My dear readers,

As promised, I'm moving a bit faster now, even though on this site, only very few people actually deserve my efforts. You know, artists that post their work on the internet like, want and need feedback. Consider it payment for enjoying a free trilogy-length story. I think that's not unfair, right?

Huge thanks go to my husband, who took his time to try out different movements for the last battle with me, so I could write it as realistically as possible.

Now, to the reviews:

Grocamol: Almost all the way. You'll see.

Morticus Mortem: Thank you!

Guest, aka Naruto Loves FemKyuubi (yes, love, you get called out for the stunt you pulled once more): Your comment makes no sense and is just absolutely misplaced.
As for the rest of you, who might not have read that little tale at the end of the last chapter, let me reiterate, for all other trolls that think about writing a comment like this, so they can see what I do to trolls:
This special snowflake, with their nonsensical vampire idea, PM'd me later with the same idea, in all honesty asking whether I was interested in discussing it, being absolutely tone-deaf to what my story is. I think it is understandable why I did not want to do this, as it has nothing to do with the story and disrespects everything it stands for - and I think there's a lot to comment on in my story that does not include vampires. When I argued that point, and pointed out that punctuation should be observed and they might want to look into that, and that they please should not contact me again (literally, I wrote please), what I got back was a "fuck you" in capital letters and got blocked. Hint: if you block somebody, they can't view the full message anymore, so thank you for sparing me from any additional drivel you wrote.
So, if you're a snowflake like this, don't bother at all. I can't take this kind of behaviour seriously. If you leave a comment that has nothing to do with the story, then let me tell you I will call you out on it, I will shame you for it and you won't like it. I'm not suffering trolls and flamers, for that I'm too old and have too little fucks left to give.
You think I'm overly salty about this?
Think what you must. But in my experience, making an example out of a particular breed of imbecile usually discourages further transgressions.

bobshady: Glad you liked the whole "scents" thing! I had a ball writing it, and I totally agree with you!

TichePotato: Beats me. But I doubt we'll be seeing more of that. And yes, in general, it is something that could have some zing, but this is not the place to spew the idea around - without any punctuation.

With all that said - read and review, please!

Cheers


Chapter 28.2

A Knife in the Back II

"If I only could
I'd make a deal with God
And get him to swap our places"
Kate Bush - Running Up That Hill

Why fight my resentment anymore?

I already regarded the slaves as inferior, and I knew their lives were worth nothing. Apart from that, the Circle had never seen this side of me, so maybe this was the way to finally, completely prove myself in their eyes. Yes, why not? There was nothing left for me anyway anymore. And if venting my frustration on the slaves helped, why not do it? I had to come out on top, not anybody else.

I let my gaze wander over the room, and as I did, Vect caught it. He portended me to come to him and take my place at his side.

Without hesitation, I followed. It was dangerous to keep the Overlord waiting.

I came to him, bowed, and sat on my heels beside his seat. I tried not to react as he absent-mindedly let his fingers slide through my hair. One part of me wanted to wince, the other wanted to lean into the caress. Both reactions were inappropriate in this setting.

Vect stood, and the other Archons snapped to attention. "My finest," he said, "I expect that today's lessons remind you why treason is not an option. I hope this has been the last bigger disruption in this echelon, as challenging times are ahead of us. But that is what we live for, do we not?"

The Archons chuckled, their laughter evil.

"Precisely," Vect darkly answered their laughter, then continued, "It is time to get going with the duels, prime among them surely the one between Nuscul and Cor'ech, as the stakes are the highest. After all, you two will be battling for the fourth seat in the Circle. Therefore, I want to keep this matchup for the end of the first round. After all, a premature climax is… unfavourable."

The Archons chuckled once more, definitely less evil and more joyous.

Had he just really…?

Yes, he definitely had.

Vect was truly in high spirits.

"I do not want the usual pairs to battle, though. You have had experience with each other in this setting. I want opposite positions to duel. First seat versus eighth, second versus seventh, and so on, leaving us, as I said, with the prestigious duel for the fourth seat. Sythrac, Tahril - you may begin," Vect rounded off his speech, then seated himself again.

Seeing him give one was still mesmerising. There was not the slightest sign of insecurity or nervousness, each and every word spoken in full confidence, posture perfectly upright, gaze stern, holding his audience captive, his voice one fluent chime of sound.

The named Archons were given time to finish their drinks, but then went and took their weapons off the rack and formally greeted each other in the arena, bowing to the Overlord, then to each other, without taking their eyes off each other. Now that I was far more advanced in my knowledge about Drukhari society, the whole ceremonial facet of the training session fazed me less. They did not have many rules, but those that were in place, were abided to with absolute strictness.

My heart was pounding. With my enhanced senses, and understanding of combat, this would be so very interesting!

On one side, there was Valossian Sythrac, with his single-edged, slightly curved weapon, resembling a Huskblade, on the other, Ceallach Tahril, assuming a low combat stance, his hands and forearms clad in power claws.

The microsecond they were done bowing to each other, they engaged. Tahril charged, Sythrac sidestepped him, clearly taking his time to measure his opponent, deflecting one of the claws, turning with Tahril's movement, not letting him out of his sight.

Tahril's seemingly sluggish, head-on charge was turned into a light-footed performance as he hurled himself around with a sort of grace I had not expected, to not present his back to Sythrac.

The Hierarch closed in, and…

I winced and lost my focus as Vect snapped his fingers beside my ear.

" a…" he cooed, his inflexion somewhere between amusement and threat.

Damn! Had I been so lost in watching the combat that I had not heard him talk to me?

"Master?" asked him breathlessly, still jumpy from the fright.

"Too occupied with the duel, hmm?" he purred.

"I'm sorry, master."

"You are not here for the performance, child. Get it together and tend to your task."

I nodded, and got up, bowing to Vect. I concentrated on not letting my eyes wander to the arena in close proximity to him. It seemed as if I had not missed anything he had said, otherwise I was sure he would not have let me off so easily. The Overlord simply did not want me to lose myself in the battle, but 'tend' to the servants.

After all, one Archon would fall, and all the better to find some scapegoats - but I was not forbidden from also choosing slaves that I found fitting.

Even though I was stalking around and watching the slaves carefully, I also kept one eye on the duel in the arena.

It was just as harrowing as I had thought.

I missed the details of it, but still, it quickly became obvious that Sythrac was the one holding the reins. Even though Tahril tried his best to get close, to topple, grapple, and overwhelm him, the Hierarch showed his wits and battle prowess. He outmanoeuvred the younger Archon, and punished each nearing and bold charge with a cut. It was not only slow and cruel, but also elegant. Sythrac had a lot to prove. Even though Tahril sunk his claws more than once into him, his opponent looked far worse for wear, most of his skin a bleeding mess.

Suddenly I realised what was happening.

Sythrac had chosen a particularly lengthy way to off his opponent. He was killing Tahril in the slow thousand-cut style. It needed a lot of skill, and it certainly was ballsy to pull this off against such a fast-switching, close-going opponent. But somehow, the old Hierarch always knew where to step, how to turn and how to evade to let Tahril's ferocious assaults run into empty space. In the same turn, he found an opportunity to continue cutting his opponent.

This was what gave the 'art' in 'martial arts' its meaning!

Soon, the sand of the arena was coloured crimson and drenched with Tahril's blood, and not much longer and the younger Archon sank to his knees. His white teeth were flashing against his destroyed, bleeding skin because he had bared them; yet not a single sound of pain was wrenched from his throat. Yes, these Archons were made out of sterner stuff, and Tahril was a battle-hardened veteran. He tried to get up again, but it seemed as if Sythrac's last cut had severed something important. His leg just gave way, and his strength was failing rapidly. With an almost annoyed sounding groan, he toppled over on his side. Sythrac finished Tahril with a slash through his throat, bathing the arena in even more blood.

As commanding as Sythrac had seemed in combat, he was panting now, the deep slashes on him demanding their tribute too. He lowered his sword, letting the tip delicately rest on the floor, and he was clearly gathering his strength, drawing from his own suffering, and drinking Tahril's demise. It was fascinating to watch how his bleeding slowed with the suffering he was imbibing.

I shook myself out of my stupor, scanning the slaves, and quickly finding a few candidates for the Haemonculi. Sythrac had made quite the mess of Tahril and the arena, and one slave clearly could not stomach the view. Another had dropped a glass, shook with horror, and had tried to hastily clean it up before I noticed. Perceptive of him to see that I had been engrossed with watching the duel, but I certainly did not appreciate the attempt at deceiving me.

I moved to grab the two delinquents. Rules were rules. Blood was an everyday thing in Commorragh, and if you could not stand it, no matter what mistake you produced because of it, you did not belong in the serving staff of Vect's court.

I was very aware of Lisbeth's consternated stare on me as I grabbed my two victims of choice by their hair and dragged them behind me towards the resurrection oubliette.

Vlokarion had already moved into the arena and tended to Sythrac's injuries, to keep the Hierarch fit for further battles. I figured he would pick up Tahril's body while he was at it - it was not an issue for the deceptively spindly Haemonculus.

Rakarth gave me a horrid, toothy grin as I brought the struggling and begging slaves to him. Huh. I barely had felt their resistance and had blocked out their voices.

What was going on with me?

"One is quite enough, duckling," Rakarth told me, using his bassy, cooing voice, and the unfamiliar nickname made me wince, before I remembered that he had called me that before.

"I'm sorry, Master Haemonculus, I never meant to imply you needed more. However, I figured, you'll be needing more slaves anyway for later occasions?" I gave back carefully, barely biting back speaking in the Drukhari tongue.

"True. However, you might want to pick the next one when you know who is in need of resurrection. The right choice of provided essence makes a tremendous difference," Rakarth gave back in his rasping, croaky voice.

It clearly was no suggestion, but a veiled warning. I had to be careful with this, as it seemed.

Hence I gave Rakarth a deferential nod and replied, "I see, Master Haemonculus. I will do better."

Rakarth grabbed the slave that had tried to hide the glassy mess he had produced and effortlessly strapped him to the table.

