission if necessary. At least N'Arahn had no doubt what the subject would be: his angel warrior.

He had not given in to Tazeel, which the latter would not accept. Now N'Arahn was to pay for his resistance.

Suddenly and painfully intense, he felt His gaze on the back of his neck. N'Arahn stood up, but kept his head lowered.

"Show Her To Me." The Lord of Hell reached into N'Arahn's mind, demanding images. Immediately, he gave them to Him: Veidja, fighting in the arena. How he pressed her against the wall as he stopped her attempt to escape. Her disgusted look when she drank his mana for the first time. Even a shred of a dream he couldn't hold back. A dream in which their entwined bodies lay together.

However, he instinctively buried other impressions: The angel's amber eyes that held him captive. Veidja's weakness when she hadn't felt sunlight for too long. How they made the pact; this moment, this secret, should belong only to him.

The pressure on N'Arahn's mind lightened, but He was still very much present.

"The Charges Are Valid. You Make No Effort To Break Her."

A pure statement, not an accusation. And yes, it was true.

"Speak." Lies would do him no good. He had to tell the truth and find good arguments for his actions. Arguments that were not based on this vague, strange, unwelcome feeling that always crept up on him in Veidja's presence.

"Lord. I do not break her, as a broken angel would be useless for my purposes. A broken angel no longer fights and my servants can learn nothing." That was not enough for Him; N'Arahn could sense it. "It will take time and patience, but I am of faith that I can make her fall. She is a warrior, and even if she is an angel, I can assess her thinking, her needs, better than most of the others here. Because fighting is in both our blood." He was still listening to him. "A seducer doesn't understand that, his focus is in a different direction. But by letting her fight, I give her what she needs. I tread carefully in all other things, yes. I can't ensnare and dazzle her like a human. I need her respect. Her trust." That was all he could say, was sent back to the line. Had it been enough?

He didn't want to lose her.

The gazes of the other demonlords burned on the back of his neck as he left His throne room. The preliminary verdict had been pronounced, and it left both accuser and accused equally dissatisfied.

And yet... Basically a better outcome than he could have expected. N'Arahn was aware that his reasoning could at best be described as thin. The fact that He had followed his request, even if only in part, could be interpreted as unexpected mercy.

As soon as the warmonger had stepped out of the direct field of vision of the other demonlords, he clenched his hands into fists, tensed every muscle, braced himself and let himself be flooded by this pain, this unexpected feeling of helplessness that he had suppressed all this time. He only silently let out the roar that gathered inside him, tearing his mouth wide open so that the corners of his mouth stretched painfully. Flames danced across his skin; another expression of the furious rage within him.

Weakness suddenly overcame him. The flames died out and he slumped down. Hanging his head, he felt the emptiness, the gnawing uncertainty that had settled in his chest.

Mercy. He might have laughed if it hadn't been so bitter. The Lord of Hell was not called the Lord of Suffering for nothing. Suffering could be brought in many ways, and N'Arahn suspected wearily that He derived greater benefit from the choice soon to be made than a swift end to this situation would have promised. A chance, a hope that caused pain. If this was what He had wanted, then the demonlord could only marvel at His skill.

Enough.

He had to gather himself, get out of here at last. The temple was not a good place to show vulnerability. All the Red Depths were not, but in his fortress he could at least give a little more free rein to his feelings.

Though... Veidja.

With a soft groan, he rubbed the bridge of his nose with the heel of his hand. He needed to think. And before he took any further steps, he first had to survive the next battle. At least this time he had a different motivation than just killing and pushing back the angels. Whatever that was worth.

- - - - -

What's worse than a demonlord who holds you captive, has you half-slain on a regular basis and otherwise enjoys making fun of you?

Veidja sought a firm, wide-legged stance, stretched her arms upwards and reached out to the left and right. The limited space in her chamber didn't allow for extensive exercises, but when she didn't feel like she'd been run over by a rock, she tried to keep herself mobile. The arena fights did their part, but there was a lack of balance when she didn't move differently from time to time. She missed the playful wrestling matches with her companions, the dancing, the... No, she couldn't let herself think about the more tender aspects of her life on the White Mountain now. She could not give space to her longing for closeness and security, for lightness. Despair was always lurking at the edge of her consciousness and the shadow of the pact was eating its way into her soul wherever it found points of attack.

The angel led the wandering thoughts back to the observations she had made and answered her question herself: An unpredictable demonlord with a foul temper.

For a tiny moment, she had to grin at the image of N'Arahn standing somewhere with a small rain cloud over his head and a grim, miserable expression. But basically, there was nothing to laugh about this picture.

