She had already suspected, or rather feared, that Tazeel would not forego his visit. But she couldn't say what he expected from it. Surely he couldn't really believe that she would forget what he had done to her? In addition his doings in the human realm were still all too fresh in her mind.

She didn't sleep well the next night; dark thoughts and rushed dreams kept waking her up. It worried her that she couldn't predict what would happen. The seducer remained inscrutable to her.

At the start of the next cycle, Veidja took some comfort, albeit very little, in the fact that N'Arahn also seemed less than thrilled at the prospect of Tazeel's visit. He had dressed in black again, as he had done for all the recent official visits involving her. But his expression was sombre and the air around him seemed to vibrate with tension.

In a way, the slight nervousness that the lord of the fortress radiated made it easier for her to put aside the frustration that their last conversation had left her with.

Did he know that she could interpret changes in his tone and behaviour, those details, by now? Probably not.

You wouldn't want me to see your putative weakness, would you?

But she wasn't sure if she really saw it as a weakness. She watched the demon furtively. His thoughtful gaze, which seemed to pass through the closed double doors of the hall. The seemingly relaxed posture, leaning against his throne, the fingers of his hand repeatedly moving in tiny movements, as if he wanted to clench them into a fist.

The tension, the worry he showed, made him more comprehensible to Veidja. More approachable. Their similar feelings created a connection.

The warrior dug her fingers painfully into her leg through the fabric of her trousers.

Don't do that! He's just as cruel and your enemy as anyone else here. He may care. But you know very well that this is not about you as a person, but about you as a commodity, as an object of prestige. Don't try to make it easier for yourself by turning him into something better than he is. You can't afford to be naive.

And didn't she also prove his argument from yesterday right with this view? If only in terms of the similarities between the two of them. Surely she couldn't actually consider that?

N'Arahn might hate, and perhaps fear, Tazeel as much as she did, but his reasons were different. They were not allies, they just happened to have a similar dislike for the green-skinned demonlord.

The angel looked at the third ironwood chair that had been brought in for Tazeel's visit. Green sheets of fabric softened the hard edges of the dark piece of furniture somewhat, overgrowing the back and armrests like moss. Sick moss. The green had no healthy tone. Bands of a brown so deep it looked almost black held everything in place and completed the colour pattern of the Lord of Hell's right hand.

This fact had not surprised her when she had learnt it. All demons repelled her, but Tazeel had a special effect on her. Everything about him sent her senses into turmoil; he radiated a malevolence that seemed rooted in a deeper level of his soul. Yet his demeanour was not necessarily worse than that of other demonlords. Some of the things he had done had even been without any... artistry. She hadn't expected that from such a powerful demon, a seducer at that. The threats of a massive warmonger like Rackhar had left her cold, but one look at Tazeel was enough to shake her.

His visit would be a challenge. At the very least, he was the last demonlord who wanted to appraise her. But she didn't want to think about what would follow.

She released an unwilling snort as she adjusted her grey-blue belt and tried to find a more relaxed position on the hard armchair.

N'Arahn's gaze grazed her briefly. At least this green was vibrant; rich and lustrous. Stop. It.

"He's coming." The warmonger's voice was calm and low. It echoed a rumble though, as if the demonlord was growling at his own words.

Barely a few moments later, the heavy double doors opened wide to let the seducer through. He had brought two captains with him, but they did not step forward to accompany, instead finding a position near the hall entrance where they fell into a watchful immobility.

Tazeel strode briskly towards N'Arahn and Veidja without appearing to be in a hurry. He had chosen his own colours today: Long, loose-fitting trousers and a short vest in black-brown, decorated with ornate, squiggly patterns in that sickly green that seemed quite similar to his skin colour. The comparison was easy to make, as he showed a lot of his skin. The waistcoat fell open, letting the light fall on his bare chest. His dark brown horns curled gleaming from his forehead, curving first backwards, then upwards. Green ribbons adorned them, fluttering slightly with every movement of his head, waving with the demon's half-length, loose hair.

There was a slight smile on Tazeel's lips. Veidja was amazed at how pleasing this seducer could be. The reddish glow of his eyes unsettled her, but this time his gaze didn't seem to bore straight into her soul to leave a wrenching pain.

Stopping right by the chair prepared for him, the demonlord leaned slightly forward towards N'Arahn in an implied bow, then politely waited until the lord of the fortress offered him both drink and a seat. With a nod of his head, he thanked him before elegantly lowering himself into the cloth.

As the demonlord crossed his legs, Veidja saw that he wore sandals made of woven straps, green like the patterns on his clothes. She couldn't help but recognise the harmony in the image the demon presented. The glow of his eyes was muted, his movements restrained and he had barely spoken a word.

The angel was tense to breaking point with suspicion. N'Arahn didn't seem to feel any differently, for her right side was heating up and the warmth was clearly coming from the lord of the fortress. She hoped Tazeel was sitting far enough away not to sense this traitorous outburst.

If he did, he didn't let on. He only hummed appreciatively as he sipped his mana. He had ordered white wine, which Veidja knew was a human alcoholic beverage made from grapes. She traced the echoes of the knowledge embedded in all angels, which gave her an idea of the approximate flavour the seducer must have chosen.

Everything about him today seemed to radiate moderation, even harmlessness.

