When the pain finally ceased, Asrael was staring down at a pair of familiar eyes. Not to him, personally, but to the girl whose mind his was intertwined with. They were the deep-blue bulbs he would see whenever he dreamt- they were the same eyes that had allowed her to cling to a foolish, childish hope of justice- of love, after all these years. They were in a dimly lit chamber- alone, save for herself, Father and-… her own, beautiful father- the one who had carried her from Jurat Hill and back to their home. The one who would tell her his lies of pure champions and heroes.
The red-wax candles illuminated her savaged husk of a father. In those deep-blue eyes she could see but a fragment of the man she had loved above all. She could see his ribs through his pale, thin skin- his thighs were naught but sticks no wider than the legs of the oaken table to which he lay strapped. He paused his inhumane, unconscious contortions to look up at her and muster whatever humanity still remained inside of him. His scalp and eyebrows had been cut time and time again until there was naught left but scars of his face and head, but those eyes... she could never forget those eyes that had lit up whenever he saw her at the end of a lengthy shift.
“There are two rituals every Purged must go through, should they wish to prove themselves worthy of serving the Inquisition. First, they must prove that they have moved beyond their human desires- that they are free of the corruption that would seduce us to the same Evils that banished our world to its slow death in the days of old.” Asrael wished to protest- to enlighten the girl... but she knew all that he did- she had seen it all... but this was not Lita speaking- this was the Purged girl whose body he was in... these were the words of a girl far wiser than her meager age dictated. These were the words of someone who had survived torments far beyond what had been wrought upon even Asrael.
Lita held a belt in her girlish hands- the tool with which Father had tasked her with proving himself. She had heard it from the others- how it needed to be slow... how it needed to be free from hesitance and tears. The wretch’s mouth moved, but his scarred lips would not form words. Instead, they formed a guttural sound as he bared his missing tongue and barem naked gums. It was frightful how little hesitance Asrael felt as his girlish feet stepped up next to the table to glance down at her once-strong, once-courageous father. The belt crackled in her hands as she raised it up to the husk’s throat and pressed it down. Their eyes locked, but her father did not struggle, nor did he seem surprised... she imagined he could see himself reflected in her dangerous bulbs- that he knew how far she would go to survive... how far she had to go to survive. She would have liked to imagine that he would have approved- that he would want for her to sacrifice him for her own survival.
Naturally, before long, his body began to tremor against the ropes keeping him in place. The fabric cut into his flesh as he reflexively fought her strong, lethal hands, but his eyes never conveyed panic- instead, they accepted his fate with gratitude- that it was finally over. For years, they had kept him alive for this very moment- for her to prove that there was only one Father to her and he was the white-hooded creature grinning from the other side of the table... and now, it would end. His strength faded as the weak, rhythmic thumping against the creaking leather belt in her hands ceased.
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Asrael was allowed a moment’s rest as the world faded to black. He could feel that Lita still wished to show him something- that she was yet to show him all there was to her torment... No sooner had he thought the dreadful thoughts, her sullen voice returned.
“There is a second ritual. One, last thing that the Purged must understand...” She seemed hesitant to go on- as if she was ashamed for what would come next. He wished above all she would spare him the torments, but Lita needed him to see- to understand something.
“-That magic is a curse that can and will be passed on. The Ungodly are like a plague of rats- they will reproduce and spread until they consume the world...” He felt a hand in his own, only to have it disappear along with the darkness.
He lay on a bench- naked. His girlish body had grown much- as evident by the shapely breasts at his chest. He was strapped to a bench already warm with the blood of another- surrounded by men and women in white robes and apathetic, uncaring frowns. He carried a brave grimace as he looked down to see his legs spread apart and secured on a pair of improvised holders by tightly bound ropes and belts. He felt his world shatter- his only hope for a happy ending slip between his fingers as he looked up to see Father’s glowing hand stroke what appeared to be a fire-poker. His young chin and smiling mouth hadn’t aged a day since they had met in that cell, whereas she- Lita- might as well have grown ancient in their years together. Pain had a way of slowing time and with the pain yet to come... she imagined time would stop alltogether.
He could feel Father’s naked hand touch his genitalia- parting his lips before touching the searing, scorching metal to his crotch. The smoke of her boiling, sizzling labia stung her nose as he jammed the poker into her and twisted the sizzling, uncaring metal inside of her. The agony was as much physical as it was soul-rending. Her childhood died alongside her womb- her dreams of finding a champion- a hero... of founding a family... finally ceased to exist- just as her mother had... just as her father had... and now, Lita had ceased to exist, as well...
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Asrael was no stranger to horrors or pain. He had lived through the dying agony of well over three hundred souls, but he had never seen such cruelty- such systematic, clinical malice. As Lita released him from his grip, he reached for his mouth and retched loudly- an odd phenomenon his undead body had yet to reveal itself capable of. Lita returned to stare a sullen, melancholic frown to the floor at her feet.
Asrael imagined it would take years for him to recover from those horrible sights, but Lita... the factum she still stood- that she had confessed to lusting for him several times was unimaginable to Asrael, when all it had taken him to dismiss the possibility of ever reproducing had been a snorting laugh from an apprentice. He had always imagined the white-haired one a monster, but this... this made him almost pity her.
“You take strength in pain, Asrael. So, please... take strength from what I have shown you- use it to do what you must. I-… I only have one request, before you leave.” Was this crazed wretch truly expecting him to thank her for forcing him to live through her horrors? Still wiping his mouth, he turned to see her sit still where she had been ever since they commenced this lesson of depravity.
“And what... might this request be?” He dreaded meeting her eye again, but he still had questions... questions only those green bulbs could answer. Therefore, he had no choice but to watch as she slowly turned to blink her teary, green eye towards him.