Split of the Worlds

Chapter 5.2

!!Trigger warning!!
Sexual abuse/ violence
(To be on the safe side, I will put an additional warning here of sexualized content despite the "mature" tag.)

----- ----- -----

She had been beaten, scratched and kicked. But she had returned the blow, seriously injuring several in this round alone, killing at least two of the lesser demons with her bare hands. Now she could barely stand on her feet, yet they continued to punch and stab her. She fell into darkness once more. When she opened her eyes again, she saw the lower demons standing around her expectantly.

"Lord?" One of the captains had addressed the demonlord in the gallery. Instead of him, though, his guest could be heard: "She's still twitching. I'm sure she'll survive another round." Then he chuckled, which she guessed more because of the noise in her ears than she actually heard. An indecisive sound came from the lord of the fortress.

"Get the branding iron."

Ah, a new incentive. She had to admit it was working. Fighting the pounding of her head and the intense dizziness, Veidja rose to her knees first, then stood up, swaying. Immediately, the nasty little stinkers around her went back into charge. The first attacker jumped on her back from behind, immediately forcing her back to her knees, but she used his momentum to throw him at another in front of her. It was a weak throw that barely knocked either of them off balance. On top of that, the next demons came at her from both sides.

The angel managed to grab the wrist of one and thrust its sharp claws into the face of the second demon. More by luck than coordination, she had apparently caught an eye. The creature screamed in a nerve-wracking manner, spraying slime. But both fell against her, almost burying her. The injured creature's twitching limbs tore at her armor, stabbing into unprotected skin where it was exposed. Her head hit the ground, causing red flowers to bloom before her eyes. Now the others had approached again, tearing her comrades-in-arms off her, but only to have room to beat her with their fists and knees. She hardly felt any pain, only numbness and exhaustion.

The next blow to her head sent Veidja into darkness again.

She only came conscious in fragments. A typical end to a day in the arena. Scraps of impressions lingered.

She is carried through corridors by her arms and legs. She lies on her bed, her armor is removed, a mouthful of mana is poured into her. She has survived again, but must continue to bear this fate.
The lord of the fortress had not taken any rash risks. He had her treated after every round and given her enough mana to prevent her from bleeding to death and to tend to her injuries. When she had tried to refuse, even though she knew he would not allow it, he had had two captains force her to drink the liquid energy. Not fighting after that was out of the question.

The slamming of the door. The certainty of having some peace and quiet now. Until the bath. Until the meal. Until the next fight.

The slamming of the door. Already? Veidja was sure that not much time could have passed, as she still felt like she was in a fog. She really needed to sleep. Today's round had taken more out of her than she was used to. Maybe they had just forgotten something? She was already drifting off again.

An extra weight next to her caused the bed to move and an unfamiliar smell wafted over to her. She opened her eyes in alarm. She wanted to sit up instinctively, but it was simply not possible. Everything hurt in more ways than one, her muscles did not want to obey her. What she saw made her realize immediately that she could not afford to be so weak right now.

The green-skinned demonlord, who had watched the arena fight as a spectator, sat next to her on the bed. With glowing red eyes, he looked down at her. The same greedy gaze that had pierced her during their brief encounter before the fights. The same gaze she had had to endure as an uncomfortable scanning at this feast. He had sat next to N'Arahn as the guest of honor. What was this demon doing here?

He leaned towards her and inhaled deeply close to her. "Blood and sweat, what an aroma." He grinned, stroking a hand first over a brown horn, then over his bare chest. He was rather sinewy, slender against the lord of the fortress. As with all demonlords, regardless of his appearance, his strength was not to be underestimated, of course. However, he was not much of a warrior. Veidja guessed he would have been a defeatable opponent for her if she hadn't been in a completely desolate state.

He had hardly said anything, but he already disgusted her more than the hell creatures naturally did. The way he slowly licked his lips with his repulsive pink tongue. How disparagingly he eyed her.

"You put up a nice fight. And I'm really grateful to you for spending yourself so dedicatedly." He grinned suddenly, baring gleaming black teeth. It made her shudder and she tried to move away from him. She could see that he noticed, that it amused him.

"I feel like sweating too, but I don't like fighting that much." He shrugged his shoulders apologetically. "You smell so deliciouss. I want a tasste of you."

He hissed the words and grabbed her arm. She sensed with horror as he slid his tongue from her wrist across her palm. She curled her fingers, wanting to scratch his face. But she was too weak and too slow; something paralyzed her beyond the usual weakening. He slipped her index finger into his mouth and sucked on it. His tongue circled her fingertip while his teeth scored her knuckle. She froze. It was a clear indication that he could also bite her finger off with ease. She heard him moan, felt the vibration on her hand. Disgust overcame her so strongly that she had to gag.

"Now, now, let's be polite," he chuckled. He dropped her arm and placed his hand between her breasts. Slowly, almost tenderly, he stroked the fabric of her sweaty shirt downwards, circling her stomach with one finger. Then he tugged at the fabric and shook his head.

"Completely shredded," he said in a regretful tone. "Well, the good news is, this won't make it any worse." With these words, he grabbed her shirt by the collar with both hands and tore it open lengthwise, cutting the ribbons underneath as well.

Against her will, a sound of shock escaped the angel. No, no, no! Keep your hands off me! She wanted to scream at him, hit him. But as she rebelled, he put his hand around her throat and squeezed. Panic overcame her; she gasped for breath, her heart beating wildly, fluttering. The cry "No!" echoed in her head until everything went gray. She barely felt him loosen his grip. Some air came through again, which she desperately drew in, but the fog did not disappear.

The breeze of his breath hit her chest as he sang softly, "Stay with me, darling." That giggle again, sending shivers of terror across her skin. Then the tip of his wet tongue lapping at her nipple, his lips closing painfully tight around her. His scent rose into her nose, earthy but wrong. A thin layer of earth and moss over something decaying.

He let go of her aching neck, but she saw nothing more than black and white dots. Veidja could feel the greenskin tracing cuts from the arena fight on her torso, sinking his fingertips into wounds, drawing on her skin with her blood. Every now and then she heard a smacking sound, probably when he licked his fingers. The pain and disgust were overwhelming, glaring and sharp. Helpless, as she could hardly move, she stared at the ceiling with burning eyes. She could do nothing to stop the trembling that was gathering inside her with rage and horror.

Suddenly he spoke directly to her ear: "I see you are captivated by my abilities. Let's deepen our relationship a little."