[Content Warning: The following scene contains graphic descriptions of torture and psychological manipulation. Reader discretion is advised.]
The knight walked into a filthy, smelly prison cell. Inside, prisoners accused of crimes such as tax evasion, theft, witchcrafts and murder were locked in small cages like rats.
The knight uttered, "This way, Bishop Jude."
Behind him, a tall figure followed. This person wore a long, worn coat over a cloak and a battered gas mask with cracked, cloudy lenses. Underneath the cloak, hints of ornate ecclesiastical robes peeked out—deep crimson and black, embroidered with faded gold thread. He had light brown hair. His belt was filled with strange weapons, including a heretic's fork, crocodile shears, a thumb screw, a scalpel and etc.
Bishop Jude thought, "Darius and his forces have returned with many casualties among the elite knights—valuable resources were wasted. Yet, the duke was not angry. Instead, he praised Darius, promoting him to Commander-in-Chief, and appointed Allen as the Frosted Tower Master."
As they walked, they paused at a certain prison cell and stared at it.
The knight uttered, "Here's the witch's slave."
Bishop Jude responded, "You can leave now. I'll handle this from here."
The girl knelt in her chains, head bowed, her eyes half-closed and distant. Iron manacles bound her wrists and ankles, each linked by short chains that restricted her every movement. Her arms were suspended slightly by the restraints.
Both of her wrist and ankle were matted with blood- the manacles were also lined in small spikes.
The surroundings were dark, the stone walls slick with condensation that never seemed to dry. A single torch flickered in the hallway beyond the iron bars.
Bishop Jude slowly approached the girl behind the bars and said, "I am Bishop Jude Al Muestro of the Church of Jeremiah. In your confusion, the truth will emerge. You are a slave of a witch, and you must atone for your sin by telling us nothing but the truth."
The girl didn't respond. She kept her tired gaze fixed on the floor.
Click…
He unlocked the cell with a key.
Bishop Jude hurled a bucket of water at her face.
"Were they truly a witch?" he asked.
Still, no reply.
He muttered, "Strong-willed, huh? Let's see how long that lasts."
He removed his belt and laid it on the table. From its compartments, he carefully pulled out his tools, arranging them one by one. Each clink of metal echoed with dread—every piece crafted to prolong suffering.
Bishop Jude reached for a brazen bull and slowly poured a thick liquid over it.
"This comes from the sap of the tormentroot tree," he said coldly. "It heightens pain like nothing else.
He stepped closer to the girl and growled, "Confess, you wicked slave, and I shall spare you."
He paused, waiting. But the girl gave no reply.
His patience thinned
Schkk-crack!
He clipped the brazen bull on her thumb fingernail and slowly twisting it. He uttered, "Confess, you little wicked witch."
"Aaarrgghhh", she let our a loud scream as one of her fingernails has been torn away.
Denailing with your pain reception being highthened is a painful torment but despite this she said nothing.
The torment dragged on for fifteen minutes as Bishop Jude removed every fingernails in her right hand.
He thought to himself, "I underestimated her. At this point she'll die before she ever confess. A loyal maid of a witch."
Bishop Jude gripped her swollen cheek and hissed, "Confess, or I will kill you."
The girl lifted her gaze and spat on his mask in defiance.
He narrowed his eyes. She's testing my patience.
"Veronica, was it?" he continued.
"I remember Samantha," he whispered.
At that, Veronica finally looked at him.
"She was just as stubborn as you," he added.
Veronica growled and pulled against the manacles with all her strength. "What did you do to her?"
Bishop Jude thought to himself. "I've been hitting wrong nails. Seems like Samantha was the nail I've been looking." Grinning, he replied, "I killed her."
Veronica's expression broke. Tears streamed down her face as she choked out, "If I ever get the chance… I'll kill you."
SMACK!
Bishop Jude slapped her hard—so hard a tooth flew from her mouth.
He snarled, "Insolent, wicked maid. How dare you threaten a high priest? You dare spit on my holiness and now speak of murder?"
Veronica's gaze remained locked on Bishop Jude, sharp and unwavering despite the beating and torment. Hearing her sister was killed over a baseless accusation of serving a witch was beyond absurd.
She cried out, "We are innocent! Why are you doing this to us?"
Bishop Jude replied, "Poor thing. You were merely forced to serve that witch. You've been corrupted against your will." As he spoke, he gently ran his fingers along her jawline.
Veronica didn't believe a word he said. What kind of priest used torture during confession? It was clear—this church was rotten to its core.
She muttered, "Dogmatic filth. This isn't what a priest should be. Not from what I've read in the Four Scripture of Gods. This is the work of evil."
He thought to himself, "Her will is starting to break. Time to get the answers I need."
He removed the gas mask, revealing his beautiful brown eyes. As he locked eyes with Veronica, his pupil shifted—intricate patterns formed around a star at the center, resembling a magic circle. It was mesmerizing.
He asked, "What's your name?"
Without hesitation, she answered in a robotic tone, "Veronica, a maid from the Tower of Vestige."
Bishop Jude smirked inwardly. "It's working—my Hero's ability. She can only speak the truth while under its effect."
He continued, "Who is Ren Restes? Is he a witch?"
She answered weakly, her voice barely hanging on, "Our Tower Master… the Hero of the Apocalypse. He isn't a witch, though his magic is a bit—"
Before she could finish, her eyes widened. Clarity returned.
"What did you do to me?" she gasped.
Jude frowned. "Tsk. So he really isn't a witch. Darius wasted the Dukedom's funds and manpower chasing the wrong man. I need to know more."
He said, "You're a useful tool. By the grace of God, Jeremiah, you will be healed."
Then he sneered, "You're fully healed now. We'll start the confession again. Your beloved bishop won't let you die—not yet. I need the duke's favor to become the next archbishop. No... I dream of becoming a saint."
Being tortured, healed, and then tortured again—that is the cruelest pain of all.