She was frozen, not moving a muscle. He could empathize with her, at least a little. He had also felt frozen when he heard His judgment. If she did not join his side within a few cycles after the next battle, his influence would apparently not be enough. Then it would be up to the other demonlords to try out their arts on her.

He had spent two cycles making the figures. And thinking about how he could get her to choose him. Because the consequences of her not doing so would be far-reaching. It would severely damage his reputation among the demonlords and diminish his servants' fear of him. At the same time, he had to appear as unimpressed as possible in front of Veidja and not show how much influence she could have over him. And if he exerted too much pressure, his plan would be null and void, as he had to respect her free will in this matter. One of the concepts that carried far more weight in this realm than in the human world.

So he had to make her realize how much worse it was should she not want to become his. "Before you think that, you gain nothing by refusing to make the decision." N'Arahn made a wide gesture. "In the end, everything here belongs to Him."

That was a bitter truth. It had never seemed that way to him before, but this time... Until now, he had had the impression of living a fairly free life. Since becoming a full-fledged warmonger, he had enjoyed the power that came with it. Had tried out what else he liked besides fighting. However, he had kept out of the intrigues surrounding the Black Throne as far as he could. Only in passing had he noticed demonlords who had fallen out of favor. Their decay before an aide killed them and took their place. That he himself might be vulnerable at some point had never struck him as a realistic possibility. But whatever he had built up would only last as long as the Lord of Hell allowed it. And yet he was prepared to risk a lot.

The look his angel gave him promised interesting times ahead. Well, she was in hell. Had she thought it would be easy here? That anything would get better? No, certainly not. And yet he couldn't help feeling that she resented him personally that this situation had arisen. That she had to make a choice that could only lead in two equally dire directions.

Turning back to Veidja, he said: "You have a little time to think about your options first. Later, we'll go on an excursion." With a mental command, he opened the door, behind which Darr was already waiting with Veidja's escort. The angel practically jumped to her feet. She seemed glad to get out of this room and away from N'Arahn. He had doubled her guards this time so as not to take any chances.

He could have watched her personally, but N'Arahn needed time to himself. Sure, he had been thinking a lot the last few cycles. However, there was one thought he had not allowed to occur to him until the very end, as it was outrageous. Could he face it before he took any further steps?

- - - - -

The Market, the heart of hell, was a place of wild activity, bright colors, overwhelming smells and strange sounds. Since they had stepped through the portal, Veidja's senses had been flooded with so many impressions that she felt dizzy. Without really realizing it, she had moved closer to N'Arahn, even accepting his offer to hook up to him.

Screeching, lesser demons jumped past, marked with colorful ribbons, apparently running errands. The corridor in whose side arm they had exited was wide and high. After a short time, it widened into a gigantic cavern, whose distant but still visible ceiling sparkled. The walls and floor were dominated by the blood red from which the Red Depths took their name, but were interspersed with other colors. The rock of the ceiling, on the other hand, was criss-crossed with countless glittering veins. They reflected the light from glowing plants, which at a distance resembled mosses, and intensified it, so that the vast space was bathed in a constant light.

Everything was too much, too glaring, too loud, too pushy. The angel would have preferred to close her eyes and ears, but that was not possible for many reasons. So she took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the details. To observe, to learn. What were the demons doing here? How were they organized? What was of interest to them?

First, Veidja caught a glimpse through the hustle and bustle of a square with dancers swaying in synchronized sequences, seeming to follow the music in complete rapture. Closer by were platforms of various heights on which goods from the human realm were on sale. A golden-scaled demon was negotiating with the vendor over a flat box made of glass and a material she knew as plastic, but which did not exist in the Broken World. Veidja couldn't remember exactly what the box was for. Something with pictures? If it was a machine, it wouldn't work unless it could be powered by muscle or heat. N'Arahn nudged her further, but she could also make out small figures and even human food. It took a lot of effort and energy to get such things across. What purpose did these objects serve for the demons? They were apparently popular. Perhaps as curiosities? As luxury items to show what they could afford?

