17. Malice

I had seen some bad things—burning worlds, collapsing cities, screaming crowds, and the like. All of them were horrifying scenes of apocalypse.

Those things were enough to crush an ordinary person's nerves, forcing them into madness or, worse still, turning them into puppets of despair.

But I was, after all, a member of the Inquisition. Willpower was the foundation of all our training, so I could still endure it. Before I truly understood it, though, I had believed that willpower was innate. Only later did I discover that this was not the case.

In truth, the somewhat abstract concept of willpower could be strengthened by other factors. Much like courage, those who stepped forward in moments of danger were usually far from the fearless figures people imagined them to be. Something had driven them to make that choice.

That something was now pushing me onward from behind.

But I truly hated this place.

This was—a dark, narrow corridor.

There was no source of light, and it was bitterly cold. Every time I lifted my boots, I felt a sticky resistance, as though foul, rotting pus and blood had adhered to their soles.

The deeper I went, the stronger that sensation became. In the end, I almost felt as if the blood had corroded through my soles and was gnawing at my toes like a living thing.

If I had not known the truth of this place, I would surely have lowered my head to inspect it—and then had my mind captured.

I forced myself to raise a hand and press the unlock panel on the wall. After a brief biometric scan, it gave a soft chime, and its indicator light turned from blue to green.

With a hum, a rust-covered door slowly slid open before me, revealing—

Well, imagine a