Veidja winced briefly when the demonlord took a black and purple blade out of the air with a circling gesture. This darkness, which was blocking her, was pressing on her soul, distracting her. For a moment she wanted to pull her hands back, a natural reaction to a demonlord so close, even more with a weapon. But to get her hands free... She had already proven to the lesser demons that she was no easy prey, she would teach their master too.

With one swift movement, the demonlord had cut the straps around her hands and made the blade disappear again. The remains fell to the ground, ignored. Veidja rubbed her wrists; the demons hadn't been too squeamish about her. During the scuffle, all the cracks and the stab wound had opened again. Nothing that wouldn't heal with a little time and mana, but uncomfortable. Her dress was already stuck in places.

After a quick look around the room (Only the entrance through which I came in, no furniture apart from the heavy chairs and the stone table. Bad conditions for an escape.) Veidja watched the demonlord as he watched her. She had never seen a demonlord without armor and at least a hundred scurrying creatures. The short distance made the impression no less intense. He seemed very confident, sat leaning back in the high chair, his forearms propped on the armrests. One hand was hanging loosely, the other he had placed on the table. His fingers were long but strong looking, with calluses on the knuckles. Unlike his creatures, he had no claws, but the angel knew that that didn't make the demonlords, warmongers in particular, any less threatening. Two black horns twisted from his forehead about two hand widths up where they ended in dangerous spikes. Long black hair fell on his shoulders. The strands that would otherwise have hung on his face were tied high on the back of his head. His chest was covered with a short fur the color of his hair, only a narrow strip ran down over his stomach. He still wore nothing else on his torso, showing off his broad shoulders, muscles and scars. No jewelry, no weapons.

His jaw was broad, his face rather angular with sharp features. A slight bulge ran through his right eyebrow; a blade must have almost cost him an eye once. A light stripe ran across the right collarbone to the left side of the chin where Veidja couldn’t see where it ended. How the demon could have survived such a wound she couldn't quite imagine. Her eyes found his gaze, bright emerald green. If she wasn't mistaken, she was greeted with curiosity.

There was a slight amusement in his growling voice as he asked her: "Do you like what you see, angel?"

She just continued to stare at him. She would not acknowledge this cheek with any answer. What should she like about a demonlord? He was the enemy. Cunning and wicked to the core. The halfway handsome shell and his almost polite demeanor could not deceive her. Liar. Killer. Scum.

She didn't want to talk to him. He was a demon and she didn't know what he would do with what she told him. Yes, she had given him her name, but that gave him no power over her. After all, it wasn't the name of her Old Soul, just the name she was currently called. She couldn't judge what he was able to squeeze out of her through these shadows he was using, but she would let it be as little as possible. And he had to use force to get his information, she wouldn't give him anything voluntarily.

"A warrior through and through, I like that." The warmonger showed his teeth with a broad grin. Veidja immediately fought the urge to flee or try to scratch his face with her bare hands. She had no chance against him, not in her current state, without protection, without weapons. She couldn't even spread her wings, because on the one hand they were still badly battered from the battle, on the other hand the demonlord blocked her ability to call them. For a moment her hands clenched the armrests of the chair in frustration. He had noticed it, she saw it by the twitching around his eyes. She felt the urge to grind her teeth. Although she didn't want to show any weakness, she felt still too affected, had herself and her reactions not fully under control again.

She didn't know why she wasn't on her way to a new incarnation by now, but she didn't intend to hasten it either. If she saw a realistic possibility of killing the demon, yes, then she would already be fighting. But at the moment an attack was tantamount to suicide. And there was nothing worse. An angel who voluntarily sought death was irretrievably lost. Their Old Soul... disappeared. Simply unimaginable, both for angels and for demons.

Both were equally bound to the Eternal Battle, and it was their duty, no, their nature, their raison d'etre, to contest it forever. After all, angels and demons were not humans who had room for fallibility and weakness in this regard. Humans did not have such a clear view of their destiny, sometimes despairing of it. If they gave up, it threw them back on their right path in their development, but they got another chance. Veidja remembered stories in which demons drove humans to suicide out of curiosity and sadism. Just to see what was happening to their souls and what effect it was having on the people around them. Disgusting.

This thought brought Veidja back to her current situation. She was sitting across from such a disgusting demon as if it weren't entirely unnatural. And she had to expect that he was exposing her to the worst that was available to him. But if he tried to politely deceive her, perhaps to appear harmless, to make her careless, he would not succeed. She knew what he was. And just because he didn't torture her right away, she wouldn't believe him to be soft-tempered. She was a battleangel, a warrior, not a benevolent enhancer who wanted to see the good in everything and everyone.

