He was excited. Indeed, something new, unexpected, was happening. He felt more alert than in the last hundred cycles, curious about the variety an angel could bring to his halls. He wanted to study her. Confuse her. And see what would happen.

His life as warmonger N'Arahn had become a nuisance lately. He had already started thinking about how to send his Old Soul back on the journey. But now...

The room where he waited for his servants to bring the angel to him was plain. His home was called Red Depth, but near the battlefield, where his fortress was hidden in the ground, earth and stone were black. And so the rooms consisted mainly of the dark stone and this one was no exception. It was a room without decorations, more like a dungeon than a room to be in. However, just right for the purpose of the demonlord. Nothing distracting. Just a stone table, two dark, high-backed chairs. Made of ironwood, downright damn heavy. One of the chairs was facing the door, the other was on the right side of the table. The demonlord looked at the double doors, lost in thought.

The warrior would shine almost painfully here. An angel in his halls... N'Arahn shook his head slightly. It was amazing.

Angels were not an unfamiliar sight to him. At every battle in the wastelands, he threw himself at the front lines of the warriors with their flashing armor. These encounters were mostly brief and very bloody; he raced from one to the next, he didn't care if he gave them the fatal blow. Only the ecstasy counted, the swath he cut. If he was really lucky, one of the archangels was on the battlefield. The only ones who were one to one his equal, maybe even superior. But what kind of demonlord would he be if he allowed an even fight? His creatures were legion, and he took advantage of that. But it was the Eternal War, and so the crowds of demons and angels left the field decimated but never finally defeated.

Now, however, he would be facing an angel, looking him in the eye without falling directly into a rush. He would be able to take the time to watch, without the heat of battle, without focusing on the killing. N'Arahn was excited about this experience. They would dine together. Maybe talk. He would definitely try to learn something.

What do you want to do afterwards? The corner of his mouth lifted as if by itself. He tilted his head back, propped it up on the rock-hard backrest, traced a groove in the ironwood of the armrest with a fingernail.

Unsurprisingly, his first thoughts led him to the battlefield. Two black blades cut the angel into manageable pieces. Too easy, too little.

Torture? The angel in chains on a table, nails, a hammer, branding irons heat up white in a bowl of glowing coals, thin knives, extremely fine ropes. Making the angel scream would surely be fun. And how long do you find it tempting if she doesn't fight back? N'Arahn snorted. One of the reasons why he was no longer concerned with mankind. It was boring when one's own superiority was too great. To resist, she needs hope...

Anyway, to confuse her would help keep it interesting. Treating her unexpectedly well was part of it. Right now, she would probably wash the blood and grime of the Eternal Battle from her skin.

Images forced themselves upon the demonlord: a naked body immersed in water, hands glide over skin, streaking drops, blurring them into shiny patterns.

It barely touched him. He didn't like to remember the reasons for this. His grin of anticipation had given way to baring teeth, which he shook off with a growl. Maybe later ... in case she needs an incentive for resistance.

He had to get to know her a little to find the right balance. What was it that drove her? What would her break so that she would be useless to him?

If she even survived by the time they met.

The demonlord felt a slight concern. He had made himself clear, but his servants were raw. They wouldn't knowingly defy his command, they couldn't, but they were no better than human children with a little bird.

Well, the comparison was a bit wrong. His "children" had teeth and claws that would have made any tiger jealous. And the angel was about as defenseless as an oversized hawk.

Nevertheless. Perhaps she was already dead. N'Arahn noticed that he was halfway up. He laughed to himself. There was something else in those bones besides paralyzing boredom. The thought that the welcome distraction, his new toy, might go away so quickly, ah, that actually bothered him. To be on the safe side, he should have supervised everything himself. That could not be changed now. At least he could make his servants feel his impatience.

The demonlord expanded his presence, seeped through the wide stone walls, flowed through the corridors. His creatures ducked under his displeasure as he reached out, searching for his captain, whom he had assigned the task. He found it, forced himself into his thoughts. Unexpected pain and total submission received him.

"Darr!" He pressed the captain's name violently into his head, using that one word to make the consequences of further delays clear.

"Master, she will be ready immediately," Darr replied resignedly. The demonlord withdrew again, wasting no more energy on his servant.

