It was about decade ago, Rhydin time.

I thought I had died.

I could not move. I couldn?t even feel my extremities to tell if I had anything to move in the first place. I must have been too weak to twist Order into the primal Chaos beneath Rhilshen, I thought, and I had been claimed by the Void the instant I bid my protective Shadows depart. The massive amount of energy I had summoned for my task had drained away into nothingness, unused, wasted.

My concentration and focus spent, I was aware only of the familiar dryness of the Dead Land, the resident burning fog which dulls all senses; the heavy sense of futile misery clouding my thoughts. I knew there was something dangerous here, a danger which I was not understanding for some reason. Feeling near-panic approach, I attempted to shift the stuff of Shadow about me, to get my bearings, clear my mind and vision, begin the journey back to the worlds of Life. I had to get rid of this fog and see where I was and to just think straight, dammit. But it didn't work, of course.

I heard distant laughter. It was familiar. It echoed in my mind long after it was no longer audible.

Was I dead, beyond hope of rebirth? That must not be! There were too many tasks left unfinished. I needed to amend my failures. Frustrated almost to the point of rage, I voiced a curse in Mabrahoring, which amounted to a fervent wish that clarity return.

The ambient fog dissipated and the laughter around me ended on a surprised note.

Now I felt a giddy electricity replace my paralysis, stretched tingling limbs, flexed my fingers. I wondered -- had the fire of will and anger burned away the suffocating lethargy of the Dead Lands? That had certainly not happened when I was here before. I wondered if they were changing the way things were done down here.

My vision, sense of smell, and ability to hear became acute, almost painfully so. I became aware of subtle differences in the landscape, separating the present from the past and my previous trip to the Dead Land courtesy of one ratbastard named Tummelis Ade'rion. Damn the Ade'rions, too. May their line rot in eternal servitude to their betters. I should have killed them all when I had the chance.

Time passed. I don?t know how much and was in no condition to check, so let?s just say it was later. My drift upward towards consciousness was assisted by a sickening pain on the right side of my face and head.

I couldn't open my right eye, probably it was closed with dried blood. I hoped that was all that was happening, because I really didn't think an eye patch would suit me. I knew that it was almost too dark to see clearly anyways, even for creatures with nightsight. The ground I had been dropped on by the minotaur alternated between frost and steam. The stink of iron hung heavy in the air, and I realized my wrists and ankles were shackled. They itched. The metal was slowly burning through my flesh.

I have never been able to bear the touch of iron. The gift of the Fae has only worsened that.

I realized my captivity and felt bleakly confused about the whole thing.

Soon, footsteps and quietly whispered words accompanied the cacophony throbbing in my head. Damn, just what I need, I thought. Time to get the other side of my head bashed in? I stood up then, too quickly, and flexed against my bonds uselessly. I succeeding in re-opening up the clotting wound on the left side of my face.

Darkness closed in on me and was replaced with the red haze of pain. There was a figure that stood patiently near me, looking down through illumination of Hellfire. A dark, fanged smile touched his lips, the eyes of gold and crimson, hair golden and long, garbed in black robes which did not quite conceal the crystal at his chest. He leaned forward and held out his hand. I could see past his hand - a stunning woman of dark hair stood near his shoulder.

Surely this was my father and step-mother...! They would have answers.

Bracing myself against the wall, I stood again and regarded them. A wash of fresh blood down the side of my face allowed my right eye to open, and I realized I could not see from that eye. I did not want to be blind.

The man smiled and said "Hello, lovely." The woman added, smiling warmly, witch-eyes glinting, "You finally decided to come home again, childe."

Yet their voices seemed a touch too melodious, and surely those words were inappropriate for this situation. This was not as real as it seemed. How much of this was dream? I thought back, to my most recent memory, that overwhelming sense of incongruence. I remembered the minotaur thing that?d tried to brain me and nearly succeeded. As I blinked several times, the auras of the two people became visible through my wounded eye, serving to enhance the sense of wrongness.

