So that was it. Her scent made her so prominent. Veidja knew what the demonlord had actually wanted to tell her, but for a moment she was just glad to have to deal with him solely. No other demons, no other impressions. Just the blur of activity outside the alcove.

She was still reeling from her encounter with this Llanna. It had only taken a few blinks of the eye for her to almost fall for her. That sensual vibration, the tingle that her voice had triggered in her, still resonated in Veidja. And now... N'Arahn was so close to her, his skin separated from hers only by the thin fabric. She could feel his heartbeat; her own quickened to the same beat.

The thought of their scents mingling, his lips brushing hers. She swallowed, feeling heat rising inside her. Stretching just a little. His kiss was certainly gentle, in stark contrast to this hardness that...

A screech tore her from her thoughts, but the demonlord held her gaze. What was she doing here? Oh mother, what had she almost done? It could only be the influence of that demoness. Shake it off, now!

"Leave me alone, demon. I haven't made my choice yet." Her voice didn't sound as firm as she would have liked, but it was enough that she reminded him of his duties. With a contemptuous growl, he took half a step back. "That just looked different, angel." He shrugged his shoulders. "But as you say. We still have a ways to go anyway."

When he was no longer blocking her view, she saw where the screeching had come from. Darr was holding a lesser demon by the throat, but had apparently dislocated an arm beforehand. Now he could no longer scream, only whimper in the grip of the captain, who looked at him dispassionately.

"Master?" N'Arahn finally turned away from her and focused his attention on the pitiful messenger. A band striped in various shades of red identified him as a subordinate of a demonlord, though Veidja had no clue to whom these colors belonged.

She furtively wiped her hands on the fabric of her trousers and took a deep breath. She felt confused and vulnerable. All these thoughts and feelings, were they just external influences? How much of it had been dormant inside her before? She had been on the verge of kissing the demonlord. Had really wanted him for that moment. The demon who had captured her, imprisoned her and forced her to fight in his arena. Who had given her the choice of submitting to him or handing her over to the Lord of Hell. And she hadn't given a thought to the consequences or how wrong it all was. No, she didn't recognize herself in that. It had to be Llanna's doing alone.

N'Arahn had sent the messenger away again with a few words and his captains had disappeared into the crowd as before.

"Come." Without looking at her, he walked on and she followed him. As much as it disgusted and humiliated her, she was safer around him at the moment.

Veidja kept up with the demonlord, though he was now picking his way at a much faster pace. If he hadn't wanted to be contacted again, he had achieved his goal; no one approached them, lesser demons literally jumping aside when necessary. N'Arahn was clearly no longer interested in introducing her to the pleasures of hell. And she wouldn't have said she minded.

Slowly, Veidja could see what they were heading for. The cave they were in was almost impossibly large, but there was another side to it. The path between the stalls, arbors and other meeting places widened noticeably, and the crowd thinned out. At the end of the path, far away, a huge dark hole led out of the cave. Any light that should have entered the passage was swallowed up right at the doorway. Two gigantic black gates flanked the entrance.

By now they were alone on the black-paved path and N'Arahn found his way back to a more moderate pace. Every single stone was inscribed with characters that were unfamiliar to Veidja. If she tried to read them, her eyes immediately hurt, followed by a stabbing headache. So she rather tried to estimate how far away the gate and this eerie corridor were. But she failed. The ratios were too distorted, and she didn't know whether the pavement remained the same width. And since there was no one on the path in front of them, she couldn't make an assessment in this respect either.

Good, then walking and keeping silent.

A glance over her shoulder showed her that N'Arahn's captains had stayed behind and were watching them. To the left and right of the path, the red rock slowly faded into equally red sand. For some reason, Veidja had a great resistance to touching it. Even the demonlord seemed to be avoiding the drifts.

