Chapter 292: Inquisitor Ignatious
"What I want to know is if you still have command of your Holy Flames..."
Nyrielle’s words pierced directly to Ingatious’s heart, inflicting a wound he had long thought he’d become numb to. Once, his flames had been his greatest pride, or perhaps, they had been the fuel for his unbridled arrogance. Of all the Inquisitors summoned to fight beside the Lothians in the War of Undying Demons, he had stood in the Church’s vanguard, bathing the land in cleansing flames and leaving nothing but sacred, purified ash in his wake.
At the time, he’d felt that he was destined to join the ranks of the Exemplars at the end of the campaign. The war was a crucible for him in which he tempered his faith against the greatest threat humans had faced since the end of the second crusade. Deep in his heart, he felt that he was answering his calling and that the Holy Lord of Light himself had placed him on a path to unparalleled glory.
All of that ended the night he captured one of Nyrielle’s progeny. He didn’t understand at the time how great of a transgression he committed. Day after day, he worked with white hot irons, screws, lashes and even pure holy flame as he tore secrets from the lips of his captive. In the end, the poor demon begged him for salvation, to be released from their dark pact with the Demon Lady of the Vale so they could walk under the sun again.
That moment felt like his greatest triumph until the doors of church shattered like kindling and the dark, winged figure of a demonic executioner stormed into his temple. In that moment, when he stared into her midnight eyes and darkness enveloped him, all of his pride felt meaningless. His accomplishments were worthless. None of the secrets he’d learned in the days of torture seemed to matter. Nothing mattered...
It would have been a kindness if Nyrielle had ended his life that night. Certainly, in the last moments of his life, he failed to meet his struggle. When confronted by the most terrifying demoness known to mankind, he had faltered, as helpless as a babe before her shadowy ax. And yet, she denied him a merciful death.
There would be no opportunity to present his achievements to the Holy Lord of Light. He would not be judged and his merits would not be weighed. Perhaps he could have entered his next life as a nobleman or, if his merits had truly been great, one of the royal families in the old countries. He had served with all his heart and given everything to the Holy Lord of Light... if he could not reach the Heavenly shores, surely he had still earned some reward.
Instead, Nyrielle inflicted the greatest cruelty on him that he could imagine. That night, she granted a merciful death to her progeny and condemned him to take their place.
Sighing heavily, Ignatious raised his hand and closed his eyes as he attempted to recall the way he’d felt, all those years ago, when he unleashed the wrath of the Holy Lord of Light on all the enemies of his church. The righteous confidence, the arrogance and inherent sense of justice he felt every time he reduced a sinner, heretic or demon to little more than ash.