"This is not the Keep... I saw the Dead Lands. Where am I...?" I spoke, and immediately regretted it. Damn, it hurt to talk. My throat was dry and sore. And I knew I sounded too suspicious.

The woman moved forward slightly, and I could see the reddish outline of wings behind her. "You are home, Alysia. Do not worry."

I sighed. This was taking too much effort, to ignore the pain and other sensations my nerves were picking up. I knew that was wrong, for I can almost always put away pain. From whence arose that weakness? Something else was wrong, too.

"Uhm..." I croaked. "Ari?"

The woman nodded in response, her well-shaped brows articulate. Her wings, which I could see only through my right eye, shifted slightly, tightening.

?When did you get wings?"

"I've kept them well hidden. Why do you ask?" She smiled reassuringly.

"I don't think I ever saw them before."

She reached past her companion to backhand the right side of my face. I spun with the clawed force of it and landed in a heap near the wall, still supported by my chains. "You always asked too many questions, Alysia, you brat."

Then the woman cackled, and distantly, I heard the man murmur in a low, beautiful voice. "She might best you yet. Your illusion was simply too clumsy and lacking details. The Maiden of Pain should know better when setting the stage for her Art. You shame me."

A hiss was her response. She shed her illusion and her skin darkened to cherry red. The man laughed. He sounded like my Grandfather, instead of my father.

"Ahhh, well. It will be more fun this way. Oh, look at the half-blood?s lovely ring!" The woman, the Maiden of Pain, sounded delighted. "It is a thing of power, no..? I must have it."

I felt a detached tugging at my left hand. The ring of obsidian, bathed in my own blood and that of the White Queen and the Red Queen. Gathering my thoughts, I sent a wave of fury and resentment past her, drawing amplification from the distant source in Shadows.

"I don't think so, bitch." I heard my voice whisper and felt my fingers grasp her wrist, twisting her hand away from my ring.

The man laughed. "Her blood is true enough that she will not to give it up to you so easily. I would know the limits of Gabriel?s spawn. Test her. If she survives, she may join your Court."

I heard his footsteps retreat.

The woman spoke in a hissing lisp. "Then let the doors of Pain be opened."

She did not touch me, but simply looked at me coolly. I felt suffused with an unfamiliar, stabbing agony. I became aware of a wailing sound, and tasted the salt of tears. Again, and again, and again. It was relentless and I was sure I could not possibly endure.

But I did.

Soon after that, I felt a change in the quality of the darkness surrounding me, and the blue smoke seemed to lift somewhat. That made it easier to breathe. I heard a bell ringing in the distance, a sonorous chant, the excited gibbering of lesser demons and wights. A sharply familiar presence accompanied these changes, someone who knew my thoughts as I knew his. I struggled to send a thought to that presence, and was rewarded by vengeful acknowledgement. I found myself weeping in relief.

The Maiden of Pain found me then, still kneeling at the bars of my cell, tears and blood streaking freely down my face. She spoke cruelly in her hissing lisp. "Ahh... you endured and survived. I am surprised a tainted half-blood had the fortitude for it. Perhaps your lineage is more pure than Lord Morningstar thought. But kneeling, Alysia?" Holding a small jar held in her left hand, she opened the door to my prison and entered. She closed it securely. "Praying to your gods perhaps? Perhaps you think your tears will encourage them to save you? Certainly that snivelling little demon scourge you birthed won't rescue you. That one has always despised you."

"You know nothing of my gods, you bitch." I hissed.

?There are no gods here." The Maiden sniffed. "Only despair. You have much to learn of the way of things here.? She shrugged and pulled me to my feet, lifting me by my wrists. She pinned me spread-eagled to the wall with iron and practiced ease. "Now. . . we have not been properly introduced. I am the Maiden of Pain." I felt her claws caress a nerve in my neck, causing my wings to arch away from my body, completely opened. She smiled nastily, withdrawing a thin paintbrush from a sheath at her wrist. I struggled. She hit my neck, over the same nerve, and I found myself incapable of movement.

I felt the feather light touch of the brush on my wings for an instant before it was replaced with a searing pain. She grinned and looked at my face, seeing me gasp. Biting back the humiliating urge to scream, I spat out, "What are you doing to me."