Then, he looked at me again and narrowed his eyes. "And yet, your first choice fits, even though you clearly did not make it consciously. Fate and luck draw strange patterns around you, duckling. I wonder…" He drifted off, clearly immersed in his thoughts, ignoring me now, floating towards the table with the laid-out torture instruments.

Once more, I was not sure if his comment was the rambling of a madman, or had some deeper meaning to it. Since I would not decipher it anyway, I decided to not let my mind linger on it.

I let go of the second, shaking slave, who stumbled a few steps back.

"Seems as if it's your lucky day. Don't let me catch you throwing up again!" I snarled at her.

She nodded, too out of sorts to say anything, and fled.

This new information was like pure gold for me. It seemed as if I had to fine-tune my choices and make them quickly after it became clear who was the loser in the upcoming matches.

That gave me more time to watch! Considering that the next duel would be Zuol against Atanel, I was happy, because I was sure it would be quite the show.

As I had expected, after Vlokarion had patched up Sythrac, he effortlessly picked up Tahril's corpse and carried him to the resurrection corner. He passed me on his way and flashed a hidden smile at me. I returned it in kind. I watched as he gingerly put Tahril's shell into the glass sarcophagus that was hung over the torture table, where the sobbing and trembling slave was strapped down.

I gulped. The reality that I would witness a resurrection first-hand for the first time, now hit me. I braced myself. It would be gruesome, to put it mildly, but I forced myself to watch and stand my ground, somewhere in the middle between where the Archons and slaves were and where the Haemonculi worked. I felt… lost.

I felt my master's gaze on me and turned my head to look at him. I had been right - he beheld me with a blank expression, staring at me slightly from under his brow. Then, a subtle nod - giving me permission to stay where I was, and commending my behaviour.

This was good. I still had to make up for a lot of mistakes!

I turned my head again, looking at the Haemonculi, who started their gruesome work.

However, it was… strange.

I had expected for it to be incredibly bloody, them turning the slave inside out, exposing viscera while keeping him alive…

Nothing of the sort happened. They used… precision. Perfectly set cuts here, a long needle inserted at the right spot there…

…and the slave was screaming his skull off.

I gulped, trying to stand it calmly and quietly, even though those horrid sounds brought back my empathy - my weakness, I told myself. I tried not to think about the fact that it had been me who had chosen this young man for this fate. I tried to tell myself that if I had not, Vect would have, and then he would have punished me for not doing it.

Would Lisbeth understand it?

I would have loved to see her face now, to read in it, but I had to keep watching, otherwise I would reveal my thoughts.

It was one of the hardest tests I ever had to take around here, even though I had seen Vlokarion torture before. My mind had blanked out most of it, but now that I saw those two absolute masters of torture work, I remembered quite some things, and I felt my stomach grow cold.

The longer they had the slave screaming, the more Tahril's body became whole again. The gashes slowly closed, colour returned to his skin, and even some wrinkles that had been there before got erased. Yes, Rakarth and Vlokarion truly were the best of the best, giving all that rejuvenation to an Archon with the suffering of just one mon-keigh slave.

When the slave had cried his final shriek, and his life was ripped from him, Tahril opened his eyes.

There was nothing flashy about it, no magic conceivable, no lightning, nothing. Nothing like the old horror movies that showed how Frankenstein had brought his monster to life.

Whatever truly happened, and how it did, only the Haemonculi knew.

The broken corpse was taken away by some Wracks, and Tahril was helped out of the sarcophagus by the Haemonculi, who thoroughly checked the Archon's motor and brain functions.

I could see when he walked back to his fellows, that his step was springier, his movements smoother than before. Yes, this had brought him back better than before, somehow.

As Tahril passed me, he grinned at me, took a deep breath and told me, "Nothing compares to this utter refreshment, slave girl. A pity you'll never be able to experience it yourself."

Even though he seemed pleased, there was a flicker in his gaze that told me that not everything was as fine as he tried to make me believe. Had he peeked beyond the veil? Gotten a glimpse of Slaanesh? It was entirely possible. Yes, this had to be the dire price they paid each time they died, getting a glimpse of what awaited them at their final demise, and slowly losing what little was left of their sanity. After all, if it was all fun and games, why would they bother trying to win the duels?

However, I would never find out the truth, because none would tell me.

I followed Tahril with my gaze, and what I saw on the ranks, made me swallow intensely once more.

The faces of the Archons - the Overlord included - had an almost dreamy quality to them. Yes, this torture session had been something else to experience, even for them, even though it had been so… unspectacular. I realised that there were layers to all that which I could not fathom.

Sythrac had also taken his bite from his slave - not literally, but he had obviously cut her, and his wounds were closing up, while she was all curled up and whimpering. The pace at which they could regenerate was just sheer insanity. It had never occurred to me that their regeneration worked so damn quickly!

In crass contrast, the slaves were naturally petrified. Some had hugged each other, some had shielded their eyes from the sight, some had their gazes darting in utter panic between the Haemonculi and… me.

Yes, me. It was always me, was it not.

I was their scourge, their terror, their executioner. I might as well wield the knife.

But this was my lot. And I would be damned if I did not carry it with grace!

I snapped to action too, marching back to the Archons and slaves, and barked at my staff, "What are you standing around for? There is work to be done!" To emphasise my words, I gave one of the petrified slaves in my reaching distance a hard shove, which had her tumble and fall, hitting her knee on one of the stairs - quite painfully, judging from her expression. I was particularly delighted because she was one of those I liked the least.

Yes, why not play favourites?

I bet those that had particularly disobeyed me were fearing for their lives right now. Maybe I finally got the respect I deserved from the slaves!

With my show of force, the other slaves got it together and did what they were supposed to.

Being the tyrant amongst the slaves would have been a lot easier, if not…

Lisbeth approached me and whispered to me, "Can we… talk?"

I knew this tone. This would be a tense conversation. However, all our conversations were strained lately…

"Sure," I told her calmly and took her a bit away from the congregation, hoping that the current commotion would drown out our words. Admittedly, it was a dim hope, but it was the best I could do.

Lisbeth ran one hand through her hair, then drew it timidly back, remembering the intricate hairstyle she was wearing, not wanting to mess it up.
"I… look…" she started, clearly fighting for words, "I know you gotta do what you gotta do. But do you think what you do is good… for you?"

I was pretty sure the last two words had been added by her in haste. I sensed what she actually meant.

I frowned. "That's not really up for debate. It has to be done. If I don't do it, somebody else will."

"It shouldn't. It mustn't." She took a deep, shaky breath. "Temira, this is killing me. Seeing you like this. So… cold."

Was this genuine or another lie to crack me open? And if so, to what end? Why rattle me so? This was not helping at all!

Also, what could I tell her? She was right, I was getting colder and colder, but…

"I… miss you, Temira. Who you once were. I can't do this alone. Do you understand?" she softly told me.

This had to be genuine. I could not sense a lie.

My mind immediately raced down that lane, without caution. The implications behind it swirled wildly in my head and I shook it forcefully once to get myself under control.

It was not just me that had been wrong about her lying to me when asking whether she had my back. Much more gravely than that, the voice had been wrong too. It had guided me so well so far! Where did the line of betrayals end? What was true anymore?

My thoughts were a raging, churning mess right now, and I barely could speak.

"Yes…" I gave back, gaze wandering into thin air, "but I don't know how to get back, Lisbeth. It's either what I'm now, or…" I shrugged wearily. "Or the end for both of us."

Her gaze was flickering. "Maybe," she ran one hand over her mouth, "maybe that's for the better?" Quickly, she added, "Before he wins?"

"I don't know. I don't know anything anymore," I replied, defeated.

"What I know is that you're still in there, somewhere. Don't leave me, Temira. Not like this," Lisbeth pleaded.

"I can't… I can't have this conversation right now," I pushed out, feeling tears in my eyes.

"And what if there is no later?"

"Then the Overlord won't at least have us flogged for wasting our suffering," I gave back, almost automatically, fleeing into the corner that promised me some safety.

Obedience. Protocol. Rules.

Yes.

I straightened myself and walked, leaving her standing. My mind was swirling. It hurt. It made me angry. I felt feeble. I felt cold. Why did she have to have this talk now, and not in the months we have had? Had she only now seen what I had become?

Was it Vect's grandest test for me, having Lisbeth pry me open while I had to serve the Circle?

It would fit.

So, another layer of lies? Another angle to test my loyalty? Would it ever end?

Enough! Breathe.

*Why should I believe you?*

Why not?

*You lied! Lisbeth has not abandoned me!*

You do not see clearly now. Calm down. She has. You will see - very, very soon.

I suppressed a whimper. This was too specific. Too clear of a dialogue. Whose voice was it? Had all my corruption led to the inevitable, and I was possessed? Would I end up like the Drukhari, forever suffering in Slaanesh's terrible embrace, soul torn to pieces, body devoured…

THINK. Where are you?

*In Commorragh.*

And what is one of its prime functions?

Right. Commorragh shielded the Drukhari from the influences of the Warp. Without a Dysjunction, there was no way the Chaos Gods could reach me here.

*Thank you.*

I got no answer. What the hell was going on here? Whom was I talking to, then?

Again, I had to shove the thought aside, because the voice was right about one other thing. I needed to calm down and view the situation with Lisbeth with a clear head.

I focused on my breathing and the cold in me, shaking it all off. No time. No quarter. If I faltered, there was a good chance Vect would have Lisbeth's life for one of the fallen Archons.

At least that I could try and do for her, if I could not connect with myself anymore.


Lisbeth watched Temira's obvious struggle with herself with absolute horror. Temira was even more broken than she had originally thought. Something severe and sinister was going on with her, and it had reached a layer in her personality and sense of self that could only end in one thing: Temira's destruction.

This spear of empathy she had just thrown at her had barely hit its mark. For a few seconds, Lisbeth was sure that the Temira she knew had been there - but it all had been drowned out again in seconds.

