The forest had changed when they emerged from beneath the ground. They emerged into silence and an unnatural stillness. Dead leaves crunched underfoot, brittle and dessicated despite having been soaked in the rain. Most of the trees stood stripped of their leaves, and many small animals and birds lay dead on the ground. They found many more of these testaments to the lethal, tainted rain as they progressed. They saw the remnants and wondered how many were now tainted that had not been before and how many plants soaked up the tainted water to forever be changed.

They travelled for two more days with Gyv leading them confidently as she approached her home. For the most part they travelled in silence, they did not have much to say, their thoughts on the massacred ant-man tribe and the devastation wrought by just one deluge of the red rain. They all thought it, but none said it, "How many more rains before all is tainted, before life is all but impossible for those who want to remain free of the fiends?"

On the last day of their trip, they descended a deep ravine. Broken rocks were scattered across the ravine floor, with roots and vines hanging down the sides. They made their way through the rocks, going up to what looked like a solid wall of stone. Gyv took her medallion from around her neck and held it in one hand. The other she placed upon the rock, chanting in a tongue taught only to those sworn to the Divine Mother. The rock glowed, revealing a door which opened to her touch. The three stepped within, into a well-lit, plain white room with arrow slits cut into the walls, allowing observation, and, if necessary, attack, from all angles. A single door was on the far wall, at least fifty feet away.

"Welcome to the House of Souls. Someone should open for us soon. We are being watched." Gyv's voice was light, her happiness at being home apparent. Yet within she cringed, the vision of a grinning fiendish face dominating her mind. They all stood and waited, unsurprised when the door flew open and a tall, brown haired man came forward. He was clad in a simple, open necked shirt like one that a farmer might wear with pants made of homespun cotton. His face radiated a huge smile as he approached Gyv, clasping her to him.

"Welcome home, my love." He looked down into Gyv's eyes, expecting to see his love, his desire reflected within, yet he saw dancing flames and a fiendish face instead. "Wha..." The sentence was never finished; Gyv's blade exited his throat, ending his life in that moment. His blood shot out, drenching the front of her shirt. She turned, blood drenched, her husband's body crumbling to the ground behind her, flames dancing in her eyes, a maniacal grin on her face.

Horrified Mekior and Jeria draw their weapons, but too late. The wall behind them crumbled and massive fiends entered the room, charging the two down and pinning them to the ground. More fiends rushed past, heading into the complex, laughing and calling out to each other, anticipating the blood shed to come. Gyv stood over her companions, her eyes no longer bearing any resemblance to anything human. She stood aside as a massive fiend entered. Tall and well muscled he was covered in armour designed more to impress and intimidate than to protect. His face was almost human. He was handsome, the fangs but a small blemish amongst the perfection.

He came forward and stroked Gyv's face. "Many thanks, my puppet. I have sought this place for an age!" As he stroked her face, her features smoothed, her eyes blanked, and she fell slowly to the ground. Only then did he look at the two held down by his minions.

"What is this?" He knelt down, his massive hand lifting Jeria's head, inspecting it. "A rogue pup, a thorn amongst the roses, a wild seed to be brought back into the fold! I wonder whose you are? You bear the look of an aristocratic father, though the weakness of your mother’s blood is obvious. That weak human blood is always a pity, especially amongst one that could otherwise be so much more!. Never mind, we can find out quite easily to whom you belong, and then we can act accordingly." He looked at Mekior, lifting his head up by his hair. "You are already marked, hidden one. Have you ever told the humans your little secret?" He laughed, releasing his hair, watching as his chin bounced on the floor, split open and released a small stream of blood.

"Bring them to my chambers, later. For now, immobilise them all." He left, not looking back as his minions produced strong ropes and expertly tied up the three captives. Dragging them to captivity, not caring how they bounced about, what minor bruises and cuts they picked up in the process.

***

The line of slaves stretched back, far back. The fiends had been thorough and, behind them, thick black smoke poured out from what had once been the refuge of the House of Souls. Above the ground devils wandered, seeking stray smoke, indications of exits they may not have yet found. And when one was found, it was broken open and searched out, the line of slaves added to.