"I thank you for your hospitality and this wonderful opportunity to enjoy your company." Tazeel greeted N'Arahn with his drink and managed to look sincere. The warmonger just watched his guest in silence, though Veidja could almost hear the unkind thoughts running through his mind.

The seducer bowed his head slightly, set the goblet down on a small table and folded his fingers together in his lap.

"Really, I owe you an apology, brother. I wasn't a very polite guest last time. My position at court...", he paused, looking thoughtfully into the distance and gently stroking his chin with one of his long fingers, "... makes me a little cocky sometimes. Even I'm not immune to letting my nature get the better of me." He turned to the angel with an expression she would have considered regretful in anyone else. Something stirred inside her, wanting to make her offer him her forgiveness. But she reminded herself of the pleasure he had taken in abusing her; it had not been in the heat of the moment and it had certainly not been an accident.

"I know that my words are not enough. That something else is needed to make amends." His tone was so reasonable. Didn't his behaviour show that he realised his fault? That he regretted what he had done?

Mesmerised, Veidja followed the movement of Tazeel's hand as it slipped under his waistcoat, his thumb briefly stroking his bare, shiny skin almost tenderly. A rumble at her side suddenly snapped her out of the confusing heaviness that had gripped her.

She hadn't noticed the slender knife the seducer had pulled out, had been caught up in the flow of his movements, in the reflections of light on his skin. She blinked, trying to clear her head without showing too clearly how startled and confused she was.

Breathe calmly.

Stay alert.

He's dangerous, more dangerous than any before.

Don't let him ensnare you. You know what his true nature is.

"Ah, I'm sorry, brother. I didn't mean to alarm you." The demonlord placed the blade on the small table, revealing another item he had hidden in his hand.

"Like I said, I owe you, and I don't want this to come between us." He held a green crystal between his fingers. "A small addition to our contract at the time to cover the damage I caused." Before N'Arahn could respond, the crystal was on the table as well.

"Now for the harder part." Tazeel turned to Veidja, who would have preferred not to have his undivided attention.

She knew what he was and that she could trust neither his words nor his actions. Still, she couldn't help but see regret and guilt in his eyes. Shouldn't she at least give him the opportunity to explain himself? To ask for forgiveness?

"I was cruel. I caused you pain. I hurt your soul. How could you forgive me?" Veidja nodded absently, not taking her eyes off the demonlord. He took the knife from the table and stood up, taking a step towards her. She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, a shadow looming over her.

The friendly red gaze now passed her by.

"I'm not going to hurt her. I just want to make her an offer." There was a brief silence. "Of course I understand your concerns, after all, I was unnecessarily rude on my last visit. You need to protect your property." Property. Right, to this shadow she was just a toy, a commodity.

Tazeel, on the other hand, saw her. He knew what he had done to her and wanted to make amends. He knew that balance was important, harmony. She searched his gaze, recognising the understanding in it.

A flash caught her attention. The tip of the knife was aimed at green skin, found a place below the ribcage. Tazeel had stepped closer, gestured for her hand. Of course. His touch was soft and warm as he closed her fingers around the knife handle, pulling them closer. The red droplet forming on his skin welled up until it slid down the seducer's flat stomach.

"Demons are evil. And I, in particular, am a part of it. What I have done deserves punishment." Yes. "You are an angel, the embodiment of righteousness. You can create the just compensation for your suffering here and now." The demonlord's gentle words bubbled invigoratingly in Veidja's mind. Yes, justice.

He drew the knife even closer to him, guided her hand, and the blade sank a little into his flesh. The short pain-filled gasp he let out sent a gruesome shiver of pleasure through Veidja's blood. Punishment. Repay suffering with suffering. That was right. That was good. Or not?

The demon bent down towards her. She could feel the blade scratching one of his ribs. His odour enveloped her. Earthy; she thought of moss again. Moss that had overgrown something. He smelled of...

"You can end me here and now." Tazeel sucked in a sharp breath as he lowered the handle of the knife with her fingers around it. Just the right angle to kill him with one thrust. "Or..." Veidja froze. She knew it: the real offer would be made now.

"Or you use me to become that much stronger. To bring all demons to justice, not just me. To end it all."

She stared at him with wide eyes as he released his hands from hers. Her fingers opened, the knife slipped from the wound and fell to the ground unnoticed.

Tazeel lifted her chin with one finger and looked deep into Veidja's eyes. Scarlet caught her, seemed to deepen, pulling her with him.

"You know I can give you anything you want." He winked at her. "In fact, I can give you what you don't even know you want yet."

Veidja swallowed as she felt an unfamiliar desire rise within her. The demon smiled as if he knew exactly what was going through her mind and was approving.

Eating, drinking.

Wild, intoxicating fighting.

Bodies rubbing against each other, moaning.

And above all: The power to force demons into the dust with a wave.

Everything felt available. Desire flowed through the angel, turning into all-consuming greed.

Involuntarily, she opened her mouth slightly as Tazeel's face drew closer. She felt flooded with images of the green-skinned man laying everything she desired at her feet. She walked by his side across a battlefield filled with dead weaklings that she destroyed with just a swipe. Over demons, but then, why stop, also over humans, angels. Individual faces drift to the surface. A whispering, insistent, sweet voice murmurs to her who will kneel before her and perish. Who has harmed you? Who has shown you no respect? Who holds you captive?

No. "No." Veidja pushed the demonlord away from her. She suddenly felt clear again. „Never."