Lisbeth barely kept from keeling over and crying. She felt sick and cold. This was it. There was only one thing left to do for her. She had to get distance from the thing that walked and talked like Temira, but was not her anymore. If she did not, she felt it would be her undoing.


In the meantime, Zuol and Atanel had started to clash in the arena. The sheer speed of this duel was insane, even with my enhanced senses I could barely follow it.

Zuol's Demiklaives clashed against Atanel's Hellglaive, and both combatants were ferocious, strong and enduring fighters.
Zuol played it smart, relentlessly keeping the distance close.

But Atanel saw it and moved to thwart him. He realised that he wanted to stop him from using his Hellglaive properly. The younger Archon was twisting and turning, a blur of motion, clothes flying, flicking his weapon at Zuol whenever he could.

Zuol was dodging like a madman, but also enduring some slashes Atanel managed to hit to get him to move away. He hacked at Atanel, shoved him, using his whole body to fight, like he had before - only that this time Zuol had no vambraces or circlet to aid his hits. It did not change a thing for him. Yes, Zuol was made for battle, he delighted in it. That much his almost ecstatic expression made clear.

However, even though Atanel was rather on the defensive, his mad, toothy grin showed that he enjoyed the duel, probably just as much as Zuol. He just lacked the millennia of experience and the Incubus training. But the fact that he was caught just as much in the trance of the battle even though the stakes were against him, showed his enjoyment… and madness.

One thing was clear: this duel was a dance. A brutal, deadly dance, but it had a flow to it that was mesmerising. Toing and froing. Blade upon blade. Body against body.

Both hit their mark over and over, but what became clear after a while was that the hits Zuol landed were far deadlier than Atanel's. However, they were not small, slow slashes like Sythrac's before, but hits that would have downed lesser opponents. I figured at this point Atanel only managed to continue through sheer willpower and adrenaline.

Eventually, there was not much left of Atanel's torso. Ripped muscles and sinews weakened him. He was too slow to react when Zuol dove in for the kill. He caught Atanel's ribs and hips with the hooks of his swords. With a roar, he ripped him in twain, severing upper from lower body. With wide eyes, a cut-off scream and two fleshy, wet thuds, Atanel's split body hit the floor.

Zuol basked in the moment, bared his fangs with a growl and licked Atanel's blood off of one of the Demiklaives, his eyes glowing with mad bloodlust. Yes, his drink still had him going. He was panting, you could see every single muscle in his steeled body, and even how his blood pumped through his veins, the picture exacerbated by the blood surging out of his wounds. I doubted he felt any pain.

I had to shake my head to get back into the here and now. I had been totally enthralled by this duel, the pace of it made me feel a bit light-headed now. I peered guiltily at my master, but he did not seem to care, for he focused on the arena, smiling contentedly.

Vlokarion slithered past me and instructed me, "We're going to need two this time, slave girl. Complete body division needs a bit more essence energy."

Being called 'slave girl' by him stung a bit, as he usually had much sweeter nicknames for me, but I understood that he had to be careful. Vect had been severely displeased the last time we had been too familiar in public and I bet that Vlokarion had taken the brunt of punishment for that misstep.

I bowed slightly and replied, "Naturally, Maester."

I thought for a minute whether I should go for somebody that had annoyed me in the past, but decided to keep that for later. Luckily, I had enough targets that had fucked up.

So, Rakarth had said that I had to pick fitting targets. I wondered what precisely he had meant with that. Did it mean victims that mirrored their demise, or those that would be to their taste the most?

I decided to go with the second option. After all, Atanel had fought well, and his effort should be commended.

First, I picked the young woman I had shoved against the stairs - she was in pain already, and from what I knew, Atanel enjoyed dull pain a lot in his victims. He had loved it the most when I had been shaken with period cramps.

My second choice was a sturdy, brawny man with a lot of physical strength. I figured this would complement the feebleness of the other. Some of the Archons chuckled in amusement as I subdued him and dragged him towards the Haemonculi, as he was a lot taller than me, but stood no chance. I figured it had to look rather comical.

Nothing moved in me as I heard the pleas of the two unfortunate souls. Not feeling for my fellows in misery certainly would make me more worthy in the eyes of the Overlord.

Rakarth nodded his approval of my choices, smiling indulgently at me. His smirk was horrible to behold; his nightmarish features underlined the sheer weirdness of the facial expression.

I shivered, delivered the slaves and made sure that I got a bit of distance.

When the Haemonculi started working, I was absolutely fascinated to find that they did not greatly change their modus operandi for reviving Atanel. Their methods stayed the same, but what did change was that they did not work on one slave together, but on both of them at the same time - with the exact same methods and movements - even though the physiques of the slaves were different. I had no idea how they managed it. Their precision was absolutely mind-blowing, it actually looked like two machines working, not living, breathing (?) beings. There was no movement or timing that was off even in the slightest. Their torturing had the quality of a gruesome dance, and I came to realise why Rakarth and Vlokarion were considered the absolute masters of their craft.

Again, I was dumbstruck by the speed with which they revived Atanel. He, too, came out of it physically much fitter than before - and this time, I could clearly see the flicker of new madness in his eyes.

Yes, they had to take a peek. What a terrible fate!

That it had been the Aeldari all along that had dug their own graves by bringing Slaanesh into existence, certainly was still a crushing irony.

And yet, all this was handled like usual business, even though a duel to the death was not a common thing in this echelon. There was, after all, much at stake. However, as it always was, the Archons played it cool and did not let on how tense they had to be.

Lisbeth stared at me, expressing a mixture of sorrowful feelings. I walked over to her, gently took her a bit to the side, like before, and quietly asked her, "Are you alright?"

She raised her chin in the way I knew she did when she was about to say something that needed her courage - I doubted she realised the posture - and gave back, fighting to keep her voice flat and low, "Would you ask me that if I was somebody else?"

I replied, "You know I wouldn't."

She sighed, slumping her shoulders. "Then don't. It exposes both of us and it's not like I can give you a straight answer."

This probably was the first wise thing I had heard her say in a long time. She had a point. It made me look weak and it did not help her.

"You're right. I won't anymore," I gave back and tried to give her a reassuring smile. I was not sure how well I succeeded.

The next duel was sadly little to write home about. Both Ea'nash and Sarnak were not the greatest warriors in this Circle. I was delighted by the fact that I could see the difference.

Not to say that they were bad by any stretch - going up against them if you were not part of this echelon most likely was still a death sentence - it just was clear that the pairs before them had been that much more skilful. A misstep here, an imperfect slash there, and it all lacked the grace and ferocity of the other two duels. I especially was shown that Ea'nash might use two sabre-like blades, but after witnessing Zuol's menacing fierceness and brutal skill, I understood the massive difference. Ea'nash had a far more restrained style, which did not entirely fit the weapons he was sporting. Zuol's ultra-close technique worked better for shorter blades, Ea'nash's rather would have profited from a longer, single, and lightweight blade.

That said, the advantage of two weapons did show against Sarnak's greatsword style.

It was clear that Sarnak was one of those Archons that rather liked to let kill than kill himself - or resort to poisons to make his job easier. Naturally, he was still a warrior that could best most others, but compared to Sythrac or Zuol, he was a far weaker combatant. There was a slight hesitation in his strikes that spoke the language of him expecting them to have more impact, or to wait for a substance to kick in. Yes, his discontinued Haemonculus training and his ties to the Altered certainly showed in his fighting style.

That this duel was by far not as interesting also showed in how the Archons acted. Had they been mostly quiet and their eyes glued to the arena so far, they now had some side conversations. Additionally, I felt my master's gaze once more on me, which was why I chose not to follow the duel and rather see to it that the performance of the slaves was top-notch… as well as my sorting game of the highest grade.

Needless to say, the duel was over rather quickly, with Ea'nash standing victorious, stabbing Sarnak through the chest with both blades.

Not much work for the Haemonculi to be done. They would only need one slave for this.

Since this duel had been nothing to write home about, and Sarnak had not been particularly severely wounded, I picked out an insignificant slave, whom I had caught avoiding his turn to serve. A coward for somebody who usually relied on poisons or servants to do the dirty work. It fitted.

Even though my choice had been fair to the other slaves, Lisbeth avoided me.

Could I blame her? Probably not. Still, I cursed that it continued to sting. Why could she not see that what I did was just bare necessity? Even though I was the one making the choice, ultimately, it had to be made.

She will never understand.

It was probably true. But because I knew that Lisbeth was not an idiot, it was so hard to accept. Then again, this struggle was not about classical intelligence, but about emotional one. And at this, Lisbeth had always sucked. She was not to blame, not with the broken home she came from, but around here, it was deadly, like so many things.
Maybe it all boiled down to those emotions I could no longer feel, or understand?

Maybe she slowly began to see what was going on with me? With us?

Maybe she was finally afraid of me, the poison to any benevolent relationship…

My attention was diverted as Sarnak passed me. To my surprise, he took his resurrection without a hint of madness in his eyes. Was it his past as an apprentice to the Haemonculi that made him more resilient? It could very well be that they were not affected as much by the madness that came with it, or that their resurrections worked differently. After all, Rakarth had been doing it for almost forty millennia without completely losing his mind - even though that was a matter of debate amongst scholars.

Before the next duel, Vect noted, "I admit I have been looking forward to this! I expect you will give it your all, considering the stakes."

Both Nuscul and Cor'ech acknowledged his comment with a firm nod.

While they were readying for battle, Nuscul grinned, "If you're as stiff as your demeanour suggests, this'll be easy for me, Ulyeam."

Cor'ech answered the obvious jab at his skill just with a wry smile. It was hard to tell why he did not retort, but I figured he had to be careful still.

Nuscul flashed his teeth with a grin and continued, "Hmm, seems as if I hit the nail on the head."

Cor'ech just scoffed.

His refusal to play along seemed to irk Nuscul somewhat, because his movements were a bit sharper than usual as he fetched his weapons and stepped into the arena. Like the last time, Nuscul was the only one wearing a Wychsuit, not a Hakama, and his weapons still were two daggers - even though one lacked its poison. However, considering Nuscul had grown up in the arenas, I doubted he would have issues with the missing component of his Venomblade.

