<strong>The Princes' Box</strong><br/><br/>Asmodeus eyes the fresh crop of slaves. From what he can see, the arena master has outdone himself. Among the usual mortal chattel two fresh Fallen and a few vie for their lives. He examines each as the platforms swing by, assessing their tactics. The nearest is a slender, wingless girl, speaking softly to Argus, and dodging bursts of fire when her diplomacy fails. Strong, quick, hesitant to clash steel. If she can survive the arena, she will do.<br/><br/>He notes the crowd cheering after another angel, one Asmodeus has heard a few murmurs of. He watches him tear the limbs from Grendel's body, and is reminded of another thick-skinned, single-minded oaf from the motherland. If he could only see the way his soldier has been corrupted. Asmodeus smiles. The taunt would almost be worth braving Michael's dreams. He draws his attention back towards a nearer platform.<br/><br/>The Duke's brat is taunted by a serpentine beast. The snake woman will likely meet her end today, but Asmodeus is more interested in Ashakiel's affairs outside the Colosseum than the bloody struggle ahead. Her father had been foolish to try to skip ahead in line to a Prince's throne, and now his haughty daughter had paid the price with her maidenhead. If she shares the late Duke's ambitions, she would work well.<br/><br/>The crowd begins to hoot as the next platform drifts by. An incubus, freshly turned by the look of him, touches his opponent's shoulder, and gets an armful of hot venom. Asmodeus laughs as the demon staggers back and shifts shape, rending the serpents from the gorgon's head, and ravaging her with fresh, writhing limbs. Time to tally his lieutenants' recruits and cull the herd. If they were enlisting this brashly they must be plotting against each other again. No sense in allowing them to spill each other's blood when there's so much to be done.<br/><br/>He flicks his wrist and pulls a pair of field glasses (http://www.neaca.com/images/Military_Field_Glasses_and_Case_Paris_1_.JPG) out of the air, examining the other noteworthy demon in today's match. The never-fail taunts her opponent with a blood offering. Asmodeus had hired her to many undertakings before, though he'd never dealt with her in his Princely form, perhaps now is the time. His vision is obstructed by a nearer platform.<br/><br/>He flicks the glasses away, and they crumble away into dust. The warrior is a dark winged beauty. Blond, high cheekbones, swift of foot, and a powerful sword arm, this one is surely a Valkyrie, heaven's answer to hell's icy enforcers who'd patrolled the Northlands so long ago. It was not uncommon to see them here. The Norse had embraced many as gods, and the seeds of pride were sown. This one, however, is new and powerful judging by her recovery from the Chimera's charge. Surely one to watch.<br/><br/>The platforms slowly circle, and Asmodeus glances about at the other bouts. A mortal sinks her blades into the flesh of a many headed beast. Another faces off against a taunting rose. Phobetor clucks and turns to the newcomer in the Princes' box. Asmodeus follows his gaze. Vetis, kneels at his lady's side, and the two exchange a few brief words. Amongst all the potential threats in the Prince's box, Phobetor keeps his eyes locked on the lithe demon, a testament to the interloper's skill as a killer. The Dark Queen's abode was home to many enigmas, and her young apprentice had certainly been one of them. He'd seen her at court a many times, always skulking about at her mistresses side like a caged hound in a den of foxes. Now a mortal's soul sits on the throne of one of the most powerful Princes ever to reign in hell, and Asmodeus knows next to nothing about her. Time to change that.<br/><br/>"Some wine for the new Prince, and my condolences for her loss," He says to the cringing imp at his side. He begins to hobble away when one of Asmodeus's guards palms his tiny skull.<br/><br/>"If it's poisoned, I'll personally burn your eyes out." The silent giant releases him, and the imp scampers away.<br/><br/>Moments later he approaches the Prince and her consort, head down, cup up, knees wobbling in terror.<br/><br/>"The D-Dream Prince s-sends wine a-and his, his condolences," he stammers, awaiting a killing blow.