Tazeel had acted extremely polite and pleased when he had appeared in N'Arahn's fortress. His tenor voice and his words had radiated nothing but joyful excitement.

Yes, the invitation had reached him. Of course, he had been thrilled. Congratulations on this successful surprise, it will be a grandiose celebration. Obviously he would tell Him everything immediately, after all it would be in His honor. Right?

All the while, the demonlord with the green skin had been smiling, showing his shiny black teeth and widening his eyes in exaggerated enthusiasm. The warmonger didn't need the red glow in them as a warning. Tazeel loved grand entrances, flashy clothes and affected speeches. He was considerably shorter than N'Arahn, with a slender build and high cheekbones in a somewhat lizard-like but not unattractive face, framed on one side by chestnut-colored curls. Did he appear slight, even soft? Yes. And there were no calluses on his hands. But he did not wield his blades with muscles, after all. Demonlords of his kind played with the minds of their opponents, and Tazeel in particular liked to be underestimated, only to strike devastatingly with a few words.

During the brief greeting, N'Arahn had understood every jab, every threat, every hint, but had not reacted. Aside from the fact that Tazeel was certainly looking for an opportunity to accuse him of lacking hospitality, he also had to be careful how much the seducer realized of his inner state. This demon was just too disgusting to him; he constantly had to suppress slight nausea when dealing with him.

He couldn't relate well to intriguers and seducers in general. They simply didn't share the same interests and expressed their needs in different ways. That didn't mean he couldn't respect their abilities or recognize them as useful. And there was no question that they were all highly dangerous anyway.

Tazeel, however, was in a class of his own. He was something like the right hand of the Lord of Hell and therefore had a greater say in many things than the other demonlords. And his presence repelled N'Arahn more and more every time, even if he couldn't grasp the reason for it. He couldn't even say for certain if Tazeel was the name of an Old Soul, if he was the only archdemon the Red Depths currently knew. The position the seducer held suggested that he was. And the power he had, subtle but always noticeable, also seemed to point in that direction. And yet his name did not taste like that.

If this was a deception, it said a lot about the true power that the demonlord could wield. But for this very reason, it would also be a clever manipulation to let this rumor grow. Something a really good seducer would do.

Such thoughts regularly gave N'Arahn a headache.

Here and now, Tazeel would be a guest of honor. Only one of many invited demonlords, but to be treated with special care. His every wish would be granted and he would take his place right next to the lord of the fortress. N'Arahn had to bow to this etiquette, but at least the seducer had heard about the event last.

Personally, he led him to the tribune, where together they welcomed all the other demonlords, their entourages or representatives participating in the festivities. A captain, he had chosen Cek for this purpose, handed them drinks in elaborately chiseled goblets, as well as bite-sized pieces of the precious harvest from N'Arahn's garden.

"So, how is the angel privately?"

N'Arahn shrugged his shoulders and maintained a neutral expression. The manner of emphasis had such a sleazy flavor that he would have liked to cut off the greenskin's tongue.

Tazeeel continued chattering away.

"It really is a shame that this angel was hidden for so long. We could have had so much fun by now. But an excellent decision to organize this festival. Something different from the market. Or the Eternal Battle. Isn't it? You don't get out that much anymore."

He lolled back in his chair and seemed to look around at the other guests.

"Everyone seems to be here. We can't wait to see what spectacle you have in store for us today." After a short pause, he added: "I wonder if all this fuss is justified."

Ah, there was the ice N'Arahn had been waiting for. Of course there were doubts. And it would be a feast for the other demonlords if the angel didn't live up to their expectations.

But he was sure that Veidja would not disappoint him. She couldn't help it, she would fight. And she would win. For a while.

The demonlords had signed up champions, a few had even wanted to send their adjutants to the arena. But he had been able to turn that down due to the high demand. He would take further advantage of this and follow up with more private events.

N'Arahn admitted to himself that the festivities he had planned and was looking forward to were not as enthralling today as he had hoped. They were supposed to be an opportunity to show off his spoils and thus increase his prestige and consolidate his position.