Cor'ech sported a weapon I had not expected to see around here. Naturally, it had its Drukhari-touched design, but at the core of it, it was what I knew as a Fechtfeder. This was a longsword with a super thin blade, heavier and longer than a rapier and sporting a crossguard, not a fencing basket. However, it was much lighter than a normal longsword. This weapon suggested a lot of finesse to Cor'ech's style, and watching him would be highly interesting, if he knew the techniques attached to the blade.

It was possible to slice the tension in the room as Nuscul and Cor'ech stepped into the arena. Everybody knew the stakes of this duel, and it would be quite something to behold, that much was clear. The dim, reddish lights, mimicking the light of the Ilmaea, added to the sinister moment, and the high rise of the domed hall gave a sense of regality to it all. You could feel that this was a fateful occasion, one, that would decide a course of centuries for both.

Nuscul smiled confidently, his white and black hair tucked back in the classical Drukhari plait, just some deliberately plucked strands playing around his youthful face. His low, crouched stance displayed readiness to strike, and his daggers were held firmly, poised for action. Nuscul's lopsided grin revealed his joy about the impending fight - and maybe hiding something far less confident? It was hard to tell.

On the other side of the arena, Archon Cor'ech appeared composed and focused, his pure white hair worn in a style that reminded me of a chonmage, the hairstyle of samurai of the Edo period. His defensive stance much more upright than Nuscul's, he was reminiscent of mediaeval duellists with longswords. Clutching the Fechtfeder with a firm, two-handed grip, he awaited Nuscul's first move.

Nuscul jeered, "One last chance to save your honour! Give up while you still can!"

Cor'ech smiled indulgently and gave back calmly, "Why don't we continue this discussion with our blades?"

After their nod to each other was over - no bow required, as it seemed - Nuscul lunged forward with impressive speed and agility, his blades flashing in the dimly lit hall. He accompanied his attacks with taunting remarks, meant to unsettle Cor'ech's focus. Nuscul's movements were deceptive, since he changed directions so quickly, making it hard for Cor'ech to predict his movements. In addition, the sheer speed he used to dash and swirl around his enemy made it all a destructive and dizzying performance - and a performance it was, to some extent, Nuscul could not deny a certain flourish in his combat style. The heart of the Wych in him showed.

Cor'ech's response was a masterclass in Fechtfeder duelling. He met Nuscul's attacks with graceful parries, deflecting the daggers with precise movements and slight shifts and steps, keeping his weight low and his knees slightly bent, to be able to move swiftly. His every move looked extremely efficient and strength-saving, as well as delightfully fluent. Cor'ech's more upright stance allowed him to maintain a broader view of the battlefield, granting him a slight advantage in anticipating Nuscul's next move. He showed no signs of being swayed by Nuscul's provocations, demonstrating unwavering discipline and mental fortitude.

The duel turned into a mesmerising swirl of blades and calculated manoeuvres. Nuscul's agile attacks clashed against Cor'ech's composed parries. I was left speechless by the way Cor'ech wielded the slender longsword against two weapons, and how damn fast he was with his blade. In fact, his parries were so rapid that I could not follow them entirely.

Every step, feint, and strike from both combatants had a purpose. Slight hits got delivered, but nothing too damaging. Both Cor'ech and Nuscul hit their marks time and again, but it was all just superficial cuts. They could tough that out with ease.

Despite Nuscul's best efforts, Cor'ech's controlled and measured approach began to gain the upper hand. As he sank into the rhythm of the duel, Cor'ech's parries grew more fluid, and his ripostes more accurate. Each successful counterattack chipped away at Nuscul's confidence and stability, causing frustration to creep into his eyes. For all his skill, Nuscul could be terribly unrestrained when it came down to his emotions. It showed that he was young.

In a moment of rage, Nuscul lunged forward, attempting a bold and reckless attack. He pivoted in his lunge, trying to rapidly change the directions from where he was attacking, hoping to breach the bastion that was Cor'ech.

However, Cor'ech was ready.

With a swift motion, which I could not entirely follow, he manoeuvred the Fechtfeder with precision, somehow adjusting to Nuscul's insane speed, and struck true. The tip of the Fechtfeder found its mark - this time grievously - and Nuscul's defences were ripped open.

Nuscul turned and staggered back, panting, blood gushing out of the deep wound at his side. A mixture of pain and anger flashed across his face, but he refused to concede. His lopsided grin was replaced by a snarl of determination.

Ignoring the pain, Nuscul lunged again, his daggers aimed openly to kill. He wanted to finish this quickly, as his strength and stamina were leaving him. The insane pace he had held for such a long time and the rapidly mounting bloodloss grew too much for him.

Yet, Cor'ech was one step ahead, sidestepping the attack and delivering a swift counter strike. With a grimace of pain, Nuscul dropped one of his daggers as his hand grew limp. Cor'ech had delivered a deep cut to his left wrist, severing tendons.

Nuscul was bleeding out, and fast.

As defeat loomed, Nuscul's defiance turned into desperation. He charged forward with all the fury he could muster, but Cor'ech's calm was unyielding. His Fechtfeder found its mark again. He pierced Nuscul's heart, and for the stab to be extra devastating, Cor'ech turned and immediately drew the blade out of the wound again.

His momentum no longer controlled, Nuscul hit the floor with his side and slid a bit further. A wet sound mixed into his breathing and his gaze locked onto Cor'ech, a mix of rage and hatred in his eyes. Then, his eyes grew empty and his body limp, as he rapidly bled out on the sand. The battle had come to an end, and Cor'ech stood as the victor.

"Outstanding!" the Overlord exclaimed, apparently genuinely entertained. "Finally we have another truly worthy warrior in our midst! Well done, Archon Cor'ech, you certainly showed that you outdid Vyras in terms of combat skill a long time ago. Nuscul was no easy foe to defeat."

Cor'ech bowed and replied, "I am honoured and humbled by your praise, Overlord. I hope to stand with the same kind of calm and skill against you in the arena one day."

Vect grinned. "Ah, but the day is not done! Who knows? If you can best my Hierarch - which would be outrageous, no doubt - you might even live to see that occasion today!"

Either Vect was playing a perfect farce, to make Cor'ech think he was safer than he was, or he was genuinely impressed by Cor'ech's style. Both scenarios were possible, really. That Vect regarded skilful and disciplined warriors highly he had shown in the last training session, when he had commended Nuscul's efforts, and scolded Atanel's lack of discipline.

Also, Vect had casually set the second round of duels with this. It would be Sythrac versus Cor'ech and Zuol versus Ea'nash.

For Nuscul's resurrection, I would be especially careful with my pick. After this stunning performance, he deserved somebody especially shaken by the horror of their fate.

Time to show my underlings that nobody was safe. It was time that the bitch I had punished in my first meeting of the great Kabals got what was coming for her. Considering how the Archons back then had enjoyed her suffering, she would be a worthy soul for Nuscul's resurrection.

As I marched towards her, Lisbeth came to my side and closed her hand around my right forearm.

"What are you doing? Bess has done nothing wrong!" Lisbeth gasped. I could see her pulse at the side of her neck.

She was afraid of me.

She smells like prey.

Indeed, she did! How had I not realised both of it earlier?

And she behaved like prey, taking interest in the names of the other slaves, burning into her mind that they were human and to be pitied, never wanting to acknowledge that we were all nothing but toys to the whims of our masters.

This was what I had felt, why I had thought that she had betrayed me. Amongst my kind, I had become a predator, while she had continued to be prey. It was not so much betrayal as a lack of understanding of each other.
Or was it?

Even though the voice had been wrong about Lisbeth, there was still doubt in my mind, as well as anticipation. It had said that I would see her betrayal soon - was this it? And, if not, when would it come to pass?

My mind churned once more, and I retreated to the cold, which gave me stability and safety.

"A choice has to be made, and I'd rather remove somebody from the pool that has shown in the past that they can't follow orders. Why should I stick out my neck for somebody that couldn't care less about what happens to me if they don't do their job?" I snarled.

"This isn't you, Temira!" Lisbeth desperately keened.

I just had it with her! She did not deserve my cold, my composure. She needed to be put in her place - now. Before she dragged me down with her, back to the very bottom, where I did not want to be - where I did not deserve to be.

I turned around fully, planted myself in front of her and snapped, "Oh, really? You know what, let's send you to the next Carnival, where you get trained to be a killer and see how you come out of it!"

She had not seen that reaction coming, that much was clear, as she subliminally stumbled half a step back, eyes wide. "You really are a monster," she whispered, her voice a whimper.

Maybe she got it now.

"Yeah. Welcome to Commorragh," I tiredly replied, all strength gone from my voice, then went on to grab… Bess. I found knowing her name changed nothing about my conviction.

I blinked.

It actually did not!

Did I finally evolve?

I had been reeling when thinking about the personal slaves, whom I had worked with before, but now, knowing Bess's name, I felt nothing anymore. Surely, it could be because I did not remember her fondly in any way, in contrast to the others. However, it felt different. I felt… nothing.

Names of prey are smoke and mirrors.

Exactly! This was why I felt nothing! So what if I knew her name? It did not change the fact that she was, like the rest of us, just cattle.

I delivered her, the Haemonculi did their thing, and Nuscul rose again to fight another day.

However, he was quite unhappy, to put it mildly. Never before had I seen him without his signature smile, when he was not in battle. He obviously was pretty angry that he had lost.

Still, he graced me with one short, fierce smile and told me, as he walked past me, "Nice choice. That one perfectly reflected my emotions. She really hated you, huh?" He did not give me time to answer.

I had theorised that they could feel the emotional state of the essence they absorbed, but the detail of it was harrowing. It was such a clash of facts - they could sense everything if they took a sip of one's essence, and yet, they lacked any kind of empathy, especially when reading their own kind.

Nuscul walked over to Cor'ech, who had wiped the sweat from his brow in the meantime, and taken some of his personal slave's essence to regenerate his strength. Nuscul grumbled, clearly still annoyed about his defeat, "I had not expected so much skill in somebody so drawn back."

