Demon Hunters

The Inquisitor XIII

"Well, I'll be damned! I never thought that I'd have to lay my eyes upon your unpleasant face again," the inquisitor hissed through his gritted teeth.

Lucas wasn't particularly surprised to see that the last surviving inquisitor was the very same one that had shot him - Mattson. Lucas stepped forward, candlelight reflecting from his armour that had now been stained in blood.

"I do not go down so easily. However, I am surprised to see how low you've fallen, inquisitor. Ransacking a village? That is hardly acceptable."

Mattson laughed.

"This is a village of heretics. I consider our actions as a form of righteous punishment... Not that you'd ever understand. You always thought yourself better than the rest of us, acting so superior! Well, I'd say that being shot in the foot, not in the back, was quite lucky of you!"

The hostage, Jorgen, shifted slightly. He looked at Lucas with begging eyes.

"Please, you must help us! When they came back, they started looting the village mindlessly! Nothing was off-limits, and any who dared to oppose them were summarily executed..." he wheezed, before being silenced by a strike from his captor.

Lucas's stoic expression did not shift, which amused the other inquisitor.

"Oh, don't be so harsh on the man! You probably think him cowardly for not fighting back, but I assure you, we were quite particular in meting out punishment. In fact, I would call him brave for coming to our camp all by himself in an effort to try and persuade us to leave. But enough about that. Unless you want this fool's blood on your hands, drop your weapons. All of them."

A tense moment ensued. Lucas didn't move a muscle, staring the other inquisitor down.

"Why would his life mean more than mine," he finally asked.

Jorgen's expression turned froze – and then he closed his eyes. Quite like his father before him, Jorgen had seemingly accepted his fate. The inquisitor, meanwhile, brought the dagger closer to the villager's throat.

"Is this coming from the same man that forced the men under him to risk their lives fighting a demon?"

Another silent moment passed. Finally, Lucas shrugged his shoulders.

"Very well. As an inquisitor, my job is to protect the people," he said, starting to throw down his expansive arsenal of weaponry.

When he was done with this exhausting task, the other inquisitor grinned and nudged Jorgen forward.

"Grab that knife he just threw down and stab him with it," he ordered.

Jorgen stopped on his all fours and looked back at the inquisitor with bewilderment.

"W...What?"

"I gave you an order. Pick up the dagger and stab the man in front of you. Now."

Jorgen's expression now betrayed the storm of emotions raging inside him. When the inquisitor said nothing, the villager crawled toward one of the weapons that had been shed on the floor and gripped its handle. Slowly, he stood up, staring at the weapon's sharp edge. Finally, he turned his gaze toward Lucas. A look of determination had settled on the man's face.

I guess he takes after his father... Lucas mused, a smile forming on his lips.

In truth, Lucas had come to terms with his impending death back when he had witnessed the shaman's ritual. Though the prospect of turning a new leaf had been quite attractive, he had known that it was not a possibility for him. Simply put, Lucas had committed far too many evil acts in the name of some vague ideal – an ideal that turned out to be nothing more than a convenient fabrication by those in power. There was no turning back time, and as such, the only regret Lucas had left was not finishing off the last inquisitor left.