The routine took over faster than Veidja had thought possible. The schedule usually remained the same and challenged her to the point of exhaustion. She had no way of measuring how much time passed, but she estimated that each routine corresponded to roughly one cycle. Without being able to see the course of the sun, however, this remained speculation.

The fighting in the arena was followed by a short rest, after which she was dragged to the bath. When she was reasonably presentable again, she spent time with the demonlord, who insisted on taking every mana offering with her. Not until afterwards was she allowed any real rest. For a while, in which she could just about recover until the next arena session was due. At first, she had tried to count the matches. But there soon came a time when she was no longer sure whether she was really fighting or just dreaming about how she bled into the sand of the arena again and again.

Only one thing remained to measure how long she had been with the demons: little by little, the rounds got worse. More lesser demons at a time, or captains unleashed on her as well. Darr, who seemed to hate her from the bottom of his soul, was particularly cruel. After he nearly disemboweled her in one turn, she got her armor back. Probably to last longer. N'Arahn himself never let himself go like that, but he liked to taunt her and goad his entourage.

She knew the fighting was the reason she was still alive at all. And she was glad that what fascinated the demonlord was something she was good at. Veidja was well aware that fighting for the pleasure of a demon perverted everything she had learned. However, there was also a way out: letting herself be killed in a serious fight. Although N'Arahn seemed to have himself and his creatures too well under control for that. The angel was in a quandary. She didn't really want to die. But to live like this? In captivity, as an amusement to her worst enemies?

Rationally speaking, it couldn't go on like this. At some point, something would go wrong and one of the demons would mutilate her so badly that she would no longer be fit to fight. Or the demonlord would simply lose interest in her. Then she would certainly have no way of escaping or even overpowering the demon. She didn't want to languish locked away in some chamber. She would not die, but would freeze if she ran out of energy and lost her will to live. And she would probably go mad in the long run if they continued to supply her.

Veidja had no intention of letting it come to that. She was defeated and shattered, but not broken. N'Arahn would not break her, no demon could. That thought kept her going. It kept her angry, and she needed that to want to stay alive.

And yet doubts crept in. What could she do? She was slowly becoming weaker and weaker. The growing fear began to paralyze her. Without contact to her companions, to the eternal stream of unwavering affection from the White Mountain, without light in her life, without real relaxation; it was all taking too great a toll.

Mother, help me!

***

"...an extraordinary spectacle, followed by a feast. For a small surcharge, you will be allowed to provide a fighter for the arena as well." N'Arahn was silent for a moment. "That will do. Send messengers to some high-ranking intriguers first. A proper fight will be a nice break from all the theorizing and philosophizing for them. The next batch of invitations will go to seducers and warmongers alike."

With a wave, he dismissed Gorf to carry out his orders.

"Ah, one more." His captain spun around as if pulled by strings. "Get a message to Tazeel last." More to himself and probably barely audible to the captain, the demonlord added, "Leave him to wait a little longer."

Lost in thought, he turned back to his planning. The time was right to lure the other demonlords with such an event. He would be able to demand high prices, extraordinary favors. On the one hand, word had already leaked out to the court that something unusual was going on in his fortress. On the other hand, he had not yet allowed anyone to approach his angel, so the curiosity of the other demonlords must be running high.

The warmongers in particular would hardly be able to refuse such a diversion. It had been long enough since the closure that the desire to fight was strong again. On the other hand, the next closure was still so far away that boredom would inevitably take hold.

The great rift in the Barrens, the Split of the Worlds, brought N'Arahn the very break between battles that he had always cursed. This time, he relished the opportunities it afforded him.

His angel would be equipped with weapons for the demonstrations; that required prior practice. There wasn't too much time left, but his creatures had understood by now that they better learn quickly. Whichever of them was sent into the arena was either victorious and rewarded, or dead.

Then there was the feast afterwards. Even though the fights were supposed to be the main attraction...

A mental alarm call and hurried footsteps outside his hall?

Cek rarely raced, but this time N'Arahn's captain crossed the hall at a run to drop to his knees slithering across the floor before his demonlord.

Even though he was instantly agitated, N'Arahn only looked at his captain, making him wait. Something important, and probably nothing pleasant, must have happened. But this was his fortress, his realm. He would not be startled, as if he were a frightened human.

"Well?" He allowed Cek to speak.

"Master, the angel has fled."

What? That was impossible. It shouldn't be! It couldn't be.

"I sent several hordes after her as soon as the dead were discovered, Master." The rasp and grind of Cek's voice tugged at N'Arahn's nerves. Or was it the message he brought? His angel...

