Eyebrows twitching, hairs on end, Azrael clenched his fists, holding himself back.


    The reptilian creep’s touch sent shivers down his spine. He knew he had to restrain himself, for Raen’s sake, who had cautioned him about running into the organizer of the auction, and his unquenchable predilections. An outburst could spell disaster for their mission, and he couldn’t afford to jeopardize their chances.


    The guards were indifferent to his discomfort, undoubtedly under the service of the scaly molester. He doubted they would intervene even if he were to lodge a complaint. In fact, he might incite more trouble.


    Tracing the curves of Azrael’s exposed back, sketching his spine beyond the hem of his dress, the reptilian demon continued, “for a woman, you’ve aged quite exquisssitely. The way I sssee it, you have looksss and brawn, a devilissh combo for pricey ex-merchandissse.”


    “Huh?” He was taken aback, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”


    “Oh. Don’t tell me you forgot already. Was I too gentle back then?” The Lizardman leaned in close, brushing a strand of purple streaked hair behind his ear. “I can rough you up like the good ‘ol timess, what do you sssay?”


    What the hell is this scaly pervert on about. Does he mean that he…


    Azrael’s trail of thought faltered, spurring his body to move on instinct.


    A fist sailed through the air.


    The reptilian creep was flung over the table of turquoise lined glasses, shattering and spilling the tipples. It wasn’t long before the guests cast their attention in the redhead’s direction, summoning an army of demons to cordon off his escape.


    “Feisssty, aren’t ya?” The Lizardman spat out a shard of shattered glass, propping up on his elbows. “I don’t mind a bit of rough play in private, but I have a reputation to hold on to, in public.”


    Azrael knit his eyebrows in a tumultuous knot. “Ah, what the hell!?” Grabbing the wig and prying the plaster off his face, he smouldered with a salient rage he hadn’t felt in a while.


    “Oi, you’re not her.” The reptilian demon’s face contorted in revulsion. “I wass tipped off Raen wass going to infiltrate my party, not sssome crossssdresssing runt.”


    “Don’t sweat it,” said the redhead, taking up a fighting stance. “I’ll leave her the last blow.”


    “Wait!” The Lizardman held up his hands, stopping his guards. “Why don’t we put on a little ssshow?” Spreading his hands in a wide berth, he gestured towards the guests mumbling and bustling about, agitated by the commotion. “We could ussse an horss d’oeuvres before our main event.”


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    Five guards, positioned strategically like a wall, barred Azrael’s path. As he attempted to navigate through the hostile blockade, a flurry of hurried footsteps echoed, accompanied by the sound of cracking stone. Then sudden floodlights flickered to life, its brilliance blinding him.


    Amidst his fleeting moment of weakness, he heard the Lizardman’s voice resonate from above. He squinted, trying to adjust his eyes to the intense light, his heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and anxiety as he braced himself for what might come next.


    “Welcome ladiesss and gentsss, to a fight-to-the-death match I thought up, off the top of my head!” The Lizardman was nestled in a throne, wielding his mic like a talk show host. “Our visitor here will be up against the finessst combatantsss from my personal militia.”


    Cheers flooded the auction hall, which had transformed into a makeshift arena. The walls around him had been moulded from the pillars, shuffling the guests around till they stood over balconies that peered at the centre of the limelight where the redhead stood, settling into the newly cast enclosure.


    “What the…?” Azrael spun around, eyeing the spectators distributed along the three-storey gallery. “All of this, for me? You shouldn’t have.” He expelled a sigh over hunched shoulders. Why do I wind up in random death matches?


    “Boys, sssick ‘im.” The Lizardman helped himself to a bowl of grapes, seated atop a throne resting on a dais.


    Azrael found himself encircled by five towering demons wearing gorilla masks, who were at least a head-and-a-half taller than he was. He noticed that among the gathered adversaries, their weapon of choice was the lone factor setting them apart within the menacing ring.


    Wordlessly, a javelin whistled past his ear, followed by simultaneous thrusts from a spear and sabre. Sidestepping, ducking and rolling under the imminent blows, a sickle took a swipe at his throat, nicking the edge of his ear. A broadsword sailed past, scoring a chunk of flesh off his upper arm.


    Gritting his teeth, he made his way out the barricade he was thrust into. But the onslaught of gorilla faced foes were hot on his trail, swinging their weapons in a relentless flurry.


    “What’sss the matter crossssdressser!?” the Lizardman billowed, munching on a handful of grapes. “All bark and no bite?”


    Reaching under the hem of his dress, Azrael unsheathed his katana, strapped to his left thigh. The weapon had restricted his movements all night, and the delicacy of his flowing dress made matters worse. Gripping his sword with both hands, he swung the blade in a symphony of strokes. His first order of business was deflecting a broadsword gunning for his head. He sensed a surge of miasma gushing from the rest of the gorilla masked foes, their muscles engorging with blood, growing with each breath.


    And yet, Azrael clung on to his katana, evading, parrying and executing blows in a hyper focused but lulled state.


    A splash of crimson matted his white dress, dying it a hue darker than wine.


    His left arm rolled off the side.


    A bloodied sickle hovered over where his limb once was. Bloodied blade was followed up by the lance, spear and sabre wielding demons, launching a frontal assault. Their trio of blades skewered him through torso and abdomen, spilling his innards beside a carmine pool.


    “Ouch!” The Lizardman crushed a grape between his fingertips, arching his back against the throne. “That musst’ve hurt! A LOT! With the way you moved, I thought you had more ssspunk in you.”


    The audience collectively cackled, joining in on the Lizardman’s mirth.