But more interesting than the objects were the demons themselves. They laughed, they danced, they ensnared each other. Some things seemed almost familiar to Veidja. Warmongers in full armor conversed with demons in translucent robes which left nothing to the imagination. It could have been angels standing here in armor and airy clothing.

But it felt wrong. A smile that didn't reach the eyes. A blow that made a servant's head snap to the side. Clenched teeth, suppressed aggression.

Similar enough, but distorted. Veidja suppressed a shudder, but kept trying to take in any impressions that might help her understand.

In the middle of the whirlwind of demons and things stood an arbor, overgrown with strange yellow flowers, under which a velvety green sofa had found a cozy spot. Several naked bodies were lolling about on it, clearly in the throes of lust. As they walked past, a demon reached out a tempting hand towards Veidja, while a female figure rubbed his erection with her breasts. Slightly disgusted, the warrior turned away. Join the harem of a demon? That was an invitation she would certainly not accept.

But the other pleasures were no better. A little further on, long nails were being driven into the legs and stomach of a lesser demon on a black block to the jeers of the bystanders. Veidja could hear them placing bets on when he would die. His screams and gasps were only moderately muffled by a gag.

At another booth, radiant works of art were presented that must have sprung from a broken mind. A demon explained, in a voice that rang out, that angel feathers and hair had been used to make them. "And we were able to salvage some of their skin; look, this is where it was used. That was quite a difficult task. After all, they rarely leave their corpses behind. We had to win some scraps in battle, peeling them from the still-living limbs. What fun!"

The inhabitants of the Red Depths clearly made no distinction between their own kind and their enemies when it came to the joy of cruelty. Veidja was nauseous.

Unimpressed by all this, the demonlord at her side strode through the crowd on a path the angel could not fathom. Glances followed them, conversations were interrupted.

Veidja was glad that N'Arahn had not insisted on extravagant clothing. She was wearing her light-colored combat undergarments, but had not been allowed to put on her armor, which would have been her preference. Instead, the demonlord had sent her a knee-length dark blue tunic, as well as mid-height tan boots, whose material she preferred not to ask the origin of. The muted colors basically made her disappear among the colorful crowd, but for some reason it didn't help: she felt like the center of attention.

Demons kept approaching N'Arahn: messengers to bring greetings or offers. Demonlords to make deals or just exchange a few words. Each time, their eyes brushed against her, disdainful, curious, lustful, disgusted. As if she were an exotic animal or a strange commodity. She realized with grim clarity that this was exactly the case: she was potentially for sale.

A figure approached them from behind, its presence strong. Veidja's senses lit up brightly, despite her overstimulation. With a barely visible movement, N'Arahn had placed himself between her and the approaching demoness. In addition, the captains of the lord of the fortress had appeared out of nowhere, clearly shielding her from the surging of the other creatures. N'Arahn was protecting his property, that much was certain.

The demonduchess might as well have been a beautiful human woman. White, silky flawless skin showed on her arms and neck, where the light silvery fabric did not conceal her body. She was more veiled than most other women, but this only emphasized her beauty and curves. A sea of honey-colored curls was pinned up in an elaborate hairstyle; only a few strands wound tempting around her delicate neck. Her large blue eyes, a snub nose and a sensually curved mouth gave the impression of innocence and at the same time promised the highest erotic pleasures. Nothing about her under any other circumstances would have made Veidja think that this woman could be a demonic being.

"N'Arahn." Her voice was a purr, sweet and velvety. Veidja felt it as a pleasant tingle on her skin. She would have liked to be better dressed to please this woman. Perhaps she could touch her, trace the curve of her lips... It was only when the demonlord cut her off with his outstretched arm that she realized she had been walking towards the demoness. She had even raised her hand, probably to actually touch her. With a growl, she dropped her hand again, but did not retreat. Now she knew the danger, and she certainly wouldn't show fear.

"Llanna." The demonlord ignored the demoness's short pearly laugh. "What do you want." It wasn't really a question.