How could this have happened? He had seen how her glow had dimmed. How the battle drained her so that she had to be carried out of the arena. She shouldn't have been able to take on her guards.

"Notify Darr; you each lead a horde directly. She can't be far." N'Arahn leaned back outwardly calm, extending his presence to find out where Veidja might be.

His perception changed, every energy in his fortress was a darker shadow. Surely the light of his angel should stand out from that...

Ah, one more thing. "I'll take care of your punishment afterwards." In passing he left this announcement in Cek's mind. He barely noticed the humble "Of course, my Master."

***

Veidja was running. She couldn't say how long; the corridors looked confusingly similar.
It had been nothing short of a miracle that she had been able to overpower her guards. Perhaps they had been too used to her exhausted obedience to expect an attack. The reason didn't matter, she had been able to kill them, had seen her chance and seized it.

Even now, she was relieved that no captain had been chosen to accompany her this time. In her condition, she would not have been able to defeat such a creature.

Still she ran, her heart drumming a matching rhythm to the sound of her bare feet on the stone floor.

Despite her haste, she kept listening for her pursuers, who she expected at any moment. At every bend, she tried to find the path that might bring her to the surface. "Up" was not a good plan and anything but an exact route, but she couldn't come up with anything better at the moment. It wouldn't be long before it would be too late for anything anyway.

In the distance (How do you measure distances in the corridors of a labyrinthine fortress?) she heard the whisper-soft but swelling clatter and clacking of clawed feet. Just a normal deployment of the legions or had they discovered her escape?

It didn't matter, she had to keep going.

But gradually despair spread through the angel. The corridors didn't seem to change but, if that was even possible, seemed to resemble each other even more. She could have walked in circles without noticing. She couldn't leave any markings to gain clarity without giving herself away. Apart from that, she didn't know of any way to work this black rock quickly but sustainably. Then just onwards, the main thing was to move forward.

She was cut off from her powers in the demonlord's fortress, but she could feel a slight change in the energies around her. She snorted in frustration. Unless she was reading it completely wrong, the demonlord had just found out about her escape.

In addition, her last reserves of strength were slowly failing her. The weakness started to creep deeper into her body from her hands and feet. Nevertheless, she pushed on, giving up was out of the question. One more corner, one more.

The sounds of the demons were no longer getting closer, they were moving away, becoming quieter. Hope burned as a small flame in the warrior's mind.

Another bend, another passage, another turning. The flame died out suddenly as Veidja found herself at a dead end without warning, the black rock just an arm's length away from her.

Before she could even turn around, she received a blow to the back and slammed into the stone. The smell of metal and smoke enveloped her. The demonlord had found her.

"Ah, it's over, all over." His regretful tone sounded like pure mockery to Veidja's ears. The demon pressed her against the wall with his body, the black stone rubbed roughly across her cheek. His breathing was even, but accelerated. The thin fabric of her dress let his heat through directly to her, letting her feel every movement. Her own breath fluttered, less from exertion, more from excitement and anger. Anger at being caught again.

"You really believed it, didn't you? That you could escape. That there was a way out for you." His mouth was very close to her ear. But almost more clearly, she felt the vibration of his voice through his chest against her back. The demon now only whispered, "But you're mine. Neck..." He stroked down from her neck and along her trapped arm, making her skin prickle. "... and crop." He drew in air through her hair, snorting in amusement as a strand must have tickled him. "As some humans like to say."

He was silent for a moment. "My fortress is a labyrinth. You can't find a way out unless I show you. I have all the power I want here. You are but a small will-o'-the-wisp in my darkness." Another pause, and still he held her captive with his body. "But please, do me a favor, keep trying. Flee so I can hunt you down." As he continued to speak, Veidja could almost hear the smirk he wore. "Because maybe, sweet angel, I'm just lying. Maybe you were on the verge of escaping me. Maybe I just want to bury your hopes. After all, I am a demon and that is my nature." She could only agree with him. She didn't believe a word he said, didn't want it to be true. The consequences would be terrible. It could not be.

He might have her under his control again for the moment, but he wouldn't break her. She wouldn't let him into her head. Didn't want him in her thoughts, didn't want him so close to her.

Didn't want that tingle on the back of her neck where his breath brushed against her. Didn't want the warmth he radiated to envelop her. Pervading her skin and muscles and softening the icy grip on her heart. Softened her like wax in warm hands.

No more fleeing, giving in. It suddenly didn't seem so bad anymore. It was just a tiny change. And yet he was no longer pinning her down; he was holding her, was suddenly her support, no longer her cage. Veidja was completely exhausted. Physically, mentally, it made no difference. So tired. She had waited too long.