Cor'ech gave back smugly, "I like to keep quiet when my competition speaks to let them make mistakes."

A shade of rage washed over Nuscul's face, but he knew better than to be mouthy right now. He just could not, not while he had just lost to the newcomer. So, he let it be with a snarl and walked to his seat, a picture of defiance. He vented his anger at Lethe, whom he hit fiercely into the face, so that her lip burst.
She did not cry out, she was… smiling.

Everything fell into place.

How had I not seen that? Lethe had not kept her humanity. If I had to take a guess, she never had possessed much of it in the first place. I was sure that what I saw in her was a functional sociopath. It would explain everything. From her knowing precisely how to act to mask everything she was, over her extremely long survival as Nuscul's personal slave, all the way to knowing how to push my buttons. It needed a monster to survive the ones around here.

And with that knowledge revealed to me, she would not be able to play me anymore.

Lethe whispered something to Nuscul, completely unfazed by the blood running down her chin, and it made him smile again. He turned to her, licked off her blood and kissed her, tenderly, like a lover. It was a completely weird scenario and I could not help but wonder how much more unusual Nuscul was than I had already seen.

Simultaneously, Cor'ech turned towards the Overlord, who had risen from his seat with a wide smile. He obviously was enjoying this.

"Archon Ulyeam Fahrssyr Cor'ech," Vect declared solemnly, "Kneel. It is time to take your oath to me."

Cor'ech did as he bade, and dropped to one knee in front of Vect.

My eyes grew wide as he took his oath because I could not understand it.

Whatever form of the Drukhari language he was speaking, it was none I had been taught. I recognised some words faintly, but it was impossible to discern what his oath precisely included.

Vect answered in kind, again, I noticed a difference in his pronunciation, making the language sound more formal and ceremonial than out of Cor'ech's mouth.

Eventually, this grand moment was over, and Cor'ech rose, now taking over Vyras's seat in the Circle.

Slyly, Ea'nash interjected, "Let's hope you prove to be more loyal than your predecessor. In the end, all his cunning was worth nothing."

Cor'ech looked him dead in the eye and gave back coldly, "Everybody with the slightest spark of wit knew this was coming. I have planned for his betrayal for a long time and was ready to take over immediately because of that. I knew Vyras's hubris would be his downfall." A perfect insult to Ea'nash because he had not seen it coming and a nod to the powers that had.

However, Ea'nash did not let anything of his emotions show - he was, after all, quite the skilled politician - and gave back, "True. However, let's not forget that you're talking about one of the sharpest men Commorragh has ever seen." It was curious hearing that out of Ea'nash's mouth, who had always been in a deep struggle with Vyras. I wondered what his angle was here. Feel Cor'ech out about his loyalties, perhaps?

A small, vile smile showed on Cor'ech's lips. "Vyras was so intelligent that he came full circle, namely as dumb on the other end, blinded by his hubris, trusting in his wit alone, which, as we all know, is important, but does not solely make a successful Archon."

This was when Zuol grumbled, addressing Vect, "I stand corrected, Overlord. He is a worthy successor."

I was unsure what he referred to, it seemed he was talking about a conversation that had happened when I had not been present.

Vect, who had seated himself in the meantime, scoffed, side-eyed him and berated him, "As I told you many times before: try to have an original thought when it comes down to politics, Zuol." Leaving Zuol hanging, he said, addressing his whole Circle, "Now that the matter of seats is decided, with Cor'ech holding the fourth, much like his predecessor, let us continue with the rest of the duels. I am curious to see who I will go up against eventually. Zuol, Ea'nash - your turn." With a malicious grin, he added, "Do try to make it entertaining." He obviously was referring to the difference in skill.

Without much further ado, Zuol and Ea'nash did as he bade, grabbed their weapons and stepped into the arena.

I could not help but feel some extent of schadenfreude when seeing Ea'nash facing Zuol. There was no way in hell he would win this, and seeing him getting dismembered certainly was a little bit of cathartic relief from all the things he had done to me.

Better to hide that deep, deep down.

Both combatants went for two blades, but the weapons themselves could not be any different from each other - much like their wielders.

Zuol's Demiklaives were heavy blades, which needed not only perfect technique but also a lot of strength to be wielded effectively. Their wielder was a mirror of that fact - rippling, accentuated muscles, a brutish grace to his movements as he gave the blades a few test swings. Like before, across his face a mad, toothy grin was spread.

Ea'nash's blades were much more elegant and lighter than Zuol's - two power sabres, slightly bent, noble weapons. His physique was much slimmer than Zuol's, and not even he, with his massive, political acumen, could entirely hide his apprehension. Still, a glint of salaciousness could be seen in his eyes, betraying his worldly indulgences.

The bow, whose end marked the beginning of the duel, commenced and Zuol immediately attacked with blinding speed and precision, showcasing his mastery of the Incubus art. His movements whirled up the sand, making him look like a deadly spectre, as he delivered brutal strikes both with his blades and body. His style showcased what the Incubi were known for: grace and brutality, a dance of death.

Ea'nash had seen it coming, and did his best to parry and sidestep Zuol's ferocious assault. Unlike everybody's expectations, he did not immediately falter; in fact, he used the hampered vision to his advantage, providing him with cover, and he added to the sandstorm, kicking some more into Zuol's face, to blind him. It certainly fitted his backstabbing nature.

Zuol had to close his eyes and quickly evade as the sand hit home. Ea'nash saw his chance and lunged, blades gleaming in the scattered light.

Ea'nash landed a hit, but at a price. As one of his blades slashed Zuol's flank, the nigh-Incubus turned with the blow and backhanded Ea'nash so hard into the face that he spit blood and tumbled back.

Enough time for Zuol to charge him.

To the surprise of the spectators, Ea'nash managed to throw himself out of the way, holding his balance, but barely. He bluntly parried the swiftly-following strikes, his face a grimace of tension and pain, as the laceration on his cheek smeared his face with blood. Whirled-up sand stuck to it, marring Ea'nash's handsome features.

As if shrouding Ea'nash's beauty had been the opening act, here came the one-sided display everybody had been waiting for.

Zuol was apparently furious.

He danced around Ea'nash, quickly slashing, jabbing and hitting him, but never hard enough to really hamper him. Ea'nash tried to save face and grace, and did his best to resist, but it became clear that Zuol was toying with him. The humiliation became complete when Zuol even left some holes in his defence for Ea'nash to exploit, only to punish each of his attempts.

Eventually, Ea'nash was so weakened that he swayed, chest heaving, breath ragged and strained. One of his eyes was almost closed up by a severe swelling from one of Zuol's hits.

Zuol showed him no mercy.

When Ea'nash's weakness was absolutely apparent, Zuol crashed into him, shoulder hitting solar plexus, knocking him prone and the blades out of his hands. Zuol quickly stepped on his chest and nailed him to the ground, with one of his Demiklaives at Ea'nash's throat, the other raised to deal the final blow.

Yet, he stopped.

A murmur ran through the ranks of the Archons, and even Vect raised an eyebrow. Clearly, none had anticipated this hesitation, especially not from somebody with Incubus training and mindset - they were known for finishing fights quickly.

"You are a coward, Tahvyn, a slimy, little snake, and as such, you don't deserve the honour of a swift death," Zuol boomed, "No, I will execute you like the vermin that you are. Did you really think that kicking sand into my face would save you? Maybe you remember after this that it needs more to be an Archon than just knowing which hole to fit your dick into."

I had never seen Zuol talk so extremely bluntly. For all his belligerent fierceness, he always had chosen his words carefully. However, it was palpable that he was furious, because Ea'nash had tried to disgrace this duel with dirty tricks. Not that there were any rules against it, but with his background, Zuol saw duels as something almost sacred.

To emphasise his words, Zuol's first strike landed between Ea'nash's legs, sending the Archon screaming. What followed, was an impressive showcasing of finest Incubus bladecraft - Zuol quickly and cruelly flayed Ea'nash, using the very edges and tips of the Demiklaives. It was a special skill of the Incubi, to use heavy blades for delicate work like this - they could even do this with a Klaive.

Needless to say, the Archons loved it, and I found a lot of targets amongst the slaves for the next round of regeneration.

I found myself smiling fondly. How Ea'nash deserved this! I felt warm. This catharsis surely was good for me.

I shook myself out of it. I was not allowed to show that I enjoyed his slow demise so much!

Guiltily I looked around, but had to find with relief that the Archons and the Overlord were much more taken with Zuol's cruel performance than with me.

When Zuol had finally stopped and ended Ea'nash's misery by beheading him, he received applause from his colleagues and from the Overlord - very much deserved, as his gruesome display had been a stark reminder of the relentless ways of their kind and the skills needed for the path of the Archon.

I picked out two feeble slaves, not too high quality stock, adding insult to injury. I knew I was on thin ice, but I could not help myself.

My gaze wandered to my master, and this time, he caught it, flashing a vicious smile at me, giving me another small nod, obviously approving of my choice. Yes, Vect hated Ea'nash, and that I underlined it with my choice of victims certainly was a nice touch.

"I hope this display was interesting enough, Overlord!" Zuol exclaimed as he walked back to the stands where the Archons resided. You had to give it to Zuol: he was not intimidated or put down by Vect's cutting remarks in his direction.

"I would rather call it 'educating', Zuol. However, your honouring of Commorragh's values will not be forgotten," Vect fondly replied.

It became clear that Zuol not only held the second position in the Circle because he was a fantastic warrior. His honour-bound and lawful attitude certainly were an important symbol for the Circle. That, and his total fearlessness when faced with rebukes from the Overlord. What underlined the importance of these qualities, was that he was that high in ranks even though his political skills were not that grand, judging from what Vect had let on earlier.

Even though Ea'nash also rose more youthful from the resurrection than before, the glint in his gaze had shifted. It seemed as if Zuol had broken something in him, and for once, he had no lewd remarks for me as he passed me on the way to his seat. Even though he fought to hide hit, he had the expression of a beaten dog. As he sat, he curled his hands to fists, slightly trembling, but fighting for his composure.

