Ruth felt the heat bloom in her cheeks, a sudden warmth that surged up from her chest. Her eyes flared. Her jaw dropped open in sheer astonishment.

"Wh...what?" she stuttered. "I-I... I don't understand, Your Eminence." Her voice was barely a whisper, her wide eyes transfixed on his piercing gaze.

A thin smile played at the corners of Victor's lips as he watched the young nun squirm. He took in her flushed cheeks, her laboured breathing, and the way her eyes darted about the room - anywhere but at him.

The conflict was to be expected. Ruth had imbibed the teachings of her Faith all her life. Now, she was being asked to ignore all that she had held true. Victor sensed Ruth lingered on the precipice. It would have been easy to lay his hand on her and help her over the edge, but Victor knew she must take that fatal step herself.

The Inquisitor leaned in closer, his voice deepening. "If you wish to prove your devotion to our cause, if you wish to unlock your true potential, you must first learn obedience. I invite you to recall your answers to the questions I asked you. I will wait till you have done so." Victor stepped back and folded his arms.

The growl of a protest curled in Ruth’s throat, but, at Victor’s prompting, his final question, and her answer came to mind.

Ruth had said it. That was beyond doubt. But could she hold herself to it? Thoughts raced about her head like a flock of startled doves. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be right. Yet, deep down, in the darkest recesses of her heart, a part of her yearned to know what the discomfort pooling between her thighs was. She swallowed, her throat like parchment paper.

"I... I... I..."

Father Gavriel held up a single finger, silencing her.

"Do you obey my order? There is only yes or no, Child."

He watched as the muscles in her jaw clenched and unclenched. The battle for control of her very soul waged within her green eyes. Victor had always found this point in an Examination breath-taking. It was the emergence of something, a Rebirth, something vital and winged, tearing at its chrysalis from the inside. What would emerge? Butterfly? Moth? Wasp?

Such a Being had possessed the Bishop: a Succubus. The Inner Council had considered the matter at depth and decreed that only depravity could defeat depravity. Hence, Victor’s mission, and that of the other Hounds despatched across the land. It was crucial that Candidates for the Ecclesia’s most vital mission be trained to deploy those self-same weapons that the Succubus had used to turn the once pious Bishop into a debauched, insatiable Beast that had to be tied to his bed.

But first the Candidates had to be converted to the Cause, all their training undone. This Examination was at a crucial point. Victor continued, urging Ruth on.

"You are hereby absolved of all sins past, present, and future—those known and unknown, those confessed and those yet to be committed - in the name of the Court of Inquisitors and by my divine authority as a Hound of Ecclesia." He traced the sigil of the crucifix in the air. "Your sins are washed away, Ruth Wells... provided you follow my commands. So. Choose. Do you obey? Or no?"

Ruth fought to calm her racing thoughts. But the more she tried to still her mind, the louder the clamour sounded. It felt like there were two distinct voices in her mind, battling for dominance and conflicting with one another. The softer, insistent one sounded like the Mother Superior, speaking as she did when she lectured the Initiates on Scripture.

The voice that answered had the same sound as her own, but it simmered with a resentful energy Ruth would never have thought to use. It railed at the Mother Superior, mocking.

Ruth decided: she would not allow this chance to slip away from her grasp. She had professed Obedience, and obedient she would be. With that silent affirmation, the voices in her head stilled, as if a door had been closed on them. She heard the clang of the bolt slide home and took a deep, sighing breath.

Victor saw it all: the corners of her mouth turned down, her shoulders slumped, her clenched fists opened. He saw it and delighted in it. He thought to speak again, but before he could open his mouth, Ruth’s quivering hands reached behind her back for the fastenings.

In a voice as meek as she could manage, Ruth said, “I obey, my Lord and Master.”

Ruth’s self-affirmation did nothing to quell the disquiet in her body; by the time her habit slipped to the floor, she was all aquiver. Clad only in the flimsy shift all Initiates wore, she dared not look up. She could feel Victor’s eyes on her, taking in every inch of her exposed skin. Her palms were sweaty and her heart pounded in her chest. She felt vulnerable and exposed, as if he could see right into the depths of her soul.

No man had ever beheld her in this state, no man except this one. Whom she had just hailed as her Lord and her Master. And yet, there was a strange thrill running through her veins at the thought of being the sole subject of his Examination.

Victor held his breath, mesmerised, as Ruth's vestments fluttered to the ground like leaves in a violent autumn storm. His hungry gaze roamed every inch, feeding on the sight of her perfect form, even more alluring for being part concealed by the undershirt she wore.

Her body was an exquisite work of art, moulded by the Hand of The Divine. Her breasts tented the sheer fabric, her nipples like ripe berries. Between her hips, the sleek curves of her navel drew the enquiring eye to the barest glimpse of dark curls in half-shadow. Half-revealed and half-exposed, her proximity was intoxicating, even more so that she had complied with so little protest.

Victor found his manhood stirring. “Well done, Child.” His voice sounded rough. He cleared his throat. “Turn around. Face the door so that I may see all of you.”

