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Inside the inquisition chamber of Ferderica, Ketal sat in a simple wooden chair at the center, legs crossed, looking entirely too comfortable for the setting. The room was small, windowless, and stank of blood and iron. Instruments of torture lined the walls, each one grotesquely worn, some still stained with dried blood and scraps of flesh. Nothing here was for show. The air itself seemed thick with the agony of the many souls who had suffered before him.
Ketal took it all in, whistling softly. “Impressive. You don’t see this kind of decor every day.”
A heavy voice cut through the stale air. “Pay attention.”
Sitting opposite Ketal was a man whose presence could not be ignored. He was covered in scars, each one a story of violence and pain, his face carved into a permanent scowl. This was a man whose life had been dedicated to the pursuit and punishment of heretics.
“I am Kostia, Chief Inquisitor. I am the one who will pass judgement on you.”
“Chief Inquisitor,” Ketal echoed, a spark of interest in his eyes. He recalled that Seraphina, too, held the same rank in the Sun God’s Church. However, where Seraphina radiated overwhelming power, Ketal could feel that Kostia’s strength was a notch below, perhaps barely among the highest-level Transcendents. Even if their titles matched,...
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