“I’m pretty confident I can handle myself, thanks,” Len replied.

She’d meant it to come out in an even manner, but there was a bit more snap in her voice than she could help. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but this Demon Lord was kind of pissing her off. If she’d stopped to think about it, she’d have probably wrangled her emotions a bit better but fuck it, she was committed now.

“Hey,” the Lord snapped back. “This is for you’re own good. You don’t have the slightest clue what’s going on here.”

“No, I’ve pretty much got it. You’ve got a bunch of eager thralls just looking to entertain you and you’re annoyed that someone isn’t immediately caught up in your charms. Forgive me for having a trace of free will, princess.”

The title was entirely inaccurate, but that didn’t seem to matter.

“Whatever, elf. I’m not sure how you made it this far, but it’s not like you’re going any farther. When you get wiped out, I’ll be sure to have you sent to the shittiest corner of our territory to live out your days in boredom.”

“Great threat. I’m quivering in terror. Tell you what, O Mighty Lord, I’m gonna thrash everyone in your little tournament, really upend things. Should be fun to see all your minions confused as a lowly dark elf takes on the greatest contenders the land has to offer. And with three goblins, no less.”

“Good luck with that, kiddo. Hope you enjoyed your one meeting with the Demon Lord, because I don’t expect I’ll be hearing from you again.”

Len turned on her heel and strode out of the audience chamber, fuming. No one stopped her so she supposed she hadn’t quite managed to earn herself an execution. What the hell was that woman’s problem, anyway?!?

She stormed back to her quarters uninterrupted, replaying the conversation again and again in her head. There had been that one moment of genuine fear in the woman’s eyes, but it’d faded pretty quickly and the instant it was gone, she’d just been a stuck up pain in the ass. She climbed into her bed, plucked up the pillow, and screamed for a solid thirty seconds before coming back to herself and realizing that she wasn’t alone.

“Everything good, boss?” asked Larry, his tone just a bit too controlled.

“It’s fine,” Len spat. “Don’t want to talk about it, we’ve got bigger things on our plate. It’s getting late. Rest up, we are going to destroy them tomorrow.”

“Well, ah… good to see that you’re fired up, I think I’m just gonna go to bed now and try not to think about whatever’s got you so pissed.”

“Good plan,” she replied, then plopped the pillow over her head and stopped talking.

* * * * *

She didn’t get the best sleep of her life that night. Between being pissed at the Lord, being pissed at herself both for losing control AND for not getting in the kind of zingers that the mind comes up with after dwelling on a fight for several hours, she was grumpy to a rather extreme degree. Also the fact that they were getting up a good four hours before she was used to from her time at the outpost. The goblins gave her a wide berth as they meandered down to the mess hall, devoured a decent breakfast, and made their way to the tournament proper to observe the matches.

The first match was so unremarkable that Len actually wanted to go back to bed. Neither side showed any real talent for combat, just kind of bashing each other back and forth across the arena until one side had beaten down the rest. It was one of the sadder things she’d seen since arriving, and she’d seen Craig get his ass kicked by a pack of goblins. The second match fared a little better. A team of Orcs against a… Necromancer? Vampire? She wasn’t entirely clear, but the dude definitely had the upper-crust goth thing going on, and he bested his enemies with some flashy shadow magic, and brutal skeleton action. She’d expected him to go for the kill, but once he’d taken out his opponents, he just bowed out and walked off the field, earning a couple of cheers, but not much else.

The third combatants, she recognized. It was Krel, accompanied by Vrek, the Draconid fellow, and the zombie. They were matched against a pair of ogres and a basilisk rider. Impressive stuff, she had to admit. The fight started off slow, with Krel and the Draconid flanking to the sides, while Vrek and the zombie advanced straight for the foes. One of the Ogres charged at Vrek and the two tumbled to the ground in a mass of meat and fury. The other one just laughed at the much smaller zombie before hurling a giant dagger at his chest.

The dagger struck true with a meaty thump and the ogre turned his attention elsewhere. It cost him. The zombie, instead of dropping like the sack of potatoes that any mortal creature would be likely to after having a blade almost as wide as their torso strike them in the chest, calmly pulled the blade out (to the gasps of more than a few onlookers), and marched straight up to the now-distracted ogre and slashed him in the side with the same blade. Len’s keen eyes saw a purpling mass begin to spread out from the wound and heard the ogre scream out in agony before dropping to his knees. The zombie, after pausing for a second, lifted the blade up, reversed it, and drove it directly into the ogre’s skull, killing him instantly and earning cheers from the crowd.

Vrek, meanwhile, had gotten atop the ogre and was in the process of beating the poor bastard’s skull in with his boulder-like fists. Before long, the rhythmic pounding had gone from solid thuds to wetter, more sickening crunches and the ogre had gone limp. Vrek reared up and roared in triumph.

The basilisk rider, sensing his peril, appeared to be ready to run and surrender. Krel didn’t let him. Hurling a pair of daggers into the mount’s eyes, he leapt upon the rider and ripped his helmet off, revealing a terrified-looking dark elf. It’s possible that Krel would’ve been as brutal to any foe that he came across, but Len was fairly certain that the rage that popped into his eyes as he beheld the race of his foe was a new thing and it did not go well for the elf. While Vrek had been brutally efficient in his kill, Krel took his time, carving pieces out of him, carefully maiming him for all to see. This wasn’t just a victory, it was a statement of intent, and it was intended for an audience of one. Len forced herself to watch the entire bloody affair as Krel continued to play.

That play was cut abruptly short when the Draconid hurled a chakram into the poor elf’s chest, ending him. Krel turned eyes burning with fury on the Draconid, who gazed calmly back at him, challenge plain on his face. For just an instant, it seemed as though Krel were going to push the issue but finally he relented and simply raised a fist in victory. The Draconid nodded and walked off the field.

“Well, that was a bit much,” said Moe. “Did you see the way he tore into that guy?”

“Yeah, I did,” she said. “So yeah, those are the guys I beat to get here. They… might have taken it a bit personally.”

“Well that’s just fantastic,” said Larry. “You don’t make a lot of friends, do you, Len?”

She couldn’t really argue with him on that point.