Split of the Worlds

Chapter 1.3

Veidja winced briefly when the demonlord took a black and purple blade out of the air with a circling gesture. This darkness, which was blocking her, was pressing on her soul, distracting her. For a moment she wanted to pull her hands back, a natural reaction to a demonlord so close, even more with a weapon. But to get her hands free... She had already proven to the lesser demons that she was no easy prey, she would teach their master too.

With one swift movement, the demonlord had cut the straps around her hands and made the blade disappear again. The remains fell to the ground, ignored. Veidja rubbed her wrists; the demons hadn't been too squeamish about her. During the scuffle, all the cracks and the stab wound had opened again. Nothing that wouldn't heal with a little time and mana, but uncomfortable. Her dress was already stuck in places.

After a quick look around the room (Only the entrance through which I came in, no furniture apart from the heavy chairs and the stone table. Bad conditions for an escape.) Veidja watched the demonlord as he watched her. She had never seen a demonlord without armor and at least a hundred scurrying creatures. The short distance made the impression no less intense. He seemed very confident, sat leaning back in the high chair, his forearms propped on the armrests. One hand was hanging loosely, the other he had placed on the table. His fingers were long but strong looking, with calluses on the knuckles. Unlike his creatures, he had no claws, but the angel knew that that didn't make the demonlords, warmongers in particular, any less threatening. Two black horns twisted from his forehead about two hand widths up where they ended in dangerous spikes. Long black hair fell on his shoulders. The strands that would otherwise have hung on his face were tied high on the back of his head. His chest was covered with a short fur the color of his hair, only a narrow strip ran down over his stomach. He still wore nothing else on his torso, showing off his broad shoulders, muscles and scars. No jewelry, no weapons.

His jaw was broad, his face rather angular with sharp features. A slight bulge ran through his right eyebrow; a blade must have almost cost him an eye once. A light stripe ran across the right collarbone to the left side of the chin where Veidja couldn't see where it ended. How the demon could have survived such a wound she couldn't quite imagine. Her eyes found his gaze, bright emerald green. If she wasn't mistaken, she was greeted with curiosity.

There was a slight amusement in his growling voice as he asked her: "Do you like what you see, angel?"

She just continued to stare at him. She would not acknowledge this cheek with any answer. What should she like about a demonlord? He was the enemy. Cunning and wicked to the core. The halfway handsome shell and his almost polite demeanor could not deceive her. Liar. Killer. Scum.

She didn't want to talk to him. He was a demon and she didn't know what he would do with what she told him. Yes, she had given him her name, but that gave him no power over her. After all, it wasn't the name of her Old Soul, just the name she was currently called. She couldn't judge what he was able to squeeze out of her through these shadows he was using, but she would let it be as little as possible. And he had to use force to get his information, she wouldn't give him anything voluntarily.

"A warrior through and through, I like that." The warmonger showed his teeth with a broad grin. Veidja immediately fought the urge to flee or try to scratch his face with her bare hands. She had no chance against him, not in her current state, without protection, without weapons. She couldn't even spread her wings, because on the one hand they were still badly battered from the battle, on the other hand the demonlord blocked her ability to call them. For a moment her hands clenched the armrests of the chair in frustration. He had noticed it, she saw it by the twitching around his eyes. She would have loved to grind her teeth. She didn't want to show herself naked, but she was still too attacked, had herself and her reactions not fully under control again.