Alaric stood against a marble pillar at the training ground's edge, arms crossed, watching with detached fascination.
The arena was impressive, carved from black stone that seemed to absorb light, with reinforced barriers surrounding the combat space.
Weapon racks lined the walls, filled with everything from standard blades to exotic demon armaments.
Observation platforms rose on multiple levels, currently empty except for Alaric's solitary presence.
And in the center... two figures engaged in combat.
One was a demon general.
Mordax, one of Lilith's senior commanders.
He was massive, easily eight feet tall, with obsidian skin and eyes like molten gold. Four arms, each wielding a different weapon with practiced expertise.
His movements were precise.
The other—
Brandon Azra'kharzeth.
Twenty-two years old now. No longer the small child Alaric had watched playing in cottage gardens. This Brandon was a man, lean and powerful, moving with predatory grace.
