!!Trigger warning!!
Sexual content, including sexual abuse/ violence

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The lord of the fortress left, the door closed and she was alone again. Veidja would have liked to cover herself, but didn't feel able to. She was just relieved that everyone had gone.

Immediately she fell into a restless, barely restorative sleep. She had nightmares of red eyes, hissed promises of torture and abuse, of green skin on her body. Every time she woke up, however, she was still alone. When she felt strong enough, she pulled the remnants of her shirt over her. Her muscles and wounds ached and there was a burning between her legs.

She tried to get back to sleep as quickly as possible, but the nightmares wouldn't leave her alone. When her escort arrived, Veidja was just about able to stay on her feet, but she stumbled more than she walked. Fortunately, it wasn't far to the bathroom.

Once there, she got rid of her clothes in front of the door as usual. This time she found it harder; the hellish creatures' gazes seemed more piercing than usual. She dragged herself to the pool and slid straight into the water. Despite her pain and weakness, she washed herself several times and as thoroughly as she could. She almost enjoyed the pain of the wounds when she rinsed them extra vigorously. It seemed pure to Veidja, as if she could overlay the demonlord's touch with it. She tried to rub away all the smells and residue in order to drive out the memories.

It was only partially successful, but the routine helped a little. The angel stretched out on the warm, hard floor, stared along the stones and searched for pleasant thoughts. But they kept revolving around the heinous assault by the demon. His touch. His paralyzing powers that had kept her helpless on top of her wounds.

Physical union was anything but a taboo subject for angels. When She created the angels, She had made them different genders to give them the opportunity to learn to love both the familiar and the unfamiliar.

Often, especially before and after great battles, there were celebrations full of music and flowers, dancing and laughter. The angel warriors in particular needed a time when they could forget the atrocities of the battlefield. The festivals were an opportunity to celebrate life and love, to feel connected. Those who needed physical closeness sought out one or more partners to exchange tenderness and passion. Of course, there were also angels who were firmly bound to each other. But the battleangels in particular knew that they could lose the one they loved today at the next closure or that they themselves would move on to the next incarnation. That was why they often remained unbound, seeking intimate but possibly brief affection among themselves or with adventurous angels from other castes.

Veidja remembered back to the day before the closure, before her last participation in the Eternal Battle. Her partner at the time had also been a warrior, Weron. The dancing and partying together had not been enough for the two of them. They were used to expressing their feelings intensely through their bodies, so they had found themselves in one of the gardens.

When he had pressed her back against a tree, they had kissed intimately. His hand on her breast, she nibbling at his belt. Fingers wandered over her body, always gentle. She had been more exploratory, he had enjoyed being explored. Only after they had pleasured each other extensively with their hands had they sunk into the grass. They made love several times, were lost in conversation in between, then back into each other again. He was a quiet but experienced lover. He'd also fought in her last battle. She did not know whether he had emerged victorious.

All the angels who had entered into such a partnership with her had been careful to give her what she needed. And Veidja had done the same for each of them. The participants had always been full of devotion. It was about equal give and take, about feeling accepted and valued. Experiencing beauty when every battle brought new horrors.

That green-skinned demonlord, on the other hand... He had taken what he wanted and how he wanted it. And had only pain and humiliation to give.

Demons were just a twisted copy of the angels. Created by Him after His fall in the image of the angels, but perverted. Angels and demons were compatible, but not reconcilable.

Veidja shuddered at the thought of how demons amused themselves with each other. Or what a seducer like her tormentor could do to humans. Once again, a dark shadow fell over her, how at his mercy she had been. How he had searched for what could be worse, and worse for her. What he might have done if the lord of the fortress had not come.

She cringed in horror. Saw Tazeel's face again, grinning at her with a bloody mouth, licking his lips. Squeezing the air out of her to make her submissive. Feasting on her suffering.

Another image slid in front of it. N'Arahn pressing the greenskin against the wall. Throwing him out of the room. But also the hissed conversation.

Veidja frowned thoughtfully with her eyes closed. There was another problem coming her way, apart from the fact that she was already in an extremely unpleasant situation. She had never considered that there might be other dangers for her besides fighting and mutilation. Rape was unthinkable for angels. And with demons, warriors only thought in terms of living and dead. Lechery was not to be found on the battlefield. What experiences others had with demons was not important to her as long as the Eternal Battle was not carried to the White Mountain.

But now... The red-eyed demonlord's words and actions had shown her a new aspect of torment. And she had no shields for this one. She could endure pain. Death, even if only temporary, was something she had always faced undaunted. The danger of systematic torture had been manageable; no one had time for extensive cruelty in the thick of battle. And what demonlords and their creatures did after the battles... She had never been interested in that, after all, it happened on the other, unreachable side.

Even here, in captivity to a demonlord, it had hardly changed until now.

The peace and warmth of the bath did Veidja good. She had the impression that she could think more clearly again and get her emotions under control. She breathed more freely. Soberly, she considered whether her thoughts had illuminated all facets.

No, of course not.

Throughout the eons, angels had disappeared and never returned. There had been rumors, stories of betrayal and the unspeakable. She hadn't paid attention. She had enjoyed life as a warrior, a rush of fighting for the right path and savoring in the lulls that this life went on. When anyone asked her what she thought of the lore or tried to engage her in deeper conversation, she always waved them off. “When my Old Soul has struggled enough, I will find myself as an enhancer or archivist. Until then, I'll leave the pondering to the others.”

Now, however, her certainty was crumbling. She had been captured, not killed. Since she could continue to fight, there had been no reason for her to question. But demonlords weren't just about life on the battlefield. They were cruel and loved to bring destruction and death. But was that true for everyone in the same way? No, Veidja knew of their different ways and goals. Higher demons were not mindless like the mass of their creatures.

She had to laugh bitterly at herself. How else could the war between the White Mountain and the Red Depths have lasted so long? How else could it be explained that the humans were still at the mercy of demonic whispers?

She could have known better, she just hadn't wanted to. It had first had to beat her into hopeless captivity, and here into a particularly harrowing situation, that she took off her self-imposed veils. Too late? Perhaps.

She had been naïve, short-sighted. And had been for so long, even among demons, because for some reason her jailer had shown no interest in torturing her beyond a certain level until now. She shivered at the thought of what ways and means N'Arahn had not used. What she might still have to face. She felt no gratitude towards the warmonger. For whatever reason he was holding back, he would have his reasons. Reasons that were for his benefit, not hers.

Good Mother... She couldn't let herself sink too deeply into these dark thoughts or her fear would take over and incapacitate her. She had felt a taste of that panic earlier and it continued to lurk at the edge of her mind, ready to sink teeth and claws into her flesh.

But she wasn't stupid. She had hardened her body, she could do the same with her mind. Forge it into a weapon. Turn her enemies' idiosyncrasies, desires and, undoubtedly existing, prejudices against her.

She sighed. That sounded good in theory. But it had taken her many cycles to become a full-fledged warrior after her last rebirth. In the process, she had disregarded almost everything that was not related to the craft of war, as she had felt it to be her one and only true calling. And now... She barely had time to train her mind and harden her heart. She was without a teacher, in a hostile environment, lacking any support. She was battered, mentally and physically.

And she was still an angel, not made for twisted plots and lies. She could destroy herself faster than the demonlords could; she could... fall. The ultimate victory for Him and His kin.

One step at a time, she admonished herself. You must regain your strength first. You must learn to keep these new cruelties at least as far away from you as possible.

She heard the demonlord's servants at the door.

Learn quickly, Veidja!