She smirked. ?You may consider me a teacher. I would as soon kill you, half-blood, but it has been forbidden with the hope that you may prove an adept student. Assuming you survive my lessons, I am marking you as a proper demoness, that you may attend your Grandfather's Court without shaming me." The Maiden of Pain continued painting the caustic substance on my skin, chanting spells in a sing-song voice, occasionally interspersing cruel taunts. After a time, I could discern the sensation of blood dripping and burning, turning to ash, of itching scar tissue forming in intricate runes and spirals that were white against gold.

My damaged eye saw the aura before anything. Soon I saw the familiar Shadow armor, the cold blue eyes narrowed in disgust at the Maiden of Pain. He looked at me, and I was embarrassed by the pity and sadness in his gaze. Glenn whispered, "Desire is power, here. Your will must not waver."

"Yes it is." the Maiden spoke, then realized that I had not offered up those words. She set the paintbrush down before turning. Her dark eyes widened as she saw him. "YOU." She said. "What are you doing here? Your Father told me you had returned to Rhydin."

?You question me.? I saw a cruel smile taint Glenn's lips. "What I am doing here is of no concern to the Maiden of Pain." He moved through the shadows, and stood close to her, resting his hand on her naked shoulder. The demoness writhed slightly under his touch, purring sensuously. He stroked her shoulder for a moment, and she basked in the attention.

The Shadow Lord suddenly twisted the Maiden?s hands behind her back. She exclaimed in surprise and tried to claw his face. Undaunted, he pushed her towards me and bared her neck. "You need the strength."

My fangs extended and pierced a vein throbbing under her dark skin. I felt the bones cracking and reforming, tissues healing, agony fading to a dull ache in tune with the beating of the demoness' hearts. My bruised, parched throat was eased by the fiery blood. Distantly, I was aware of my brother snapping the shackles at my wrists while he held her motionless in front of me.

Time passed. Glenn waited patiently until I was strong enough to hold my victim close and was huddled over her limp form on the hot, damp ground. The Maiden of Pain made small, moaning noises.

"Kill her." He spoke, without ceremony.

"But-"

"If you do not, she will recover by draining another, or by will and desire alone, and will come back to visit vengeance upon you, my sister. Either she will survive, or you will survive. That is the way of things in the Courts." His voice was quiet. I did not think to ask him why he was here, if he knew how I came to be here.

"How-"

"Drain her blood... consume both of her hearts..." He chuckled wickedly at the look of distaste which must have been apparent on my face. ?And remember what you have learned this day, sister. ?

I shook my head, feeling a lingering soreness at my neck and wrists. My wings still arched to either side and I felt Glenn?s eyes upon the rune-scars. I finished what was required, leaving the blackened husk of her body in the darkness.

And I reveled in the taking of a life more powerful than my own.

They moved me to a new cell.

From my sweltering cage of black crystal and iron bars, and from my brief respite on the desert plains, I could tell the sky was a uniform red, with no change of hue or value. There was no discernible pattern to the brief rains of scalding blood from the cloudless heavens, nor was there a regular time at which tasteless food was brought to me or my fellow silent prisoners. Those of us imprisoned within the Citadel were taunted, tortured, mind-raped, and provoked at seemingly random intervals by various of the jeering devils who served my Grandfather.

It was not impossible to weigh the fleeing seconds, though. The changing of the Citadel's guard was meted out by the trickle of black sand through an enormous hourglass, perhaps two or three meters in height. I could see the fiery edge of the frame at the end of the hall, and the grating sound of sifting sand was constant.

The formal ceremony of the changing of the guard was met with bleak, sullen stares, after a lovely silver succubus had attempted to escape during the changing. In her dash between two serving wights, she was struck by the Captain of the guard with a gnarled onyx staff. Her form flared with Hellfire, then collapsed with a wail into a pile of glittering black dust. The Captain glared daggers of ice at us, silently informing us of our fate should we try something similar, then threw the black dust at the hourglass. The time piece expanded slightly to allow the shrieking new addition.