I went ahead and 'motivated' my staff again, then went to the bar-kitchen for a sip of water. All this duel-watching and coordinating was taxing. I was hungry, but I knew there would be no food for me until in the evening, so I mitigated it with what I was allowed - water.

A privilege, actually. Most slaves were not even granted that relief. I felt no guilt for partaking in my privileges in front of their eyes. I had worked hard for them after all!

Lisbeth tried to approach me, probably to apologise for her outburst, but I just waved her away. She had given me enough trouble as it was, and I would not have her put me off-balance again.

However, I had underestimated her persistence.

She ignored my gesture and still came to me, halted a few steps behind me, hemming and hawing, but then quietly uttering, "I'm sorry. I know you're just trying to do your best in the eyes of the Overlord."

I sighed, braced myself against the counter and lowered my head. Tiredly, I replied, "Me too."

I did not mean that. I had been right, after all. I found myself not caring anymore whether Lisbeth sensed the lie. It was not like she could call me out on it.

But why did I make such an effort to convey it, then?

I was unsure.

"Just… let's stay away from each other for now. I feel like it's not good as long as we're in public," I told her.

I could clearly see that something broke in her as I told her these words.

Why? I had a point, and she had to see that! We were just hurting each other, even though we should stand as one. We were divided, where we should be united, and we exposed each other if we kept interacting.

She nodded, then turned on her heels and walked away, shoulders slumped.

What was going on with her? It was not like I had told her to stay away from me forever, just for this meeting.

Was there something I did not know about? Had Vect threatened her in some way? Had I been right all along and he had ordered her to tear on my heartstrings, to make all this harder for me?
Something was wrong with her, but the issue was, I absolutely lacked the opportunity to look into it. I had wasted enough time with Lisbeth and her drama, and that I had to take a break now and ponder things, certainly would not reflect well on me.

Luckily, the Archons were occupied otherwise, as the next and last duel pair armed themselves and entered the arena.

This one would be interesting!

I felt a sting of sadness as my master waved me to him. That meant I would not be allowed to follow it.

I bowed and quietly asked, "Master?"

"Take a seat, Temira. The next duel will be educational, and I know you cannot keep your eyes off the arena anyway. You might as well watch in a dignified manner, not sneaking peeks on the sly," Vect grinned.

For a second I was afraid that he was mad with me, but I relaxed as I realised that his inflexion had this jovial timbre to it.
My face lit up and I gave back, "Thank you, master!"

Vect chuckled and motioned me to sit.

I did as he bade, and watched the arena carefully, while sitting on my heels beside his seat.

I now understood why Vect had chosen the pairs the way he had. Both duels featured two pairs of fighters that used very similar techniques, so the measuring of skill was particularly harsh.

Whereas Zuol vs Ea'nash had not been overly interesting, the upcoming one would be. Cor'ech had already proven that he was a formidable warrior.

The two combatants moved into the arena.

Cor'ech on one side, firmly gripping his Fechtfeder just like before, calm, determined, focused. His expression was unreadable.

Sythrac was on the opposite side, displaying a similar stance like Cor'ech, albeit a bit closer to the ground. His black eyes were fixating his opponent, and, much like him, his face showed little expression besides intense focus. He was aware that this duel could not be easily won, but he also had millennia of experience on his side.

Again, no bow, just a nod - it had to do with Cor'ech's new status - and then they started.

Much unlike the duels before, there was no immediate charging to be had. Those two tactical fighters started circling each other, mirroring each other's movements with impressive precision. Single blows got exchanged and parried, and it was done with such speed that I could not follow the motions precisely. Lesser opponents would have been struck with ease, but these two, oh, they knew how to fence.

Even though the pace of the duel was slower than from those before, it was no less impressive. This fight was waged in matters of technique and in the mind. Who would lose his patience first and make a reckless mistake?

You could see in Cor'ech's face that he was highly concentrated, probably trying to dissect Sythrac's swordplay and pick out weaknesses for him to attack. His advantage was speed and reach, as his younger body was springier than Sythrac's and his blade longer - and he needed both.

What was interesting, was that Sythrac also was intensely focused. Cor'ech seemed to be quite the menace to deal with. Not to say that Sythrac was troubled by that, no, he radiated his usual, regal calmness, but that he had to concentrate this much was in itself remarkable.

I now wondered how this fight would have gone if Sythrac had his armour. I would have loved to see the difference.

There was a thoughtfulness to this duel that was astonishing. Somehow, it seemed more like a riddle than a fight, and the first one to find its solution would emerge victorious. Each move was measured, each strike deliberately executed.

At this pace, this would drag on forever, I thought.

I was wrong. Everything changed in this split-second.

The duellists had generated some distance to each other, and now, both charged at the same time, apparently coming to the same conclusion as I had. The speed of the duel accelerated by a leap, it now became one mesmerising swirl of motion, lunges, parries, ripostes, dodges, flying clothes and hair, all woven into one. It was almost hypnotising to watch. The speed of youth, matched against the experience of millennia.

The ringing of the blades echoed through the hall, and as I took a quick look around, I was fascinated to see that all Archons were watching the duel intently. Every single one of them found it very enthralling, as it seemed. Sure, it was not the first time this happened today, but they all were taken by a strange sense of focus, which gave the feeling in the room a much tenser touch than before.

Even though Cor'ech found himself in a situation of mounting perturbation, he refused to desist and despair. Many others in his stead would have. However, he underlined his level of discipline, his face stern, yet calm, and even though he was sweating bullets, he did not let on any strain or pain.

What I had observed in Cor'ech in the duel against Nuscul, I now could witness with Sythrac. The more he got into the flow of the fight, the better he fenced.

As sudden as the fast phase of the duel had begun, as fast it ended.

Cor'ech missed one parry, and that was enough for the ancient Hierarch. He hooked Cor'ech's weapon, and with a swift twist, he disarmed him, sending the Fechtfeder flying to the other end of the arena, with no chance for Cor'ech to recover his weapon.

In an act of final defiance, Cor'ech moved in, trying to wrestle Sythrac for his blade. But the Hierarch was ready for him, moved swiftly back, and brought his blade up for the deadly blow, slashing Cor'ech's throat in a flash of gleaming light caught on his blade.

Cor'ech tumbled one step forward, clutching his throat, but keeled over, as the massive blood loss and fluid in his lungs took their deadly toll.

Sythrac also received applause for his performance. This duel certainly had been something else, showcasing his unwavering discipline and skill.

Vect also graced him with praise, "Well done, my esteemed Hierarch! I can clearly see why you still deserve your place after all these years."
Sythrac bowed and replied, "Thank you, Overlord, I'm honoured."

Vect gave Sythrac a respectful nod and snapped his fingers beside my ear, signalling me to go and pick slaves for Cor'ech's resurrection. I got up, bowed and did as he bade.

Lisbeth stared at me quietly, her gaze showing a mixture of consternation, incomprehension and disgust.

It was all falling apart.

I almost laughed at the thought, because I had been so childish. I should have seen that this cruel test would be too much for us.

Adding to my cruelty towards the slaves, she surely had realised that I enjoyed watching the duels and the demises that came with them, once more underlining how alien I now was to her… or to any normal human, for that matter.

I realised that this might have also been a part of the reason why Vect had let me watch officially. It would fit. And I found myself not caring anymore that he wanted to drive a wedge between us. It was happening anyway.

Finality mixed into my sadness over our breaking. This had to happen. Even though it hurt, it was good, as our friendship was destined to fail and drown us both.

I picked out a strong slave for Cor'ech, honouring his skill with my choice, as I suspected Vect wanted it this way. It fell on a woman built like an amazon.

Cor'ech came back much stronger than before; apparently the Haemonculi had made sure that the suffering of this particularly strong slave gave him a lot to work with.

As he passed me, he smiled and quietly said to me, "Seems as if I'm a rising star. A fine choice, I appreciate it."

I bowed to him in answer. Maybe Cor'ech was not so bad after all. He seemed to have his faculties in order.

Sythrac nodded his approval as Cor'ech approached the assembly. "You fought well," he stated, "even though I believe I saw some of my techniques in your swordplay."

So, that was why their styles had occasionally looked like mirror images!

Cor'ech smiled - for the first time, it looked sincere - and gave back, "Why hide that I decided to learn from the best?"

Sythrac scoffed. "You know that flattery will get you nowhere."

Cor'ech's smile was unwavering and he did not flinch at the rebuke. "It's not flattery if it's the truth. You implied a question, Hierarch - I answered it."

Sythrac answered his smile with a measured smirk and narrowed eyes. "Seems as if your tongue and your blade have some things in common."

They gave each other a deferential nod, and Cor'ech seated himself.

The assembly disbanded a bit and took a break, with Sythrac and Zuol 'freshening up' by using some slaves for that. I made sure that my staff understood that even though this was happening, it was no excuse for them to falter.

It did not make me more popular, to say the least, but I did no longer care.

Then, it was time for the big fight. Vect, Sythrac and Zuol got ready. I felt butterflies in my stomach. This one would be a battle to remember, that was guaranteed!

Vect got up, smiled and lightly quipped, "Seems as if my idea of switching up the pairs is now working against me! It has been quite a while since we battled in this constellation. Then again, who would be better suited to truly test my mettle than my two finest?"

Sythrac and Zuol grinned and took the compliment with a nod, but did not retort. Their cards were certainly not bad in this match-up.

Before he left, Vect told me, "You may watch this one too, Temira."

I thanked him with a bow.

The trio took their weapons, and walked into the arena.

I could barely contain myself. I could not wait to see this!

Before they began, Vect shook his head and exclaimed, "I almost forgot!" He turned towards the assembly. "Since these are my slaves, I get to choose whose suffering is going to be used to bring me back should I fall." His gaze slowly scanned the room, he truly seemed to contemplate his choice.

I was taken aback that he was planning for that eventuality. He did not seem insecure about achieving victory, but then again, Vect always had a plan for every outcome.