Though he hadn't said anything about what their destination was, Veidja felt she could guess now. Who or what would demand such a march from a demonlord? It had become uncomfortably hot and there seemed to be no end to the walk. This was contrary to all the luxury and hedonism she had observed among the higher demons at this market. Except for the Lord of Hell, none of them would take on hardship. A path that made everyone feel small and insignificant, yes, that was somehow fitting.

She would have preferred to turn back or at least stand still, but she realized that she could not afford such weakness. She wanted to stand upright before Him and not be dragged before His throne. She owed it to herself.

Still... Everything inside her tensed up more with every step. Sweat stood out all over her skin, which was not only caused by the heat. Her sense of time evaporated as the air became denser. Again and again, the path blurred before her eyes. But she kept going until they arrived in front of the black hole in the red rock.

Veidja looked around in irritation. The gate and the entrance were nowhere near as big as she had expected them to be. N'Arahn and she could comfortably walk through side by side, but a third person would have had to get up close and personal with them. The black wings of the gate were covered with the same strange writing as the stones of the path, so she couldn't look at them closely. The way here had seemed like an eternity and the gate had seemed so gigantic from a distance. Resignedly, Veidja thought that everything in hell really was an illusion.

She still couldn't make out what was in the corridor. The darkness was impenetrable and she didn't want to enter it under any circumstances. She almost panicked just thinking about it.

"You're holding up well, angel." N'Arahn didn't look at her and his voice was strained, despite the kind words.

"Does that disappoint you?" she growled at him. She could well do without having to listen to any stupid remarks from him now. But he didn't say anything else, just signaled her to go ahead. Veidja gave herself a push, overcame her reluctance and plunged into the darkness ahead of her.

Although she hadn't summoned her wings since her capture and therefore hadn't spread them, she suddenly felt as if they were going up in flames. Her shoulders burned; she thought she could feel every fiber of every feather. How they smouldered, coked, she could smell them burning. At the same time, a blackness closed in around her soul, taking her breath away. She cried silently because she couldn't scream. Ash on her tongue, worms under her skin, ice in her bones.

From one moment to the next, it was over. She found herself on her knees and hands on the red stone floor. Tears dripped from her face and evaporated directly into the surrounding heat. Her throat was raw, as if she had been screaming for hours.

Veidja winced as a hand was placed on her shoulder. "Can you get up?" N'Arahn sounded apathetic. Did he know what she had just been through? Then, more quietly, "It's not far now."

She nodded weakly and stood up. It certainly wasn't going to get any easier, but she had to keep going. There was no turning back. She tensed briefly, then simply went straight ahead, there was no other way. She heard N'Arahn's soft footsteps close behind her, but didn't turn around to look for him.

The light in the corridor seemed to come directly from the walls. Everything was bathed in an unreal reddish glow. Fog (How can fog remain here?) blocked the view of the path, but it cleared after a few steps. The corridor opened up into a round, completely unadorned hall. She immediately recognized the only object in the room: it was the throne that N'Arahn had given her as a symbol. A clunky, oversized black armchair. No decorations here either.

She shuddered. N'Arahn put a hand at her back and pushed her along; she stumbled towards the throne, her legs almost refusing to work. No one sat on the throne, but what radiated from it was the same enveloping darkness that had brought her to her knees once before. With every step she took closer to the throne, the sensations from before grew stronger again. The taste of ash settled on her tongue, her skin tingled. Dizziness overcame her.

"No." She only managed a whisper and refused to go any further. But the demonlord was relentless, pushing her forward until only a short distance separated her from the pedestal with the black throne. Veidja breathed shallowly, striving backwards, only away. But N'Arahn had placed himself directly behind her, holding her tightly, keeping her upright. She could not flee.

She fought with all the strength she had left. She struggled, kicked at N'Arahn's legs, clawed her fingernails into his forearms, squirmed.

She cried again, unable to do anything about it. But this was just an empty chair. Only...

A shadow appeared on the throne. Veidja immediately lost all strength and control over her body. She barely felt that she was being placed on the floor, could only watch spellbound as the shadows condensed, swirled, became darker and darker.

