Breathing was near impossible.
The yellow eyes of the Lord of Change stared down at Tomax. Pinned to the floor, he struggled to regain his grip on reality. Each time he looked into the eyes of the Greater Daemon, the world would swim before his eyes and the fabric of space and time would rend and tear. Thousands of visions would flash before his eyes, possible futures, the past, alternate realities. Tomax closed his eyes as hard as he could, and fought to center himself.

Najar spoke again, his voice dripping with contempt.

"Choose, Princeling, I will not offer a third time."

Tomax concentrated on his breathing. His choices were not what he would consider opportune. Agree and be a puppet at the whim of Najar and Tzeentch, The Changer of Ways. Defy and face the full fury of a Greater Daemon, before getting his chance in the Arena. He hated both choices, but only one offered him the possibility of remaining in control of his own destiny. Tomax gathered his wings and legs underneath his body.

With a furious roar, Tomax exploded off the floor, surprising Najar. Before the Daemon could react, Tomax attacked. He swung his axes in blurring arcs, striking the Daemon twice before Najar raised his staff and blocked the last flurry of blows. Tomax stood before the Daemon, waiting for the counterattack.

“I am my own, Daemon, I will not tell YOU a third time!”

Najar stared back at the Night Lord. The impudence of this child was amazing. The gashes from the Daemonic axe were already closing, one on his face above the line of his beak and one on his shoulder. He could feel the power in those wounds, and knew that although he could overpower this Princeling, Tomax was skilled in combat and bore great power in the twin axes he wielded. This was not one to underestimate.

As the two mammoth monsters glared at each other, a harsh bell rang out an evil tone, and servants pulled open a door at the end of the Ante-Chamber.

“Lord Tomax, it is time.”

Tomax turned, and walked out of the room.

Najar watched him leave, thinking. Tomax had a weakness; it was his fury and independence. Tzeentch would be able to manipulate that weakness. Najar chuckled to himself. It was only a matter of time before Tomax was serving the Changer of Ways. It would happen, he had no choice. Tzeentch wove the strands of fate, and Tomax was no different, he would be at the bidding of the Weaver. Wittingly or not, it was only a matter of time. Najar smiled, his beaked face stretching into a mask of pure evil. When he spoke, his voice was a mocking imitation of Tomax Hell.

“SOON.”

****