Llanna took another step toward him, cocked her head to the side, and stroked a finger across his chest. "So dismissive. That hurts." She made a pout and actually managed to look hurt. Veidja was fascinated by how real it looked. Unbelievably, she wanted to feel sympathy; she suppressed it. Acting, nothing but lies and deception.

Llanna had let her hand slide to N'Arahn's stomach. "You seem so tense. Would you like me to help you loosen up?" The demonduchess licked her lips, her mouth, cherry red, glistening. The innocence was gone, pure lust spoke from her gaze, radiating around her, making the warrior's knees weak. "You couldn't get enough of me last time. I was completely sore when you left. All over." The woman giggled girlishly and stepped even closer to N'Arahn.

"No." With a almost gentle but firm movement, the demonlord pushed the demoness away from him. For a brief moment, Veidja saw what was lurking behind the façade: unbridled anger flared up in Llanna's face before she hid it behind a smile.

"No? That's a shame. I'd let her," she pointed at the angel, "join in too. Apparently she still has a lot to learn about giving a man like you satisfaction." Her smile now had a cruel edge to it. "You know where to find me. But this offer was unique. If you still want my services, the price will be considerably higher." With that, she turned around and disappeared into the crowd as if floating.

Veidja felt the demonlord's hand on her arm; he turned her and pulled her with him. "Keep going." She agreed with him unreservedly this once, simply wanted to get away from here. To put as much space between herself and this woman as possible.

- - - - -

The encounter with Llanna had been unpleasant, but not unexpected. She was a masterful seductress, could make the blood of women and men alike boil in no time. What he had done to her... When he got involved with her, he had still been young and hadn't been able to control himself. But that was exactly what she wanted: control. In order to get the demoness, he had killed his master, a schemer who had been in her way. Even when he had become a demonlord himself, she had made him beg and laughed at him. And continued to laugh when she allowed him to take her brutally, desperately, again and again, until he could endure no more. She had devoured his pride, his self-control, leeched him dry and left him with the feeling that he had to come back to prove to her that he could do better. That he was worthy of her.

It hadn't come to that. The aftereffects of her skills had faded, and he'd withdrawn from the court and the other demonlords as much as possible as he began to expand his fortress.

Now... It had been surprisingly easy for him to reject her. Llanna was powerful, he didn't want her as an enemy. But he certainly didn't want her anywhere near him either. Especially now that he had his angel. Who knew what the demonduchess would do to Veidja. And he had no doubt that she was her real target.

But Llanna was far from the only one who would have liked to have had her way with an angel. He only had to look around: The other demonlords were drooling too. He could see it on their faces, hear it in their whispers. It was almost palpable in the air. An angel was walking through their ranks and they were not allowed to touch him. It goaded them.

N'Arahn was certain by now that this excursion had not been a good idea. However, it hadn't been his decision alone; they still had things to do... Now they both couldn't go back and he would try to make the best of it. But it irritated him to no end. This latent excitement, the probing with all senses. And here among all the demonlords, Veidja's scent stood out in particular. It should have drowned; instead, it was like a flower in a pile of ash: extremely striking.

When another demon approached, even reaching out to touch Veidja's hair, it was too much for N'Arahn. Anger and excitement still raged through his veins from the encounter with Llanna. He had to control himself and not simply tear a foreign aide to shreds. But he didn't have to tolerate the approach either. With a jerk, he yanked the angel out of the aspiring demonlord's reach, growled at him so that he took a step back, and shoved Veidja into a shallow alcove. He pinned her to the wall, baring his teeth and feeling the sensation of her tense body forced to press against his. N'Arahn was peripherally aware of his captains lining up behind him in a fraction of a heartbeat. For a moment, Veidja was shielded from the gaze and desire of the others. For a moment, he had her to himself again.

Her scent, it was maddening. It tickled his nose and made his thoughts wander. She looked at him firmly, showing no fear, as if she knew he wanted to protect her. But there could be no weakness here. No one, especially not Veidja herself, could know that his actions were not entirely of demonic intent.

In a harsh voice, he said what his blood whispered to him: "You smell like the sun. You should smell like me by now."