[b]Abijah ab-Marduk![/b]

This is not how you pictured your afternoon going. It was supposed to involve a lot more sipping fizzy drinks and being fanned by your absolute cutie of a slave-girl, for one thing. And for another you weren't supposed to even [i]see[/i] Lady Jezcha, let alone have her pawn off her duties on you at the last minute. Spoiled little Daddy's Girl, who does she think she is? Next time you'll give her a piece of your mind, that's what you'll do!

Haha, who are you kidding? She is [i]terrifying.[/i] She'd probably shoot you in half just for thinking about this, let alone saying it. Besides, the chain had got to be respected, or else how were the poor, stupid slaves to be expected to know how to fall in line? But that's not stopping you from being in a foul mood. Patrol the arena, Abijah! Oversee the cleaning, Abijah! Whip the slaves, Abijah! Bitch. You honestly can't decide whether you'd rather this turn out to be a waste of your time and at least be over quickly or actually find something worth policing and have a fresh target to take out all this frustration on. 

You're just about to reach the conclusion that you need a punching bag after all when a horrifically cold wind comes clawing up your legs and pulls a shiver straight out of your spine. Brr. Your expertly trained ears pick up the heavy clomping of feet and you wheel around with slightly too jumpy to be intimidating energy and raise your weapon into firing position. A ratty earth girl with a broom drops cowering to the ground in terror, but it's of you. There's nothing else here.

"Show yourself!" you bark, but you're already wincing inside because the upward trail of your voice just betrayed you.

You growl, and the slave girl prostrates herself on her stomach, not sure how else to please you. You sigh and lower your weapon a moment later. You're being stupid. It's just because Shamash has come. You're nervous because if you get blamed for some stupid draft spoiling their glory and their pleasure it's going to mean hell for you and yours. Better go find that busted tunnel so you can get a slave to fix it in time. 

You make it twenty paces into the shadow of a wall before instinct makes you pull your weapon up again, hot and ready to fire. You [i]definitely[/i] heard that. That... that horrible scraping sound. The clattering. The throaty chuckle rolling just behind it. Clomp. Clomp. Clomp. You can't even tell if the footsteps are getting closer or farther away, because they seem to be coming from a dozen different directions all at once. You spin twice around, but there's nothing here besides the shadows. The shapes splashed across the walls remind you of wings. 

"Where are you? Surrender yourself now!"

You have to fight to sound authoritative; the air is getting so cold in here it's starting to dull your thoughts. You hear a strange, metallic click and spin to see the source, and your blood freezes in your body all at once. She's here. The demon is here, with her baleful eyes and her disgustingly tattered, foul smelling rags, leaning on a wall and puffing on a burning stick of incense. The cloud of smoke she breathes out smells like death. Oh no. Oh heavens, grant you strength, she's [i]smiling[/i].

You fire without thinking about it, more times than you can count right now. The wall smolders in response. There is no Demon there at all. So why can you still see the ruby glint of Ma-Ri-Ann's fangs? 

Rattle, rattle. You hear the jangling of chains just behind you, just above, just... underneath! You spin, you dance, you point your weapon everywhere, but you find nothing but vile smelling mist to shoot at. 

[i]"Allons enfants de la Patrie~"[/i]

This is a spell. This is an evil spell. It has to be a spell. She... Ma-Ri-Ann casts spells, right? Your feet feel heavy. Your legs are turning to stone, surely. Why can't you move?!

[i]"Le jour de gloire est arrivé!"[/i]

It's so cold. It's so, so cold. Forget being mad, forget Jezcha, forget whatever punishment you're supposed to be afraid of, you need to run! It can't be worse than this... singing, and the scraping metal accompanying it.

[i]"Contre nous de la tyrannie
L'étendard sanglant est levé~"[/i]

You summon every last bit of energy left in your shivering, frozen body, and you sprint toward the sun. Toward safety. You make it six full strides before the serpents find you. Cold and metal, made of links instead of scales, but slithering, wriggling, squirming, squeezing, biting just the same. You open your mouth to scream, only to find an arm bursting forth from the writhing mass of chain-serpent to clamp its red gloved hand across your lips underneath your veil.

[i]"L'étendard sanglant est levé!"[/i]

In the tunnels beneath the arena, a chill winter's wind is howling. The body of Abijah ab-Marduk sinks into the floor with screams reduced to whimpers. And those soon smothered by laughter. The shadows writhe and deepen. 

This place belongs to her. To the demon, Marianne.