The three companions were kept separate from the rest. They were strung up on wooden spars, carried aloft by massive, powerful fiends. They hung from above, arms burning in pain, as their arms were forced to bear the weight of the body hanging down. From above, they had no choice but to watch as the inhabitants of the House of Souls were marched away, with whiplashes being doled out senselessly and continuously, not to enforce obedience, but to drive home a lesson: “You are ours now, and we can do whatever we wish.” Gyv was still in shock, could still feel her husband's blood spurting onto her. She had been forced to stand and watch as the destruction was meted out to her home. She had been forced to watch and see her children paraded in front of her, the collar of slavery placed upon their necks. Was it worse that her memories had been restored in the moment the fiend had withdrawn his presence from her mind? Or would ignorance and the blackness of death have been better?

She hung there, weeping and crying, continuously whispering to herself, begging for forgiveness, imploring the Gods to help. Mekior and Jeria hung alongside her and listened to her prayers and her mutterings but remained silent themselves. Mekior was numbed by what had happened, the half-fiend proven blameless, the heroine proven to be the weapon of their demise. He feared what the fiend had said, that his companions would learn what he meant by hidden one, what secrets he kept even as he tried to destroy the fiends and everything that they brought with them.

"I ran for three days." Gyv's voice had changed, the edge of madness had left it and now it sounded rational. She spoke now, reliving her ordeal, her words an attempt to tell them of her guilt, of how she had come to her betrayal. "That was when they got me. I ran blindly, non-stop for three whole days." She shook her head, eyes blackened from crying, tear stains streaking both cheeks. "They started torturing me, and I suffered pain I could not even imagine existed, and then HE came. He told them to stop, ordered them to leave me unmarked, whole. I didn't understand, could not understand, not until he started to torture me. No disfigurement, no marring of my body, he was far subtler than the others! I did not know magic could be wielded in such manner, in many ways his intelligence, his inventiveness could be admired if it was not applied in such a way Such things he did that one cannot describe but only experience. Eventually I lost all sense of what he had done and remembered nothing. I forgot what he wanted me to forget, remembered what he told me to remember and my first memories after my flight from when I came to so close to your city. He did not possess me in the traditional sense; he left me unmarred by fiendish taint. I don’t know if he knew what the pin would do, or if it was just luck I survived, but that only he can know." She paused, "One of you must escape, warn them. He must be planning to destroy it now that he knows it is there!"

"Oh, indeed I am, and will!" The fiend stepped into the light, an intimidating figure, not just for his immense twelve foot height, but for the ease with which he moved, the authority he just assumed as he approached. "But I have something more immediate to resolve. He came up to Jeria, and once again cradled his head in his hand. He withdrew a small knife, its blade razor sharp and made of cold iron, the hilt decorated with platinum inset with gems. Quickly, deftly, he sliced down Jeria's cheek, collecting the blood into a goblet. He drew the blade across his own hand and added three drops of his own blood to the goblet and threw the mix into a nearby bowl.

"Show me, tell me! Let the blood call to blood! Show me the father of this scion!" He peered into the bowl, waiting, wandering. When the results did show themselves, his face changed, surprise vied with amusement.

"Say hello to Daddy, little one. I guess your mother must have been one of my whores!" A gesture, a smirk, and the fiendish lord watched as his underlings cut Jeria down.

"Leave his arms trussed for the moment; I'm not ready to risk his escape." The fiend looked down at Jeria. "You will learn to call me Master, as well as father, though the last is of little consequence. All these around here bow to me. I am General Hiron; I rule this area and report to the great lord himself, letting him know how things go within his domain. You shall address me as Master, or Lord," he paused and then laughed, "unless you want to call me Dad!" He walked off, leaving two fiends to watch over the bewildered Jeria.

For Jeria everything seemed to be going past through a fog of bewilderment. From the moment that the fiend had announced him his son, to the pain of renewed circulation within his arm and the little speech from his father, all seemed a nightmare. He had known his father was a fiend, but this! Stories of the General Hiron were plentiful. Countless atrocities lay at his door, thousands of deaths, mutilations and depravities spoken about in hushed whispers. He was the figure of nightmares, the architect of destruction, the one hated most by many, and he was his father.