But the closer the arena battles came, the more he realized the risks he was taking. He could lose his angel after investing so much.

The images of Veidja in his arms as he bathed her in sunlight and she leaned against him came unexpectedly and unwanted. It should only worry him that his toy would break prematurely, that he wouldn't get enough use out of the angel. That the battles would turn out disappointing for the demonlords and that he would lose status and power as a result.

But for some reason, he didn't want to care about that as much as he should have. He had even been tempted for a brief moment to call it all off. Completely inappropriate.

N'Arahn noticed the look the green-skinned demonlord at his side gave him. Immediately, he bottled up everything that didn't have to do with anger or the upcoming battles and orgies. Who knew what the Lord of Hell's emissary could sense.

The time had come.

He nodded to Tazeel and rose. Instantly, a large part of the arena became silent as his subordinates sat and stood everywhere.

In keeping with the occasion, N'Arahn had put on his armor. Well, parts of it at least, for the helmet and gauntlets would have made him look weak in his own fortress. But he knew that the black metal plates covering his body and limbs were an impressive sight and stood in stark contrast to his red skin. Despite their heaviness, the individual pieces rustled softly on top of each other, while his massive boots could be heard from afar hitting the stone with every step as he approached the balustrade of the gallery. It was all for effect, he could walk almost silently in full armor, even run.

Now there really was hardly a sound to be heard from the ranks around the arena.

"My guests, demonlords, denizens of the Red Depths: Welcome!"

N'Arahn had pushed away all doubts, all unbidden thoughts. His voice sounded clear and firm, rumbling throughout the area.

"As you already know, I have made a special catch. A battleangel! Stolen from the White Mountain straight from the Eternal Battle."

With a broad gesture, he pointed into the arena, at the side of which a heavy metal grate was raised. Veidja stepped out of the dark corridor with her head held high, her light figure almost painfully clear against the gloomy background. He had had her white battle robes remade as best he could and her armor repaired. The warrior shone from within and laid another layer of light over the well-lit arena sand; just a shimmer, but recognizable to any demon at first glance. A low murmur spread through the ranks. Even on the terrace behind him, reserved for the demonlords, N'Arahn could sense stirrings among his guests.

His angel wore her ash-blond hair loose so that it lay over the silvery metal of her armor. She had not yet put on her helmet, but tucked it under her arm, where she also carried her shield. N'Arahn had ordered her to appear without her helmet at first; he wanted his guests to see her face. To his astonishment, she had only shrugged it off.

In her other hand, Veidja carried her half-length sword in a loose grip. A layman might have thought that the sword could slip out of the angel's hand at any time. But the demonlord knew from his own experience that she wielded it with professional ease. Once she had a hold of it, she almost became one with it.

For N'Arahn, it was amazing how quickly Veidja had recovered since she had been strengthened by the sunlight. Mana alone had not been able to accomplish this, had only restored the deeply exhausted angel physically. But it hadn't taken long after her visit to the garden for her to defeat his servants again almost effortlessly. His losses among the crawlers became too high when he gave her back her weapons, so he resorted to letting his captains fight foremost or sending her into the sand himself.

All good preparation for this moment, too.

"Since I know you are eagerly waiting for the first blood to be shed, we will begin immediately: Open the gates!"

Two gates in the arena opened and let in a dozen crawlers. They were not his own, but a mixture of his guests' servants, recognizable by the colors of their masters. Just a warm-up exercise for his angel, but the demonlords needed to feel like they had a say in the fights from the first moment.

While the lesser demons lined up in a wide circle around Veidja, she calmly put on her helmet, seemingly without even glancing at her enemies.

When the carnage began a moment later, N'Arahn turned away from the arena. His guests stared down, spellbound. Some showed their curiosity and thirst for blood more, others less.

The lord of the fortress was not surprised that Tazeel was watching him instead of the fight. He nodded to him indifferently and grabbed a goblet to take a drink. He knew he had only had the choicest of drinks set out; but he tasted nothing but dust.