She had been assigned a chamber with nothing in it but a bed, which at least seemed quite comfortable. Although she was tired and felt completely shattered, Veidja tried to find something that might be suitable as a weapon. However, the bedposts were too sturdy and heavy, and the black sheet could only be lifted, but not detached from the sides of the bed. If she wanted to sleep covered, she had to crawl under the sheet from the head end. Not that it was really necessary to cover up; as in all the corridors, it was pleasantly warm here too.

Light and warmth came from thin streams of lava that flowed along the wall in channels. Perhaps she could have used these streams of fire as a weapon, but on the one hand that would have resulted in the loss of limbs, which was not exactly what she wanted. On the other hand, an invisible energy field seemed to hold the hot rock in place so that she couldn't reach it. It would have been totally unreasonable to even examine it, wouldn't it?

Lost in thought, Veidja sucked on her fingertips, which were still slightly tingling.

After reassuring herself several times that she could not open the door and that there was no other way out, she stuck to one of the most important rules she had learned during the time between the battles of the Eternal War: If you get a chance to sleep, do it. And, well, she wasn't in battle, but she was definitely in a hostile environment, so she needed every regeneration that was possible.

An angel in hell. Veidja sighed as she stretched out under the sheet. She could feel her injuries close slowly, her muscles relax, her skin regenerate. The mana really helped. And if she got some rest now, that would accelerate the healing process even more.

When she was ready to fight again, she would show these wicked creatures what a battleangel was capable of. Perhaps the other angels were already looking for her and she and her companions would soon draw a path of just destruction through this hellhole.

The thought of wiping the smug grin off the face of the demonlord made her smile. Briefly she indulged in these calming ideas, then she fell into a dreamless sleep.

A sound catapulted her from sleep to wakefulness in a moment. And first of all got tangled up in the unyielding sheet. Kind Mother, she had completely forgotten about that. Stupid angel!

Somehow she managed to squirm out of bed and have solid ground under her feet until the door opened fully. The exit was completely filled by the captain who had overpowered her with the noose the last time. And he had that dreadful thing with him again. After all, it had cost him a finger, and this time her hands were no longer tied; she was also strengthened.

She watched the creature carefully. The encounters on the battlefield were too brief for detailed consideration, but she had received appropriate training. Again she compared her memories with what she now saw in front of her. A captain was a half-demon, a fallen human directly subordinate to his demonlord. He did not belong to the high demons, like the demonlords or their adjutants, but he was also not one of the millions of creeps who broke defaced from the bottom of the Red Depth, created by their masters. Captains were born of blood and ashes, the remaining shards of their souls enslaved and bound to do their service. This one looked accordingly similar to a human, but distorted, beefier than he should have been. The armor, which was fused with him in many parts, certainly caused him constant pain. Plus the inevitable obedience to whatever order came... This captain was certainly not happy with his existence, so it would be a relief for him if she killed him.

Veidja got into position. Maybe there would be a chance to get out of here sooner than expected.

The angel was surprised when the creature spoke to her: "The Lord sends a message: Do not waste your energies. The corridors are lined with my servants. You can enter the arena upright or be dragged into it, you will fight there either way. " His voice was an ugly creak that made Veidja grimace.

What should she do now? She hesitated and tried to peer past the captain into the corridor. He willingly stepped aside and let her see the bustle of red-brown bodies. The lesser demons were almost silent, but flitted around and past each other and thus filled the visible section of the corridor.

Veidja briefly estimated her chances. Alone, without weapons or armor against a few dozen. It wasn't impossible. But she didn't know where she should have fought her way and more opponents could be lurking around every corner. In fact, they certainly would.

Maybe it was better not to act quite so impulsively. At the moment she was the focus of general attention, which severely limited her options. She would go for now, but keep an eye out for an opportunity.

Veidja dropped her hands and took a more relaxed posture. The captain gave her a curt nod and turned around. He didn't seem afraid that she might stab him in the back. Well, even if that had been her plan, she was now watched by tons of these creeps, so he would have been warned early on. She wasn't exactly sure how the communication between the captains and the other servants of the master of the fortress took place, but based on her few observations so far she had to assume that orders were passed on silently.

With an unwilling growl, she followed the captain. Her bare feet moved silently over the stone surface. Only the barely audible, whirring hiss of the little pests around her and the muffled "pock, pock" of the captain's boots were thrown back from the black walls.

Corridor followed corridor, there were many intersections and all of them were filled with red-brown creatures staring at the angel. If she was not mistaken, the lesser demons she had passed followed her. The hallway behind her was filled with movement, still almost silent, which didn't make it any less eerie. Again and again Veidja looked back, because she did not trust that the demonlord really wanted to let her come to the arena unscathed. But the distance to the demons running after her did not decrease and none of them made a move to touch her.

The path seemed to lead them further into the fortress. The faint hope that the arena was rather outside became a pure utopia. The black rock of the corridor walls was increasingly criss-crossed with red stripes; a safe sign they were headed deeper into the Red Depths, further away from the exits that faced the battlefield.

It was all the more important to her that she remembered which branches they were taking. Veidja tried to take mental notes, but the corridors looked more or less the same. Sometimes the red color even decreased again. Did the captain lead her in a circle to confuse her?

After a while, the almost-demon finally pointed to a narrower branch at the end of which was a door that looked very much like the one to Veidja's chamber: black, unadorned, with no visible opening mechanism. As she approached the door, it jumped up and revealed a small room. Veidja considered briefly whether she should refuse to enter it, but the wide corridor behind her was still full of the lesser creatures. There were so many now that she could no longer see the end of the rows.

She shrugged. She had gone this far, and now she could see where it was all leading. As expected, the door closed behind her as soon as she put both feet over the threshold. In the room she found only a few hooks set into the wall, the purpose of which was not understood by the warrior. A slight curiosity arose in her against her will. Does it look like this everywhere here? Bare walls, hardly any furniture, always just black, black, black... Is that an intention or a necessity?

At the opposite end of the chamber there was another door that opened by itself after a moment. Suddenly she heard a noise that could only be brought on by the presence of many people. She stepped into the corridor behind the door, which led her steadily towards the rustle, and followed the rising noise level.

Only a few steps later, which led her around a corner, she saw from the corridor through a grille onto a typical arena floor: sand. The rustling, whispering, and screaming came from there, but slowly it had become more rhythmic. Veidja could now hear that a single term was being called; the many chaotic sounds had condensed into a two-syllable word.

"N'A-rahn! N'A-rahn! N'A-rahn! "