From above Mekior looked down and then closed his eyes. Concentrating, calling on what little magic he knew. Hear me, Jeria. You cannot help who your father is, but you can help the city. Get away from here! You are the only one who can. Warn them, get them to flee into the under realms and seek out shelter elsewhere. The city is lost. Kill me and Gyv if you can; don't leave us to face the wrath of your father when you get away!

Jeria looked up, bewilderment on his face. He heard Mekior within his mind, and he knew no words had been spoken aloud. The fiend hunter had always struck him as a man comfortable only with magic that would let him hurt, rend, bring pain onto his foes or perhaps to lead him to his foes, not with anything this subtle. Stop, don't ask how I can do this just accept it. Get away, escape when you can! Once again the voice of Mekior rang in his mind, but even with such an exhortation, how would he escape?

Jeria stood and looked at his captors, and then his companions hanging above.

I will escape, I will get away! The encampment around him was filled with fiends celebrating, their human soldiers getting drunk and gouging themselves on food stolen from their latest conquest. Jeria looked out at the scene, at the willing collaborators that gorged and danced with the fiends. You will all die, so swear I!

One of the fiends watching him, grabbed his arm and dragged him roughly through camp. He threw him into a tent, atop a pile of furs. It spoke to him, its voice gruff, "You will sleep here. In the morning the General will see to you." The fiend spoke with a guttural, hard to understand accent, though the language was the common one the fiends enforced onto all. The fiend stepped out into the night, leaving Jeria alone within the tent.

Jeria sank onto the furs, emotions overwhelming him. The stress of being captured, seeing one of the safe houses of the House of Souls destroyed, of finding out whom his father was, and the as yet unabated pain in his arms, all combined to defeat his stoic control. He was wracked with sobs, his body heaved with stress and emotions he had not experienced before. He stopped immediately the door began to open, the discipline of a life of facing bullies and those who would see him weakened enough to allow him to hide his emotions at but a moments notice.

A woman entered the tent, naked but for the collar of slavery she wore around her neck. She was beautiful with dark hair that flowed down her back and her blue eyes that pierced his. Her full red lips melded to him, her warmth was a balm against the cold of the night air as her arms fell around him in an embrace, her warm, pliant body close to his. No words were spoken, the offered physical release obvious and quickly accepted. For Jeria, rejected and derided his entire life, the experience was new. Never before had he been with a woman, and this image of beauty guided and taught him, nothing forbidden, nothing hidden. They fell asleep together, satiated, wrapped together under the thick furs that formed both mattress and blankets.

They were awoken in the morning by the sun from outside lashing across their faces as the flap at the entrance was thrown aside. The massive figure of Hiron stood there, smiling.

"As you can see, my son, there are advantages to being my offspring. You want Sianar back tonight, or would you prefer another?" The smile came across as warm and friendly, but Jeria did not trust it. He knew better than to expect a fiend to have true paternal feelings. He wondered what game his father played, how he fitted into his plans. He remained silent and Hiron continued speaking in the absence of any reply. "Not ready to say? No matter, I shall send her and some friends over. Have one, have many, they will do as you wish. Willingly. You see, my son, some have accepted their place, their role, within our great society. Some fill the ranks of my army; others serve as we desire them to, their role no less important than a soldier’s, just different. All must serve, all must play their role, for what is society without roles but anarchy and chaos? All will serve to further the greater good of Kirest’s world. You, too, shall find your niche, your place in society.” He laughed, looking at the furs, at Jeria and the woman beneath them. “Already, you are above the rabble, taking what is your due and your right." Hiron turned and left, not caring or wondering at how Jeria took his words, not caring about Jeria at all, just working on his own plans.

Jeria rolled over, ashamed of how he had used the woman, and had not even know her name until it was spoken by a fiend! He stared at the walls of the tent, not hearing as she left, only knowing of her absence by the closing of the flap. Alone once more, he wept, this time from shame and self-pity. His thoughts were clear when he finally regained control of himself: I must get away before I am destroyed!