Sleep was not an option. Independent, focused thought was not an option. The wavering of personal resolve and attention nearly instantly resulted in the predatory and loathsome attentions of a guard. Thanks to the Maiden?s beating heart of which had renewed me, Pain was no longer any sort of threat. It strengthened me, actually. So the sentries eventually resorted to twisting my memories, routing out unpleasant thoughts of the past long buried. Most of those thoughts focused on things which happened at the Vladslace Fortress.

A strange coincidence, that, since one of the guards bore a strong wraith-like resemblance to my mother's vampeal Sire. But there were also the many betrayals, exaggerated fears, magnified nightmares of ice dragons and feral wolves.

Anyways, I will allow my Grandfather this - his guards are very well trained, in physical, mental, and arcane arts. I chose to train my Bloodguard along similar lines.

Rose-colored light illuminated the great hall in the Citadel, with the assistance of some smokeless torches smelling thickly of some sort of pine pitch. The walls, arching to the roof of the Citadel several hundred meters over my head, were smooth and reflective, formed from some dark grey marble with iridescent black veins.

Almost immediately following the tolling of that bell, I had been removed from my cell of crystal and iron by two apparently deformed imps. Now I was thrust rudely to my knees before the black throne. The guard accompanying me rested a taloned fist on the back of my neck. Oily venom dripped down between my shoulder blades.

I sullenly regarded the shining creature seated before me. Lord Morningstar, called by some. Called Grandfather, mockingly, by me. He was tall, of a moderately strong build. His face reminded me of the elder races, with the pointed ears and high cheekbones. I also recalled the few angels I had seen about Rhydin, in this creature's regal nose and brow. Garments of black contrasted his tan skin and long golden hair. I wondered if his boots covered cloven hooves. His eyes were gleaming intently a deep, bloody gold, and his friendly, predatorial smile transfixed me.

The murmur of intrigue rose from the various demonic nobles of the Court. Lesser wights and a few mortals (they all seemed to be guild leaders or other politicians) dotted the edges of the varied throngs who sought the favor of this Lord.

I saw the Dark Knight, Glenn's brother, standing at the Lord?s right hand. He looked away, his mien somber.

"Hello Grandfather." I sneered. In response, he raised his eyebrows and chuckled, tapping his index finger on the polished arm of his throne. The guard preventing me from doing anything rash grunted and in warning twisted one of my wings, snapping some of the thinner bones. Some of the venom trickled into the edge of the broken skin. I winced and held my gaze steady. I could endure that. I would heal.

"Enjoying your stay here, lovely? Those scars you wear suit you." He spoke in a musical voice. Though he was not laughing, I could hear that terrible noise resonating throughout this hall. His eyes faded to the palest gold. ?Pity about the Maiden of Pain. Perhaps you should take her place in my Court.?

I leaned forward and spat, hitting his knee. The demon at my back then leaned over and whispered, "Do that again and I will rip both of your wings off. Right here."

The Dark Knight cleared his throat awkwardly. I heard booted footsteps behind my right shoulder, then saw Glenn take his place next to his Father. Glenn's thoughts were shrouded, as was the expression on his face - the visor of his helmet was down, obscuring. A chilled silence followed.

"I am impressed by the manner in which you dispatched the Captain of my guard." He mentioned, shattering the cold silence. I resisted the urge to laugh as the demon behind me drew his fist back slightly.

A droll smile worked its way across the golden planes of my Grandfather's face. "You remained ignorant of your true heritage for so long. I had begun to think there was no hope for you, that you'd think yourself limited by your mother's vampeal nature for all eternity. I am pleased you finally decided to seek out a definition of your past."

>Meddling bastard< I retorted in my thoughts. Outwardly, I nodded, from the forced kneeling position I occupied.

The Lord of Hell nodded and laughed. "You spurn me. Shall I send you back to your cell, my lovely? Or might you be interested in what I have to offer?" His hand extended towards me, palm up, and I saw a familiar, smooth grey stone. "Your soul being the first."