Veidja floated through the fights as if in a dream. It was a good dream, almost a memory. The sounds and smells transported her to the Eternal Battle. She was rested and strong, had armor and weapons. The grotesque creatures sent into battle fell beneath her sword, drenching her clothes in bright red.

It was good. It was right.

Veidja allowed herself joy. Allowed herself to forget that she wasn't nearly as free as she felt right now. That she wasn't fighting for the White Mountain, but for a demonlord who was profiting from the spectacle.

For the moment, she didn't care. Between rounds, she drank the mana provided and changed her equipment as necessary while musicians entertained the arena patrons. She didn't think about it, took it as part of the war that gave her existence its justification.

It didn't matter whether she was killing crawlers or maiming captains. The main thing was that she could fight. It didn't matter that she was pierced by a bolt. It didn't matter that her leg almost broke under a heavy kick. It didn't matter that a claw tore open her side and her blood ran into her boots. She gave it all back and even more.

Then it was over.

She knelt over her last opponent in the sand. Her sword was still in his throat when she heard N'Arahn's voice echoing through the arena. She couldn't make out the words, her head filled with a constant roar.

Veidja leaned on her sword, the weight of it piercing the dead demon's neck with a strange mixture of cracking and squealing, and straightened up.

The portcullis to the chamber that had been available to her between battles had opened. She was released. Judging by the noise echoing down to her from the tiers, so had the demonlord's guests.

Suddenly Veidja felt tired and empty. With a careless movement, she pulled her helmet off her head and shook out her sticky hair. Then she tucked the helmet under her arm and pulled her sword out of the corpse with a jerk. She left the shield in the sand where she had thrown it after her last opponent's axe had broken it.

With heavy steps, she walked to the doorway. Any energy, any elation she had felt during the fighting had left her. She wanted to sleep, rest, maybe get a wash.

With a slight restlessness, she realized that she longed for the routine that had become familiar. She had been here far too long...

But today, not even this routine would be possible. The lord of the fortress had intended her as an entertainment for his guests. Even at the celebrations after the fighting. It was disgusting, but she had no choice. N'Arahn had made it clear to her that, if necessary, he would have her bound or presented as a will-less puppet. She hadn't yet decided how far she would let it come, but there was no question that she would show up for the festivities.

The last fight had taken its toll on her. Blood seeped from several wounds into her clothing and the upholstery of her armor. She would need another large portion of mana to close the wounds and be able to walk upright into the banquet hall. After all, she now had plenty of practice in caring for herself and healing injuries more quickly. Since the powers of the enhancers were not available to her, she had to get everything she could out of herself and the mana. The sun had really helped. Must have helped, even if she couldn't remember what exactly had happened. Veidja shook off the thought. No time for longing and daydreaming.

A short corridor, a small chamber. The battleangel left her armor and sword here. With regret, but anything else was pointless. The last time she had tried to keep these things, N'Arahn or his arena master had first sent her more opponents to tire her out. Then they made her bleed almost to senselessness to take everything from her without a problem. It had been frustrating and humiliating. Even the extra dead demons hadn't meant victory.

She had barely taken a few steps away from her equipment when the passageway into the actual chamber opened. Here, as expected, Veidja found a steaming bath, fresh clothes and a cup of mana. She drank from it without hesitation. As soon as she took her first sip, she noticed the outstanding quality of the liquid energy. N'Arahn seemed to really care about her recovering quickly.

As she removed the dirty and tattered clothes, her eyes fell on a cloth on the table covering a smaller object. Curious, she lifted the cloth and stared in amazement at the apple that appeared underneath.

It was flawless. Its green color would have been radiant if the omnipresent reddish light hadn't dulled it a little. Nevertheless, the apple was beautiful. And an impossibility.

Demons can't create food. Did he get it from the human realm?

Still in disbelief, the angel took the apple in her hand, stroked its smooth skin and inhaled the unmistakable sour-sweet smell, which immediately made her mouth water. She hadn't eaten anything since her captivity, only consumed mana in liquid form. This was a gift, a reward. Maybe even a bribe, but she didn't care. She sank her teeth into the pulp, letting the juice run into her mouth with relish. Every bite was a small explosion.

The demonlord was full of surprises. And this one, for once, was a good one.

As she devoured every last bit of the apple, she thought back to the last few surprising moments. After the same old but increasingly dangerous fights in the arena, she had first been given her armor back. Then, some time later, N'Arahn had suddenly appeared in the arena with an elongated bundle, the shape of a sword wrapped in cloth. Since suspicion was her constant companion, she had remained vigilant. Who could tell what he was up to?