All right then. Perhaps there was still an opportunity to escape. Wait for it. Or the demonlord finally said what he really wanted from her. This staring contest went on for too long for her liking. She had to do something or her mind would wander too much. And maybe he could influence her that way too. Direct contact with demonlords was usually left to the archangels, as they were immune to their influence.

Those emerald eyes... she thought of the green of the gardens on White Mountain. The clear green of the carefully tended bushes, the lush green of the meadows on the slopes, the deep green of the archivists' garden coats. The greenish shimmer of the water in the ponds, large and small, when the light was right.

There! She did it again. Veidja, concentration! This was really not the time to lapse into daydreams. When eye contact broke, she felt dizzy for a moment, but she recovered quickly.

A movement on the edge of her field of vision caught her attention. Two silver goblets had appeared on the table.

"Mana." The demonlord motioned for her to choose a goblet. "Maybe not in the shape you're used to, but you need the energy."

He said it casually, as if he were just the helpful host of an exhausted guest and not her incarnate nightmare. Seriously? He gave her mana? Was it poisoned? She tried to capture the smell, but she couldn't guess anything more than a slightly sourish-sweet note. Well, she could dare. Either she gained by being able to regenerate better. Or she voluntarily took the poison intended for her, which most likely would not kill her. Then the fun would be over too soon, wouldn't it? And it saved her from being forced to drink the stuff. And not to forget: If she took a goblet, she had a potential weapon. Well, at least more than air.

She picked up one of the goblets at random.

~~~

What has just happened? Impressions still flashed before N'Arahn's mind. Images of polished amber that had been painstakingly shaped into filigree forms, imitating a dancing couple. Of goblets full of sluggishly flowing amber-colored liquid. The taste of sweet and bitter honey on his tongue. The glint of light on the amber fur of a sleek predator.

The angel's gaze caught him. How could have had that happen? She wasn't an archangel, her powers must be blocked by the fortress alone. It was... unsettling.

He wiped his concerns away. More likely it was a coincidence, maybe some kind of feedback. It was also possible that his curiosity, his own brooding, his thoughts had taken off on strange tracks. And finally the angel broke eye contact. If Veidja had been the trigger, she would have used his absorption to attack.

He watched her as she poured the contents of the goblet down in one gulp, while he himself calmly reached for the second goblet and took a small sip. After a moment's thought, there had been no hesitation for her. She simply faced what was coming; he could appreciate that.

When she grimaced in disgust, he didn't suppress his grin. "Tastes like blood."

"Yes. That's how we like it.” He winked at her when she actually rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"More?" She just shook her head and turned the goblet in her hands.

He lowered his eyes to his drink, pensively observed the red streaks that the mana left on the rim of the goblet as it swung. If he hadn't already expected it, the crunch of the metal would have warned him. The angel had flattened the goblet in his hand and flung herself out of the chair over the edge of the table, the improvised weapon on the outstretched arm aimed at the eyes of the demonlord. N'Arahn clasped her wrist with his right hand in a lightning-fast movement, stopping the sharp-edged metal just before his eye. Slowly he squeezed harder and tighter until the angel opened her hand with a painful groan and dropped the crushed goblet.

“I'll let that slide. Pretty predictable, but I admit that your options here are also very limited.” As he spoke, he jerked her away from him, pushing her back into her chair. Another sip of mana. She was right, hers tasted like blood. He liked the taste of wine better, too, but he just hadn't wanted to miss the effect.

Veidja glared at him across the table, she had to realize that he had played with her. But it would hardly have been forgivable had she not dared to try. And she had been amazingly quick despite her injuries. Was that the effect of the mana? Rather not.

Long-lost feelings flowed through N'Arahn with a new intensity. The will to explore, to learn. Acknowledgement for a counterpart. Pure joy.

“You are wild, angel. Save that, you will need it.” He raised his goblet in greeting to her. “And it would be a waste if you could only fight with such limited resources. There's so much more to you.”

N'Arahn leaned a little closer to her, inhaled her scent. Only tension and anger rose in his nose.

"Now that you are mine ..." He paused here to watch her reaction. But she had herself surprisingly well under control and did not show whether the wording appealed to her. "...I will use you as I like. From tomorrow you will be in the arena. My servants hereby have a new teacher.” He cocked his head thoughtfully to one side. "Or an upgrade of their common meals."

That was a reasonable plan. An angel for training his hordes. He would surely like that too.