A 'Demon' Interrogation pt 2

Father Atticus let himself chuckle slightly, “You would enjoy that wouldn’t you hell spawn.” Father Atticus slammed the plank into Meraka’s back again. This time hard enough to rock the man’s body forward. “Admit to your crimes so that we can save her soul from the damnation you brought upon her.” Father Atticus said louder, but not quite raising to a shout.

Meraka leaned forward breathing heavily to centre himself before rising back to sitting, in defiance rolling his shoulders what little he could before spitting another wad of blood gunk from his mouth, but otherwise remained silent.

Father Atticus grabbed Meraka by the hair again wrenching him backwards, the manacles cutting into his wrists. “Why won’t you just admit it's your fault she died?!” he said pulling back farther. “This never would have happened if you didn’t poison her with your sick taint. You filthy hell spawn!” he pulled back again, the cuffs now drew blood, “Look at yourself, your body is scarred, your horns are shattered, your ‘perfect’ smile is ruined and you persist to deny you killed her? What makes you think you are above true judgement?” Father Atticus asked, letting go. Meraka slumping forward.

“Fuck you…” Meraka spat.

“You caused this! We wouldn’t have had to put her to death if you hadn’t corrupted her.” Father Atticus blurted. “She meant everything to me and you took her. If you hadn’t corrupted her, she would be here now and you would be dead. You and your filthy kind, born of nothing more than sin and evil, brought to life to corrupt and convert everyone you cross to become one of the soldiers in your fiend army…”

“Will you shut up?” Meraka interrupted, “Your inane prattling is giving me a headache.I thought this was a penance session not a lecture.”

Father Atticus flashed red with rage. “I should have known, you filth love pain.” Readying to slam the board against his back again, but stopped when he heard the sound of heavy metal shackles falling to the floor and the scream of Maximillion, as Meraka started to stand.

“You stay down Hell Spawn.” Father Atticus shouted hitting Meraka again, causing the man to stumble but not fall.

Standing on shaking legs Meraka turned to face Father Atticus, popping his thumbs back into their sockets. Letting the Father see. Father Atticus began to back up towards the wall, his face stricken with panic, until he remembered the circle of sealing. No demon could pass it., but that is when the true terror began for the Father. Meraka stepped right over the ring of blessed salt and ash that he believed bound that man to the centre. “But…but…” the man stammered almost too low to hear. Wanting to scream but it would stick in his throat.

“A child born of circumstances, deemed by the church from birth to be a product of nothing but evil. Ostracised their entire life.” Meraka began walking forward. “Finds one person in this world besides their own mother who shows them any kindness. Someone with sparkling eyes who saw the wonder in everything.” Meraka saw the young man in the corner make a move to grab something to attempt some sort of attack and Meraka pointed at him without looking and the boy shrunk back against the wall. “And you ordained yourself to take that person away, simply because you made yourself believe she was corrupted.” Meraka kept his pace forward as Father Atticus pressed against the wall as much as he could. As Meraka approached he saw a brazier with a long metal rod sticking from it. “See… you took something from me…” he pulled it free looking at the Heretic Brand. “It’s only fair.”

Muffled screams filled the hallway, but at this point it was nothing new. Meraka turned to the young man as Father Atticus slumped to the floor, out cold or in shock from the raw pain of the white hot iron. “If you speak a word of this, I will come back…” he threatened though he himself wasn’t sure if it was a real threat or not.

Pushing open the door and limping into the empty hallway, Meraka realised he was still holding the branding iron. Tossing it aside, it clattered loudly to the floor. Bracing himself against the wall he began a laborious walk to the exit and freedom in a place far from here and a quiet place to mourn.