The demonlord had tossed the bundle into the sand at her feet and growled, "Show me what you're made of."

She hadn't moved. "And what about my shield?"

"Don't be impatient, little angel. One thing at a time."

Veidja crouched down without taking her eyes off the demonlord and reached for the sword through a fold in the cloth. The hilt settled familiarly in her hand. He had not given her just any sword, but her own. Apparently his servants had brought him the whole "package" from the battle. She turned it back and forth, examining it. It looked fine so far, had even been cleaned.

It was the wrong time to get nostalgic, but Veidja saw it as a kind of small homecoming. With her sword in hand, she was closer to feeling like a full-fledged battleangel again.

N'Arahn still stood just a few paces away from her, waiting, watching. While she now had armor and weapon at her disposal, he had dispensed with both, still wearing only this leather war skirt that offered little protection. And yet he was, by all rights, as Veidja well knew, completely at ease.

It was all so pointless. She couldn't give up fighting. But she couldn't win either. She could perhaps decimate his legions bit by bit, provided he kept sending her into the arena and didn't lose interest at some point. But him... She had tried so many times now. Taking advantage of opportunities, using dirty tricks, doing everything she could think of. And she had become more creative than she had ever imagined. And yes, she had hurt him, badly too. But at the end of every fight, she knelt defeated in the sand, or he effortlessly banished her with his shadows.

Still... Now that she had her sword back, she wanted to use it.

Veidja took up an attack pose, bent her knees slightly as she pushed her left foot forward and rested her sword floating on her right shoulder. She lacked her shield as a counterweight and for her usual movements, but that wasn't a real problem. Carefully, she moved into striking range, trying to get to the demon's side, while N'Arahn still didn't stir. He seemed to like to make things more exciting by giving her advantageous positions. As soon as she had stepped out of his sight, Veidja struck. She had aimed for his neck, but N'Arahn ducked under her blow, turning to face her and just watching her again. She followed up, attacking again and again in quick succession. The demonlord moved nimbly despite his size, and seemed to sense what she was about to do, so he kept dodging her.

It was like a strange dance in which he only reacted to the angel's movements and repeatedly let her run into the void. It had its own grace, but it wasn't a real fight.

With her next attack, Veidja deliberately jumped past N'Arahn, rolling in the sand and grabbing a handful of the trickling grit, which she hurled at her opponent as soon as she was back on her feet. Even if it was only for the blink of an eye, it distracted him and the next blow struck. Her sword traced a path across N'Arahn's upper arm, but to her disappointment it was little more than a scratch. Not sharp. Perhaps it was some sort of compliment that they hadn't resharpened the blade, but it just annoyed her.

At least N'Arahn was becoming more active now. He blocked her next attacks by getting close to her and punching her arm away, or simply the blade if he thought it safe enough. Gradually her arm went numb, but as long as she could still hold on to her sword, she would not give up.

After she caught him once more by switching hands in the middle of a series of attacks, he began to disarm her. Over and over again, he took the blade from her. With sheer brutality, tearing the sword from her fingers at the crossguard. With pressure on knot points when he rammed his elbow into her arm, which was overstretched in a lever grip. Using her momentum when he blocked a blow just below her wrist and then simply took the sword from her stunned fingers.

Although she inflicted several small wounds on the demonlord, he seemed almost unconcerned. Only his gaze, focused, alert, piercing green, showed her that he was fully concentrated on their fight.

And then, from one moment to the next, N'Arahn ended the practice fight. He stepped into Veidja's strike, blocking her forearm with his so that she could not finish the blow. She didn't get a chance to attack again, as his right hand closed around her neck, his left around her upper arm, while he pulled her legs away with a sweeping kick. There was a muffled sound as Veidja landed backwards in the sand. The demonlord had risen up above her and placed his foot on her sword hand.

"That's enough for today."

Without another word, he had taken her sword and left. She had been too stunned and too exhausted to try anything else. Her first fight with weapon against the demonlord, and her own blood had not been spilled. Several surprises in one day.

Veidja shook off the memory and let herself slide into the warm water. The steady stream of mana she had had at her disposal today prevented any lasting damage. Still, she would have to live with the evidence of this "feast" that N'Arahn was throwing for the other demonlords for some time to come. But at least she could wash off the dirt and blood, indulge in the warm embrace of the water for a few moments.

This time, however, she was denied inner peace. The fear that had accompanied her since she had learned of the planned spectacle returned. So far, she had managed the easy part with the fights. She had no idea what to expect from the following banquet.