Something had happened and she couldn't figure out what. The last few rounds in the arena had been intense. But not because the warmonger had made her fight more opponents or tried out new weapons on her. No, the fights had actually been more like duels, because he had been alone with her in the arena.

As it wasn't the first time, she hadn't noticed that anything had changed at first. But then...

She lands on her back in the sand, the impact briefly taking her breath away. The demon reaches out to help her up. She accepts the help, but only to push herself off and ram her shoulder into his chest with the upward swing. At least that was the plan.

Instead, he sidesteps her, turns her and presses her back against him in one fluid movement. She expects him to squeeze, tenses up and wants to headbutt him. But his arms loosen, they are only slightly around her and she can feel his breath on her hair. Suddenly he lets go of her completely and when she turns around, he is standing a few steps away, his back turned to her.

She stops, unsure. The impression creeps over her that he has not avoided the fight, but her. Perhaps it is just a trick to tempt her into attacking him. So that he can make fun of her again when she fails.

She shrugs her shoulders. She doesn't feel like doing that today.

She has only taken a few steps towards the exit when she is pulled off her feet and sinks face first into the sand. Coughing, she pushes herself off, trying to get the sand out of her mouth. A hand closes around the back of her neck and the demonlord growls at her side. "We weren't done yet."

He seems genuinely angry, but she doesn't know why. Usually he took it with humor when she refused to play along with his games.

She is pulled up by the neck and awkwardly gets to her knees, unable to find a stable position. The demon is half bent over her, holding her in place. The tension between them is a new, strange one. N'Arahn grinds his teeth, then pushes her aside with a roar so that she lands in the sand again.

She looks up at him, more surprised than hurt. Is there a tremor running through the warrior? He gives her a look that is both dismissive and blazing with anger.

"Now we're done."

The fight ends abruptly.

Veidja shakes herself. This up and down in N'Arahn's mood had repeated itself several times. Sometimes she thought he was about to kill her, sometimes he seemed deeply distraught, sometimes she would have liked to bet that he wanted to wrestle her down. Not in a fighting sense... She didn't know which of these made her feel more insecure.

But she had made up her mind. Whatever was bothering the demon, a distraction could only be good for her. She would not hesitate any longer. If he gave her another opportunity, she would try to kill him or flee. She couldn't afford to leave it untried.

Still, it gnawed at her. What was wrong with him? And what...

Heavy, metallic footsteps approached.
That couldn't be N'Arahn, could it? There was no reason for his visit yet, as far as she could tell. And he especially wasn't making such a noise. Unless he was up to something.

Hadn't she just been thinking about how the demonlord was acting strange? Even by his standards. The angel readied herself for battle. Once again, she cursed the fact that she only got dresses after bathing. They simply weren't made to give her the legroom she wanted.

When the door opened, she could barely make out anything at first, as the dark shadow completely filled the door. Only the glimmer of the light sources in her chamber reflected on the metal.

It really was N'Arahn who entered, even if she would hardly have recognized him if she hadn't seen him at that terrible feast in this monstrosity of an armor. When he came for her or came to her, he never wore more than the iron-reinforced leather skirt. Now he was prepared for war. Pieces of black plating covered every inch of his deep red skin, sliding over each other. Spikes and thorns protruded from strategic places like his shoulders or elbows, turning his whole body into a weapon. His face was half hidden by the helmet, which left his horns exposed but protected the bridge of his nose. His emerald green eyes shone at her from the shadow of the helmet.

His hands were also completely encased in the black metal. They wore heavy chains that could only serve one purpose. Veidja involuntarily backed away as he took a step towards her and the door closed behind him with a familiar thud. She knew when he fixed his gaze on her that this time it was about more than a practice match. Veidja tensed; she would not be chained without resistance.

N'Arahn made no sound as he leapt towards her without warning. Despite the armor, he was fast, but she was faster. She dived under his attack, grabbing one end of the chain and getting behind the demon. She would use the chain to her advantage, perhaps she could wrap it around him. But he didn't even try to break free, instead twisting further in to look at her again. The tug traveled through her arm, but Veidja didn't let go, so she was pulled in the demonlord's direction. The piece of chain she had captured was getting visibly shorter and she was getting dangerously close to his reach. So she let herself fall, used the momentum of the pulling motion and slipped feet first between his legs. On the other side, she quickly stood again and pulled the chain up with a jerk so that it tightened around his waist and crotch. The screech of metal on metal hurt her ears.

Since she was strong, it lifted him off his feet a bit, unbalancing him so that he fell. She heard the clink of chains as he released them to cushion his fall with his hands. Quickly, the angel leapt forward, reaching past the demonlord for the other end of the chain. Almost there.