Emuel screamed as he arched his back, the startling sound echoing through the dank chamber. Reaching out with his right hand, he found the tube that connected to Fitch’s chest and pulled.

“Criminal scum!”

Ignacio’s forehead bounced off the wall, but before he could fall the man grabbed him by the hair and threw his head forward again.

“Vermin!”

Ignacio thought that this time his head made a curiously hollow sound as it cracked against stone. He’d quite like to sleep now; he was awfully tired and someone was calling his Ice cold water splashed across his face and, for a moment, Ignacio thought that he had fallen asleep while on duty on the top deck. But he wasn’t on the Llothriall, he was in a Final Faith prison, and the man who had thrown him repeatedly against the wall was standing over him — a bucket in his left hand, his right held out before him.

“Come on, get up. It doesn’t have to be like this, you know.”

“Really?” Ignacio said. “Because it would be nice if you stopped hurting me now.”

“And the pain will end, Ignacio, when you accept the Lord of All into your heart.”

“Oh, gods! No, no, no, no, no! Please, let this not be happening. I had enough of this shit as a child.”

“He will welcome you in, if you put your trust in Him. The Lord of All has need of people like you.”

“Listen, I have encountered the power of the Lord first hand, and, believe me, He’s not the all-loving god you seem to think He is.”

“Oh, but we know that, Ignacio. However, the fact remains that you are an apostate, and you now have a simple choice before you.” The man turned away and fumbled with something that sounded heavy and metallic. When he turned around, he was holding a pair of iron pincers. “You can repent of your sins, commit yourself to the Lord of All and join the Order of the Swords of Dawn, or I can pull your fingernails out, one by one, very very slowly.”