Split of the Worlds (18+)

Chapter 10.2

When he opened the door for Veidja, she walked out without looking him in the face. He would not have been surprised if she had tried to attack him. Or to provoke him into killing her before she had had to... be with him. But the battleangel radiated calm, restraint, almost coldness.

N'Arahn escorted the warrior for a while until he handed her over to the care of a captain and a whole troop of his lesser demons. He would have loved to know what was going on inside her. Something was constantly tugging at his nerves, seeming to draw him towards Veidja, as if only her closeness could bring relief. The further he moved away from her, the worse it got. But there was no alternative to this separation for the moment.

The demonlord shook himself as he walked towards the throne room. He still had to send Him a message about the angel's decision.

Shouldn't I be happy that she chose me? Sure, the first step had been taken. But what came next... She would bind herself to him, but he could just lose her as a result. Because she loathed him for good. Or because she actually fell.

Longing mixed with a vague but powerful fear flooded him; he really could have done without this mixture.

N'Arahn went about his duties, dispatched a captain with a crystal to the Lord of Hell, made preparations for the next cycle. His thoughts fluttered all the time, he could barely concentrate until he gave up and retired to his chambers. His sleep was restless and punctuated by half-awake, gloomy dreams when he wasn't kicking and pushing his black sheet around.

It was almost a relief when the fortress signaled to him that the next cycle had begun. The sun shining on the stones and the red sand above the fortress, allowing warmth to seep in from outside, woke him up reliably. He felt a little as if the fortress was his second skin, supplementing his senses and providing him with additional information. Rarely had the warmonger been so happy to be able to concentrate on these sensations. Everything that came from within him was just too... fragile. Distracting. Confusing.

It only took a few instants from the moment he set his feet on the black, warm floor until he was ready to face his servants. He pushed away any thoughts of what would be later, concentrating on the now. Checking the fortress, yes, that would keep him busy for a while.

His captains were already waiting for him in the throne room, watching impassively as he sat down in the high-backed ironwood chair, feet flat on the floor, back straight as a die, hands clasped around the armrests. The stone beneath his feet melted as he summoned his fire, binding him even closer to the fortress until he flowed out of himself, dissolving completely into stone, sand and lava.

It was the most effective way to search for weak spots and cavities, to repair cracked walls, to shore up chambers and large caverns. If he found minor flaws, he would send his servants to the specific locations to repair irregularities or reinforce gates at exits. As important as these jobs were, his impatience was usually too great to devote much time to them. Today... it was just right.

Inspecting the fortress, clearing it up and repairing it where necessary was like healing himself. When N'Arahn retreated back into his body and released his feet from the stone, he was exhausted, but felt calm and whole.

Even as he thought of the impending union with his angel, he remained calm. Perhaps it was deceptive, because he was still somewhat detached, disconnected from his feelings, but it helped him. After all, he wasn't improving the situation for either of them if he went to her trembling and distraught. As he washed off the dust in his basin, he laughed to himself at the idea.

A prince of hell, strong, powerful, but shaking in front of a head shorter white-blonde angel because she was supposed to share the bed with him. A truly ridiculous scene.