Split of the Worlds

Chapter 2.3

"Don't fidget." With his fist, N'Arahn struck her hard on the thighs several times until Veidja no longer knew whether her legs were numb or so aching that she was no longer able to feel it.

Desperation slowly overcame her. She had clearly underestimated how well the demonlord was able to take even without armor. He didn't even seem to realize that a steady stream of his blood was turning the sand to mud. Let alone that the scratch on his neck bothered him. In this respect, too, she had misjudged. She had assumed that the demonlord was so arrogant that he would wait for her attack once more.

A fatal miscalculation if this were a normal fight. Despite all the pain and humiliation of being defeated so easily, she was relatively sure she would survive the arena. After all, the demonlord had spoken earlier about her staying a while for amusement.

But what amusement was that supposed to be, at least for now? If she didn't keep fighting, he might kill her outright, simply out of boredom. And she wanted to fight, oh that was true. She was furious, anger raging through her veins.

N'Arahn sat on top of her, watching tears well up in her eyes from the pain as he shook her broken arm.

"I think my new toy is already broken," he bellowed into the ranks, laughing. A storm of giggling and jeering answered him, unbearably loud after the deep silence.

"Well, let's see, maybe it can still squeal." The demonlord reached for the stake in her shoulder, pulled it out slightly, and began twisting it in the wound. Veidja didn't want to scream, not at any price. But her mouth opened of its own accord, the burning and churning in her shoulder flooded her senses.

Don't scream, don't scream! Infinitely slowly, she turned her head. If you don't want to scream, you have to bite on something, she thought dazedly. One more bit. Her head jerked forward, sending more waves of nauseating pain through her shoulder. Then she sank her teeth into the demon's wrist. For a moment, she tasted blood. Smoky, warm, somehow spicy. Disturbingly good.

Suddenly something exploded at her head. White sparks speckled the darkness. The taste was gone. She heard only static, felt herself being lifted up. Pain again, from different sources, but far too far away for her to care.

Her body is distant, just a memory.

A voice penetrates the black and gray fog. Veidja senses that it is important and tries to concentrate: "You're through it for today, warrior." Then only static and the many shades of pain: red, purple, white.

When she woke up again, she wished she hadn't. The slow emergence from unconsciousness gave her plenty of time to feel the shattered state of her body. Bit by bit, each injury made itself known. Her muscles screamed, her skin burned. Her heartbeat throbbed hotly in her shoulder, her left hand and her right forearm. She breathed shallowly as each breath pressed painfully against her broken ribs.

Couldn't he have just finished it? Judging by the numb feeling on her right temple, the demonlord must have almost smashed her skull in. Veidja wanted to be able to assess the damage better. She slowly opened her eyes and had to blink against the incrustations. Without thinking, she lifted her right hand to wipe her eyes clean.

"Mother!" she exclaimed. Tears involuntarily welled up in her eyes. Right, the demon had broken her arm, which had just become very noticeable. She left her arm in place, but the unpleasant throbbing accelerated her breathing, triggering a chain reaction of cutting pain throughout her body. "Kind mother." Veidja wished she could swear properly to have the right words for this situation.

The next time she tried to open her eyes, she succeeded. At least her tears were of some use. Ah, if she wasn't too much mistaken, she was back in the room where she had slept. The light was dim, for which she was grateful at the moment. But she recognized a few irregularities in the walls that she had discovered during her thorough examination. Well, that was at least something. She was also apparently alone in the room. Someone had simply laid her down on the bed.

She carefully looked down at herself; she was still wearing the dress that was soiled from the battle and perforated in some places. The former white of the fabric was barely recognizable, large areas were stained light to dark red. Blood, of course, probably more from the demon than from her.

What would happen now? She urgently needed to find a way to tend to her wounds and regain her strength. That could take quite a while, given my condition. Her injuries from the battle hadn't fully healed, now these new ones on top of that... She would need more than a little rest. Her arm also needed fixing. Judging by the pain, the pieces of bone had shifted a little and were pressing against her muscles and skin from the inside. Veidja lifted her head a little to examine her arm, trying to ignore the pulling pain in her shoulder. Yes, there was a bulge that didn't belong there. At least it wasn't large, so she could assume that with a little care her arm would be fully functional again as it was before.

The angel almost laughed. Care? What was she dreaming about with her eyes open? She'd be lucky if they didn't drag her back into the arena in her condition just because she'd woken up.

What can I do? Veidja realized that she didn't know how to improve her situation. For the first time, she couldn't even fight properly. She was at the mercy of the course of events, too weak and too battered to fight back if they came for her. She could barely breathe, every sound, every movement hurt. All she could do was wait. And to rest as long as they let her. At least she didn't seem to be losing any more blood, so she wouldn't die in her sleep. That would be an undignified exit for a battleangel.

So she tried to immerse herself in her own mind, to find inner stillness. Prayer would help! The fact that she hadn't thought of this before told her a lot about her condition. Veidja forced her breathing into a painful but deep and steady rhythm. She sent her mind out, as she usually did for prayer, and opened her soul to the touch of the benevolent Mother. But instead of Her warming light, which the angel had always taken for granted, she found only darkness and emptiness. Something... was blocking her? And that taste that gathered in her mouth... She felt as if the blackness was flowing into her the more she tried to pierce it. Had something been reaching for her? Sudden panic made her heart leap and she tore her eyes open, jerking away from the almost tangible darkness that was trying to take over her soul.

She had lost her rhythm and with it her hope. She was truly alone, not even the kind Mother herself could reach her here. A cry, full of despair and grief, gathered in Veidja's throat. She swallowed it down with the last taste of darkness that had lingered on her tongue. Discipline, battleangel! Of course it was a bitter setback, but she would not give up. Besides, the certainty that no help would come had been lurking in a corner of her soul ever since the first time she'd seen the demonlord.

Concentrate, don't fall into despair. You are in the fortress of a demonlord, hopelessness is always at your side. But you have to keep it together if you want to stand a chance. Then you can make it!, Veidja encouraged herself.

So where do I stand? I'm alone among demons, no help to be expected. I'm not used to fighting alone and I'm not much of a strategist either. What's more, I have neither weapons nor protection. I can't use my arms and legs at the moment and I have nothing to improve my situation. I'm under the watchful eye of several of the demonlord's servants every step I take outside this room. So far, so bad. On the other hand, the demonlord seems to derive some kind of pleasure from not killing me directly. Although that would probably be better than whatever else he has planned for me. Anyway, what else? Ah, yes. He even talked about "limited resources" being a waste of my powers. Will he provide me with weapons later?

Just a tiny hope, but maybe he wasn't lying, maybe he was just insane.

And how could I use these weapons if I didn't get the chance to heal? But that's speculation. Next. I may be locked up, but I'm not struck in iron. Well, that's also unnecessary at the moment, admittedly. Still, a plus point. And if I get some rest, I can recover enough to be able to act again. The first thing I need to do is take care of my arm so that it doesn't grow together the wrong way. Well, that's something of a plan. Sleep to gather strength. Straighten my arm. See what happens. After all, I can't see into the future.

Veidja sighed. This was the most meager and pathetic plan she had ever heard of. She had never envied the archivists or enhancers for their abilities. But now some foresight or blessing would be very useful. If she survived all this and returned to the White Mountain, she would regard the other castes and their gifts with more respect.

After all, her plan was so simple that she could start implementing it straight away. Veidja found the position that hurt the least and tried to sleep.