Split of the Worlds (18+)

Anger distorted Tazeel's only just so gentle face.

„How dare you? How did you...?"

With a jerk, he looked up at N'Arahn, hissing at him. He had visibly lost his countenance.

Veidja carefully leaned away from him. This seducer was even more dangerous than she had realised. He had played with her feelings, although she knew what he was capable of. Although she loathed him like no one else.

The images he had fed her were blurred, hard to pin down now. She couldn't explain what had pulled her out of his mental grip. But she felt relief deep in her bones.

„I didn't do anything, and you know it. Get out of here now. You had your chance. Brother." Rarely had she heard N'Arahn so cold and yet so self-satisfied.

Almost trembling, at least the air around him was vibrating, Tazeel left the room. On his way to the door, he turned back to warmonger and battleangel.

„This isn't over yet."

This encounter had been every bit as unpleasant as Veidja had expected. She stood up to arch her back and stretch. She needed to move, and she didn't care that the lord of the fortress was watching her. He would know anyway that the meeting took its toll on her.

She didn't hear him, but she sensed that N'Arahn had come closer.

„Arena?"

While she was reluctant to agree with the demonlord on anything, it would be just what she needed now. A simple fight to get the tension out of her muscles and the greenskin out of her head.

She glanced over her shoulder. The warmonger wasn't looking at her, as she had expected. His eyes were fixed on the double doors, as if he wanted to make sure his unwelcome guest had actually left.

We are similar in that respect, aren't we?

For a moment, this thought did not repulse her as much as she was used to. She allowed it; these were exceptional circumstances.

With an approving grumble, she brought the warrior out of his contemplation. He nodded to her. On the way through the tunnels, he took off his long vest and pulled the red ribbons out of his hair.

Strangely fascinated, the angel observed him. Routine, everyday movements that she had never witnessed before. As absurd as it was, these little things made her see the normal in him.

He, too, was simply a man; a person with likes, dislikes and familiar routines.

Veidja rubbed the bridge of her nose with two fingers, annoyed with herself.

And on top of that, demon, even demonlord, generally a representative of evil and your jailer to boot.

It was definitely a good idea to clear her head with a good fight...

After the arena session, N'Arahn was in high spirits. By now, Veidja could tell quite well, even if such a relaxed mood had become an absolute exception for the demonlord lately. Their fight in the arena had gone well for him, he had clearly enjoyed himself. And she, too, couldn't deny that their skirmish had been satisfying. The demon had taken some hard hits. This time it was mainly his blood that coloured the sand in the arena. In the end, of course, he had defeated her, quite classically with the point of his sword at her throat.

Well, they had both got what they wanted. Sort of.

They were certainly both relieved to at least have driven Tazeel out of their heads. The warrior didn't want to think about the threat the seducer had made just then.