Also, dread rose in me. I would not be surprised if he chose Lisbeth, and had this be my ultimate test, to stand idly by while she gave her life to save his. Even though I had mostly turned my back on her, I was not sure whether I could bear this, especially so shortly after my mental breaking with her.

The fear of the slaves was palpable as Vect let his cold, black eyes wander over them. The faces of the Archons showed how damn good it felt for them. It was unsurprising, really. This was like a cosy blanket around them.

All eyes were on Vect, as he slowly outstretched his left arm, and pointed with his pale index finger towards one of the slaves, a young woman. "You. I want you."

The slave paled, but my eyes were quickly redirected to Lisbeth, who barely stifled a tortured sob with her hands in front of her mouth and nose. She swayed, looking like she was about to faint. Before I could move, she stormed towards the slave and hugged the seemingly petrified girl.

Lisbeth keened, "I'm so sorry, Novia, this is my fault, I…" Her voice broke with wailing sobs.

Something shattered in me as I beheld this scene.

As Lisbeth hugged Novia the way she had hugged me in the past, when I had been beaten down by my parents over and over or when I had made a harrowing discovery in therapy, my world imploded.

I thought I had entirely separated myself from her, but I had not. There still was a tether left, a faint hope…

Do you believe she has abandoned you now?

Yes, yes I did. Now, I had proof that I was dead to Lisbeth. The voice had been right all along. I just was too blind to see it. I had not wanted to see it.

My gaze darted to the Overlord. The smile on Vect's face told me that he had known that Novia and Lisbeth were close. His choice had not been random, as expected.

His gaze caught mine.

Maybe he had chosen Novia not only because he wanted to torment Lisbeth, but to show me where she stood?

He gave me the slightest of nods.

Yes. He made me see. He made me understand. He made me believe.

Was it… his voice that guided me, as impossible as it was?

My mind churned for a second, but then a strange, final calm came over me.

I realised it did not matter whether it was so.

I returned his nod by bowing my head and holding the pose, showing my gratitude.

It was him and me. And it would be so for the rest of my life.

I did as he had allowed me, and sat beside his seat, to watch the fight, my heart fluttering with anticipation.

The trio entered the arena. What was utterly strange about it was the calm with which they approached this battle. All of them seemed to be primarily composed and focused, and even though the tension was palpable, it felt… tranquil. Even if I had not known who the combatants were, it would have been clear that these three were no novices in their field, and had seen more battles than most others.

Assembling in a loose triangle, they bowed to each other, then poised themselves to fight.

There was no immediate action. At first, the combatants sized each other up, their faces the definition of focus. Sythrac and Zuol exchanged just a glance, and seemed to know precisely what they wanted to do. They slowly moved to tackle Vect from opposite sides, as it was wise to do.

Sythrac was poised in a classical fencing stance, half-low, slightly swivelling his sword, measuring the movements of his opponent. He used both his hands, and his forward hand was curled around the handguard of the Huskblade in a handshake grip, giving him more dexterity to manoeuvre his blade.

Zuol's stance was slightly lowered too, and he circled Vect with the gait of a jaguar, his steps inaudible, his whole body tense, coiled, ready to lunge at any moment. The Demiklaives in his hand reflected the crimson light of the hall with a promise of pain.

The Overlord made no move to avoid them circling him; it would have been futile anyway. Instead, he assumed a very open stance, slightly lowered, seeing to it that he was ready for either - or both - to strike.

To my surprise, it was Sythrac who made the first move. Swiftly, yet efficiently, he approached Vect, shuffling steps, his movements measured and poised. They exchanged a series of quick hits, so fast that my eyes could barely follow. Clearly, Sythrac was testing the waters.

Zuol had only waited for this.

He charged with insane speed, Demiklaives spread by his side, the air whistling around them. His assault was like an unstoppable boulder.

Vect knew it.

He made no attempt to deflect or parry Zuol's ferocious strikes, but side-stepped and dodged them, letting Zuol's energy run into thin air. Zuol was a bit destabilised by that, and Vect aimed to cash in on that with a butt end strike.

However, Sythrac realised it and led Vect's assault to be in vain as he deliberately hit the Sceptre from the top. Vect missed, and Sythrac moved in, smashing his handguard into Vect's face.

The Overlord gritted his teeth, toughing out the pain, and swiftly took a few steps back, moving with the momentum of Sythrac's hit, minimising its impact.

Sythrac pursued, switching up his style to a heavy-handed, wide-swinging one, his blade crashing into the Sceptre, aiming to destabilise Vect further.

Zuol had come around by now, circling behind Sythrac, his charge synergised with the Hierarch's movements. He lept in from the side, combining his Demiklaives mid-movement and using his momentum to lean into a devastating strike.

Vect knew he could not stand that combined force. He leapt backwards, hurled himself around in mid-air and turned his seemingly chaotic jump into a controlled dive roll, gaining distance. He whirled around as he got up, swinging the Sceptre around with the movement of his body.

It was direly necessary.

The other two Archons had followed him, aiming to continue their ferocious assault, but now the wide swing and carried momentum of the Sceptre did its thing and the weapons clashed heavily, destabilising the two Archons.

Vect immediately leapt to the opportunity and followed his swing with a number of lightning-fast stabs, seemingly erratically distributed between his opponents. Adding to the randomness of his strikes, he moved in a complex pattern, making his movements erratic too, and seemingly impossible to follow.

Both Archons managed to dodge or block most flicks of the Sceptre, but were graced with some cuts.

Not a tinge of pain was shown.

Sythrac managed to manoeuvre himself to the side a bit, as he dodged and parried Vect's jabs, and now kept the business end of the Sceptre busy with quick and efficient strikes, all while Zuol whirled around and lunged at Vect, turning in his charge, seemingly unimpressed by Vect's jittery movements.
Vect jabbed the pointed butt end at Zuol, who turned with the movement of the jab, closing distance with a jump swing.

Vect, with gritted teeth, destabilised Sythrac with a particularly hard jab and used the milliseconds he bought himself to turn and meet Zuol's ferocious lunge. Zuol was in full stretch.

I had seen this before.

Atanel had tried a similar thing against Vect and it had hilariously backfired.

However, Zuol was not Atanel.

Vect flicked the blade of his weapon at Zuol, confident about impaling him, but the old general had a surprise ready for him. In a movement I could not follow, suddenly his separated Demiklaives sprung into his hands. His offhand hit the Sceptre, swatting it aside, and his main hand chopped at Vect's neck.

Vect barely ducked under the ferocious swing, which would have taken his head off.

Sythrac used Vect's unfavourable position to swing down on him, once more using his wide-range motions to gain more momentum and impact to his strikes.

Vect grit his teeth and blocked him, getting shoved backwards due to the sheer impact of the strikes, and his wrists had to be killing him, as he could not use much of his body to dampen the impacts.

All of them were clearly giving it their all, bathed in sweat and exhaustion started to show. They could not hold this pace much longer.

The ranks of the Archons were utterly silent and motionless, all completely mesmerised by the fight.

With a grunt and an impressive show of strength, Vect hurled himself backwards, bringing the Sceptre up to meet Zuol's strikes. In the same motion, he jabbed the butt end into Sythrac's chest, who had apparently underestimated Vect's quickness.

Sythrac grunted, face distorting in pain, and tumbled backwards, the pointy end leaving a nasty stab in his sternum. Vect could not pursue, as Zuol crashed into him, shoving him backwards with his entire body, shoulder into solar plexus.

Vect breathed out sharply, teeth bared, a flicker of pain dancing over his features.

Zuol grappled him as he crashed into him, one arm going around Vect's neck, using his stronger physique perfectly, whirling the Overlord around. Vect knew the danger he was in, his staff weapon useless at this distance, and Zuol still having a free weapon to go for the killing blow.

Vect did not fight against Zuol spinning him around, but leant into the movement, using the momentum to make it impossible for Zuol to hold on. Vect brought up his knee and, still using the spin Zuol had given him, landed it into the backside of Zuol's thigh. The leg of the Archon gave way, he bared his teeth too, pain evident here too.

Vect stepped back to get distance for his weapon, but Sythrac followed suit, flicking his sword at him. Another efficient duel between the Overlord and his second-in-command commenced, which gave Zuol time to steady his stance. The minimalism of their movements was fascinating, each seemingly small movement holding the impact to take a life.

"Zuol!" Sythrac barked, clearly having his hands full with keeping Vect in check. Sword against spear always was a hassle to hold. On top of that, he had to be in pain, as blood streaked across his torso from the hits he had taken, prime among them the jab to his sternum. Every breath had to be agony.

The nigh-Incubus heeded the literal call with a roar and charged again, slightly limping, whirling up sand this time, swivelling his blades, making it impossible to see where he would strike next.

My eyes widened at what came next.

With Zuol inbound, Sythrac cemented once and for all why he was the best duellist in this Circle. In the blink of an eye, he switched styles again, slid past another of Vect's jabs and led the Huskblade in a crescent movement, coming from below. The Huskblade slipped past the Sceptre on Vect's side, and with a singing, wet sound, he severed Vects forearms. The incredibly sharp blade cleft his arms apart like butter.

Vect did not even have enough time to scream.

Zuol crashed into the distressed Overlord. In a split-second, the Demiklaives were combined. Zuol shoved Vect against Sythrac, who braced against the impact. In the same movement, Zuol smashed the long handguard against Vect's neck, breaking it like a twig and with a dry, boney sound.

Sythrac shuffled backwards, blade still poised, obviously unsure that this was it.

But Vect's body grew limp, and he slowly fell forward, no flicker of life in his black eyes to be seen.

The Overlord had fallen.

I watched the whole scene with consternation and disbelief. They had really done it. They had beaten Vect!

For a few seconds, only the panting of the two victors could be heard.

And then the ranks of the Archons exploded in applause.

"Amazing!" Atanel exclaimed.

"That's a first, huh?" Sarnak jeered.

Sythrac and Zuol smiled and nodded at each other.

"Nice duelling there, Valossian. You've certainly bought me time," Zuol acknowledged.

