The crowd dispersed slowly, demons and humans alike murmuring amongst themselves about what they'd witnessed. Balthazar had been carried out of the arena by his fellow demons, still conscious but thoroughly beaten. I'd made my point.
Asmodeus descended from his viewing platform, moving with the fluid grace that all old demons possessed. His golden eyes never left me as he approached.
"You fight well," he said. "Better than well. That was artistry. Brutal, efficient artistry." He gestured to my bloodied shirt. "Though you did take a hit. First blood was his."
"First blood doesn't matter if you win the fight."
"A pragmatic philosophy. I approve." He snapped his fingers, and a demon attendant appeared with fresh clothing. "Please, change. You're bleeding on my floor, and it's quite expensive marble."
I took the offered shirt, replacing my torn one. The wound Balthazar's tail had inflicted was already closed, just pink scar tissue that would fade in another hour.