Then He was there. His presence burned her to dust, extinguishing whatever hopes, wishes and dreams she had had. Leaving only pain on an unprecedented scale. Heat, cold, it was indistinguishable to her. She consisted solely of fear and pain. Body and soul screamed in unison with no prospect of redemption. There were no longer any individual thoughts; despair, torment and darkness were all-encompassing. Forever and ever.

And ever.

And ever.

- - - - -

When N'Arahn was allowed to rise from his humble posture, he kept his gaze lowered. Veidja was still screaming, as she had been doing for a while now. By now she was hoarse and the small, harsh sounds of despair tore at him like claws. His heart had become colder and colder and he would have liked to cover his ears.

No, if he was honest with himself, he would much rather not have brought her here in the first place. He was terrible, even for His own creatures. What an angel had to suffer in His presence... Well, N'Arahn at least had an idea now. His angel had never cried out before, not like this. This suffering, this fear and grief; he never wanted to see or hear her like this again.

But what could he do? There was still the possibility that she would decide against him. It could well be that He had shown her what anger He was capable of if she tried to avoid Him.

He had never felt so helpless. He wanted to rush to Veidja, carry her out immediately. Protect and care for her and hope that she would recover. But they were both still here and equally not free to leave.

The presence of the Lord of Hell penetrated his thoughts. He immediately blocked out everything treacherous behind strong impressions of previous battles. Recalling the screaming, suffering angels in battle was simultaneously so close and so alien to his true thoughts that it could work.

"The Angel Is Strong. Stronger Than It Appears." N'Arahn waited; he had not been asked to comment. "Take Her Back For Now. The Decision Has Not Yet Been Made." Slowly, the shadows on the throne twisted around themselves, then thinned.

N'Arahn bowed his head lower in confirmation and turned to Veidja. As he lifted her up, he realized how fragile she looked. Tears had dried on her cheeks, her eyes were red and dull. Although she had opened them wide, she didn't seem to notice anything. At least she had stopped screaming, only whimpering softly.

He closed his heart as he pulled her close and carried her down the corridor, looking only at the fog. He was almost back on the desolate path when His presence enveloped him once more.

"You Must Not Hide Her. The Demonlords Will Be Paying Her Visits." N'Arahn almost fell to his knees under the force of the command. He had actually toyed with the idea of no longer exposing his angel to the others so that he could better convince her to stay with him. After the encounter with Llanna, he had realized how quickly Veidja could fall under the influence of a skilled demonlord. But now... He could not refuse Him.

The presence vanished and N'Arahn gathered himself. As he stepped out of the temple onto the desolate path, he breathed in the hot, thick air with relief. They were both alive. And there was still hope.

Hope... A concept he had laughed at in the past, one he had despised. He looked down at Veidja in his arms and saw that her face was lined with exhaustion, but she seemed more relaxed than she had a few moments ago. Her eyes were closed, her breathing was even, no more choppy gasps.

What have you done to me?

The way back was easier and shorter, it always was. N'Arahn didn't know why. He had once come to the conclusion that if you could walk the way back on your own, you must have done something right, so it just seemed easier. Even now that he had to carry Veidja, his steps were springier and the spectacle of the Everlasting Market was fast approaching.

It was enough for today. He would return to the fortress with her and prepare himself for the upcoming services.

As soon as his captains could reach him again, he handed Veidja over to them. Continuing to carry her himself would lead to gossip. At that moment, he loathed the goings-on of the demonlords and their subordinates around him more than he ever had before. They cared for nothing but their own advantage. Their pleasure was the suffering of others. It was repulsing.

This thought and his unseemly disdain made him laugh so hard that the bystanders eyed him suspiciously. Was he going mad? That was always a danger and a crazed demonlord could carve up half the market before being struck down. But looking at the limp angel carried by Darr, they drew the wrong conclusions, fortunately for him, and turned away reassured.

He had to get out of here.