Sythrac grinned and gave back, "Couldn't have done it without your ferociousness."

They rested up while they waited for the Haemonculi to move.

This time, Rakarth moved to get the body. It made sense. They did not want to mess this particular regeneration up. Also, a checkup was in order for the two other Archons, and they surely deserved the best of the best too.

I had to move too. I walked towards Novia, who stared at me with wide eyes. Vect had chosen her for his regeneration, and he would have his prize.

Lisbeth came towards me. "No, Temira, please…" she cried, grabbing my arm, more forceful like she had before.

I tore my arm away from her, hissing at her, "Why do you beg me for her life? It is not up to me!"

Lisbeth did not listen. She planted herself in front of me, staring me dead in the eye and snarled, "I won't let you do this!"

"Don't be ridiculous! Move aside!"

"Make me!"

I blinked. Was she not aware that I had to punish her now? Disobeying me was one of those criteria that meant punishment. Was this a test of hers - or of Vect - to see whether I had it in me to hurt her?

"Don't make me do this," I whispered.

"I also wish our places were swapped," she replied. Hurt, but determined.

As much as I wanted to obey the rules the Overlord had imposed on me and as much as every molecule of me wanted to be the perfectly obedient slave for him, this, this one thing, I could not do. I could not hurt Lisbeth, no matter how far gone I was, no matter how much she had betrayed me, no matter how deeply Vect had changed me. I knew that it would cost both her and me as soon as Vect caught wind of it, but I just could not push myself. I would have to live with the consequences.

But I would not feel guilty about her fate after this, because she could have avoided all this by being obedient too.

So I simply shoved her aside, deflecting her grab at my arm, and snarled at her, "Don't!"

I jumped at the sharpness of my own voice, and apparently Lisbeth did too, because she was petrified. Tears welled up in her eyes as I grabbed Novia, who pleaded for her life, but her pleas did not touch me, just like before.

Both Haemonculi regarded me with bloodcurdling smiles as I neared them.

"Yes, good, bring her here," Vlokarion gently praised me as I dragged Novia, who struggled, to the torture table. Like the rest before her, she did not have a prayer against me, my upgraded body totally dominated hers with ease.

I fought hard to ignore Lisbeth's forceful sobs that echoed through the hall.

Why did it still hurt me? There was no reason for it! After all, she should have seen this coming when forging friendships in Commorragh!

Maybe it hurt because I should have seen it coming. I should have known that she would not be strong enough for the tests of the Dark City.

As I was close to the Haemonculi, Rakarth grabbed the thrashing girl, controlling her even more easily than I did - extra limbs and absolutely supernatural strength for the win - and forced her into the shackles on the table.

Vlokarion gently cupped my face in his hands. He was so tender, it sent a shiver down my spine. "Now, do you want to help?" he asked me.

My breath got stuck in my throat. Feelings that tore me apart surged through me. On one hand, I was terrified to torture in this echelon, on the other, I really wanted to prove myself and I felt extremely honoured by the request.

"I-if you think I can, Maester…" I stammered.

Vlokarion uttered his hoarse chuckle.

Had I misread his meaning?

The Haemonculus gently stroked my cheek and kissed my forehead. Another shiver ran down my spine. Him being gentle with me always had something special about it.

"Oh, child," he cooed, "you can hand me my tools. I wouldn't have you lay your hands on a slave whose suffering is meant for the Overlord."

I was relieved. "Thank you, Maester."

Vlokarion shot me an evil smile, then took my hand and led me to the table on which the torture implements were neatly arranged. He bade me to stop, and told me, "Stay here, I'll be right back." Then, he moved away to help Rakarth with some preparations.

I whirled around as I heard a rage- and pain-filled cry far too close behind me.

Lisbeth was charging me.

Lisbeth.

Was.

Charging.

Me.

Her face a swollen mess of tears on reddened skin, she jumped at me, fist raised, ready to strike. Easily, I caught her hand. With surprising strength - had to be all that adrenaline in her - she ripped her hand out of mine and started aimlessly flailing her fists against me, screaming, "YOU RUINED EVERYTHING! WE COULD'VE BEEN A TEAM! IF YOU JUST SAW THE TRU…"

She wanted to scream more, but that was when Vlokarion emerged behind her, like a killer out of a horror movie. It needed only one touch of his to render her unconscious, and she keeled over and fell to the floor as he let go.

"That is quite enough ruckus," he commented in a tone that you usually used to scold a child.

I was shaking, not even registering the pain from the blows that had hit. Did she really believe that? Did she really think that everything about our situation had been my fault?

Everything spun around me. The world grew dim. It was so hard to separate up from down.

Was she… right?

"...better this way anyway. We can't have that brackish taste of this one ruin the Overlord's resurrection," Rakarth said at the edge of my consciousness.

Only now I realised that I had fallen to my knees. What…?

"Seems as if Temira needs a moment. We better get started," Vlokarion's voice touched my mind, so far away.

This attack had absolutely hammered the message home, swatting all of my last, subconscious doubts aside. There truly was nothing left between us.

This, directly attacking me, and telling me everything was my fault… there was nothing I could think or say in mitigation. It seemed as if Lisbeth had harboured resentment against me for a while now, and it had now exploded in my face.

All that angry deflection I had given her earlier, it had been the last shred of pain still reigning in me, the last string of emotion.

But now, my stomach felt like it dropped to my ankles, coldness asserting itself in my chest. Colder, colder, colder, until I could not feel anything anymore. It felt like I would not come back from the cold this time, and I did not struggle with the notion anymore.

Wait.

Why was my face wet?

Was I… crying?

Oh no.

I came to realise that I had completely spaced out for a while when my master's voice reached my ears, "A few minutes out of it and my personal slaves cannot behave. Disappointing from one, expected from the other."

That snapped me back into reality and I looked up, blinking the tears away. He stood between Lisbeth and me, in his usual, regal demeanour, looking as fresh as ever.

No flicker of madness in his eyes.

What was his secret?

Lisbeth had come to, and was half-lying on the floor, barely managing to hold her torso upright. Vect crouched, gently laid his hand against her chin and made her look into his eyes as he told her with a creepy tenderness, "I told you that you made it so much worse for yourself months ago, now did I not?"

He neither expected nor wanted an answer, for he let go of her chin and backhanded her into the face when he was finished talking, and then turned towards me.

"And you," he sighed, "have you by now not learnt the lesson that your tears should only be shed when I allow it? I thought you were better than this, Temira. Disappointing, very disappointing."

I felt torn asunder. He was absolutely right. I should be better than this. And yet, seeing Lisbeth ultimately, utterly betray me, had broken me. Much more than anything else before. I could not help it, my tears flowed. I knew he would tear me to pieces for this failure.

"I… I'm s… sorry… ma… master," I stammered, body shaking with sobs.

Vect sighed deeply, stroked my hair, then kissed my forehead, and whispered against it, "Yes, I know, you truly are." Drawing away a bit, he continued, his inflexion pained, "But you know what I must do now, Temira."

I nodded, crying harder.

Vect got up, and had the guards come over, taking both Lisbeth and me away. I heard that he gave them orders, but my mind was too tired to translate the words.

I did not resist as two Incubi grabbed me, drew me to my feet and nudged me out of the training hall.

I had failed him. I should have been better. How could I?

How could Lisbeth? I thought she had understood what I had gone through? Had it all been a lie? Had she come to resent me before we even met in Commorragh? Had our entire friendship been a lie?

I could not tell anymore, and it was driving me insane. Everything was so muddled. My good memories with her were faint, my emotions barely there, and everything was so far, far away.

When the Incubi threw me on the floor in the quarters, I realised that I had not registered the way back. I expected them to put me in shackles or in one of the cages, but none of that happened, they just left.

I realised I was alone. Would I ever see Lisbeth again, after this disaster?

I keeled over and curled myself up into a ball, sobbing, crying, seeming to be unable to stop. I did not know what was going on with me right now, but I was unable to control my reactions.

Did I cry because I felt that Lisbeth and I were now over?
Did I cry because I had failed my master?

Did I cry because I was afraid of what would come next?

I wished I could tell, to at least get some clarity.

But all I could do was lie here and struggle with myself.


Those two kept things spicy. This was another almost-disaster, Vect had to admit...

…if he did not already have a plan.

It was time.

He had thought he could tear them asunder by showing Temira that Lisbeth could not handle the glorious thing she had become, and that Lisbeth had found a replacement for her in the other girl- but again, he had underestimated the strength of the bond they shared. Temira had broken in the end, yes, but she still had a shred of empathy left for Lisbeth.

He suppressed a sigh. How exquisitely Temira had broken! It certainly had enhanced his regeneration experience. Temira's suffering was one of the most potent he had ever encountered, and he could not have planned all this better himself!

That Lisbeth had flung herself at Temira at this particular point, cementing for Temira once and for all that their connection was severed, had been fantastic!
Not that Lisbeth deserved any leniency for it, after all, she had acted on her impulses, not because she wanted to please him. She would play her role to the end, and it would be remarkable!

Their connection did not work in his favour anymore, he needed to isolate Temira entirely if she was to play her destined role to perfection. And nothing less than perfection would work for what he had in mind with her.

No matter. He had planned for this eventuality anyway. In fact, he was not entirely unhappy this turned out the way it had - but he would not let Temira see that in the slightest. She needed to be pushed now, but that, too, worked in his favour, as he could make her punishment the perfect prelude for what came next.

Yes, Temira's failure to tear Lisbeth out of her heart complicated things, but now one of the most delicious scenes he had ever borne witness to would unfurl for him.

A nod to Vlokarion, who returned it, and slithered away to prepare everything.

Now he just had to get this meeting over with.


Note: "You just made it so much worse for yourself." - this veiled threat of Vect to Lisbeth is found in Chapter 18!

Down, down, down the spiral we go.
Where will it all end?

Oh! I almost forgot! The Lelith fight in Chapter 19 is also going to be online pretty soon! Just check back in a few days, I'll update the note to this chapter and chapter 19!

Please, let me know what you think! I hope that the fights were not boring!