Only a few moments later he felt her in the hallway. His creatures and that bright, peculiarly inappropriate energy. For a moment he thought about whether the angel warrior could feel him too, but the thought was wiped away when the door opened.

The angel was pushed into the room, a noose tied tightly around her neck, led by a long staff. Her hair seemed to form a swirl of light around her face. Her strands fell open, but wildly disheveled, just below her shoulders. Her eyes shot out amber lightning, almost blazing. The angels face was frozen in a hard mask, promising battle. But N'Arahn admired her symmetrical features, the pronounced cheekbones, the small chin, the almost angular jaw. Her teeth clenched tightly, her lips pressed into a line. What would they look like, in other circumstances?

The dress she wore was as white as could be found on the edge of the Red Depths with all that black, brown and red dust. It was ankle-length, with a round neckline, and left the arms free. Plain. Although, it was no longer completely white. The demonlord saw red spots on the fabric and smelled blood. The warrior’s wrists were again or still tied and she went barefoot.

Behind her, Darr pushed forward, shoving her by the staff. The smell of blood increased and N'Arahn realized the reason for the pain he had found in the mind of his captain: Darr was missing at least one finger from his left hand and a deep gash ran from his nose down his right cheek. The angel had been defeated, but these beasts were terribly tough. Well, that would teach his captain to be careful.

"Release her and close the door behind you."

"Lord?" There was some disbelief in Darr's creaky voice. N'Arahn growled deeply and just looked at his captain. He immediately lowered his eyes and released the mechanism of the noose.

N'Arahn leaned back in his chair and let shadow power flow out of him, filling the room with it. The angel hissed. The shimmer that surrounded the warrior was muted. The temperature seemed to be rising, but the lanterns set into the walls continued to glow.

Darr had now completely loosened the noose and backed away to the door. With a nod from his master, he disappeared and closed the double doors to the room from the outside. The sides of the door locked with an audible rattle.

“Sit down, angel. Then I'll untie these ropes too.” Her nostrils quivered as if trying to sense a lie. He wasn't lying, he had no reason. "Come on. I promised you food and I assume that you’d rather take it by yourself."

He winked at her and tried a smile. He wanted to learn. So why not start by brushing up on polite manners. Politeness was exhausting and mostly inappropriate in hell. But it could also be a weapon. A fine knife, dazzling and hidden dangerous. Not exactly his preferred choice, but he had nothing to lose.

A steep crease had formed on the angel's forehead, but she actually strode to the vacant chair. With hunched shoulders and suspiciously watching N'Arahn's movements.

She sat down and the demonlord took a deep breath of her scent. Under the intrusive smell of blood, which was not just hers, he smelled very fine mint and honey. Unusual, but surprisingly pleasant.

She looked at him again with her flashing eyes and held out her hands to him without a word, but clearly demanding. Where was the fear that he had felt in her earlier? Angels were really amazing. And apparently pretty cold as ice. The demonlord was impressed by the way this warrior handled the situation, which was no less unfamiliar to her. Either she really was as intrepid as she seemed, or she just didn't understand the danger she was in. Or maybe it was a mixture of both. On the other hand, how did he know if angels weren't just a little bit insane in principle? Well, now he had time to find out. He examined her carefully. Her skin was a light bronze shade, but in many places there were hairline white streaks across her arms. Scars from past battles.

"Patience. Tell me one thing beforehand: What's your name?" He really wanted to hear her speak. A voice could reveal so much and hide just as much. She clearly didn't like the question, but a little more discomfort was good. N'Arahn leaned forward a little and increased the pressure of the darkness.

She pulled her lips back, showing her teeth, and almost growled.

"Veidja."

Immediately her lips pressed together again, as if she could be tempted to continue speaking otherwise. He loosened his grip on her shimmer a little, saw the very slight relaxation around her eyes which followed. Her voice was rough, deeper than he had expected. Was it just the tension and the hardships behind her? He would find out. A few times N'Arahn rolled the angel's name silently over his tongue, trying to taste it. It didn't echo, it was just a name. Somehow reassuring. An Old Soul that had already found its destiny could hardly have fallen into the hands of him and his servants.

He was torn from his contemplation when the angel raised his tied hands again invitingly. The demonlord almost let himself be carried away to laugh. He liked that fearlessness. In the last few moments he was already having more fun than in the last long cycle.