Ruth had to exert all her will to resist covering her body with her hands. The Inquisitor’s approval was as balm to a fresh wound; it soothed her turmoil, making it easier for Ruth to justify it to herself. Obeying the Inquisitor was akin to obeying God and refusal just as grievous. Her Obedience had led her to Sin, and Sin had led to instant Absolution. Now, the price of her ascension did not seem dear at all, and the next step not so difficult.

Ruth did not hesitate. She took a gentle half-step back before turning to face the door.

To Victor, a mesmerising new panorama stretched out before him. The arch of Ruth’s spine drew his eyes down to the swell of her buttocks. A primal urge coursed through him. His hands clenched and unclenched with the desire to grab Ruth’s cheeks, to palm her flesh and feel it quiver. He yearned to dig his nails into her, an indelible mark to claim this uncharted territory for his own. Victor’s assertion of his power over Ruth’s will was complete. All that remained was to possess her body as well. But now was the time for praise.

“Excellent.” He kept his voice clinical. “I see no obvious defect. You are a near-perfect embodiment of womanhood. You have pleased God, and he has gifted you with beauty. As has been written in the Chant of Solmon, Chapter 4, Verse 7: ‘You are altogether beautiful, my darling, and there is no blemish in you.’”

Ruth shuddered, heat coursing through her at the mention of the word ‘beautiful’. That she should be thought so, and by such an exalted as an Inquisitor! She lowered her head and mouthed a quiet “Thank you, my Lord.” She might have said more, had Victor given her space, but the Inquisitor’s next command came readily on.

“Turn around. Face me again. Open your eyes.”

Ruth complied. The look on the Inquisitor’s face resembled those she had seen in paintings of martyrs as they are put to the fire.

This must be what Passion looks like, she told herself. I am truly Blessed.

Victor smiled at her. "The Lord has blessed you with womanly beauty, spiritual knowledge, and obedience. Now do I see that the Reverend Mother was wise to select you. I am pleased with you, my Child.”

A smile bloomed on Ruth's face. She blushed and bit her lower lip, an innocent enough gesture that made Victor's manhood twitch. In that moment, he would have liked nothing better than to pin her to the floor and stuff it into her mouth, but there was much ground yet to prepare. Yet, the intensity of the moment made it difficult for the Inquisitor to focus on the task. With great effort, Victor redirected his thoughts, his voice steady and deliberate.

“Now, we must proceed to the next. I am required to make a more detailed examination. I now command you, Pupil, to remove the remainder of your clothing. I must inspect you in your primal state, as Aive appeared before God in the Garden of Aidan. Proceed. Slowly. Begin.”

To Ruth, the seconds that passed between her knocking at the door and hearing the command to enter seemed an eternity. A flurry of thoughts raced through her head.

Had the Inquisitor changed his mind? Had he chosen some other? Was Ruth no longer worthy? Ruth felt disappointment pluck at her breast, grappling with hope. Surely, the Inquisitor would at least give her a chance to prove herself worthy for this holy mission?

"Enter," came the deep male voice from the other side. Ruth let out a sigh of relief. Steeling herself, putting on her most neutral yet appeasing expression, she pushed the door open and stepped inside, her eyes on the floor. As she dared raise them, she almost screamed at what she saw.

Sitting, staring at her, was the figure of a man, but nothing like any she had ever seen. He sat in an ornate chair behind a great desk, a frightful apparition in a black cloak. The golden mask seemed to growl at her, its fangs glittering in the firelight. The eyes within were alive but shadowy. They stared at her, but whether in invitation or warning, she could not tell. Fear flared in her chest. The urge to turn and run was strong, but something fixed her in place. She knew, without being told, that this was part of the exalted Examination. Should she flee, or show any outward sign of disquiet, she was sure to be found unworthy.

Gathering her courage, she took a single step forward, then another, then a third, before lowering her gaze and kneeling in front of the figure. She took a breath, dared open her mouth and speak.

"My Lord, I greet you in God’s name. I am the Initiate Sister Ruth, sent to you by the Mother Superior, and at your service.” Panic fluttered in her breast: was that presumption, to speak first, to introduce herself? Should she have waited for him to speak? She bit her lip, swallowed her fear and lowered her head, staring at the flagstones.

Victor had seen the fear bloom in Ruth’s face as she stepped into the room, a momentary glimpse before she regained composure. This pleased him. The ability to regulate emotion would be important for the chosen candidate.

He was pleased too, that she knelt, without prompting, as was correct, and offered her name and title, lowly as it was. The girl’s voice had a pleasing husky quality, as though the depths of the earth had swallowed her. And she waited, again correctly, for him to speak.

Victor did not respond straight away. He took his time inspecting the girl kneeling before him. He liked what he saw. Her complexion was flawless, her face a near perfect oval shape; not the sickly pale countenance of the natives of this northern clime. Some exotic blood coursed through her veins, evident in the slight olive tinge of her skin, the slant of her eyes, and the intense hue of green in her irises. From the way the fabric of her habit stretched over her breasts as she breathed, Victor extrapolated her curvaceous form. Her fingernails were clean and her wrists strong. That was all he could see, for now, and it was sufficient.

“Welcome, child,” he said in as neutral a tone as he could muster. “You know who I am, clearly. The Mother Superior has informed you. That is good. For clarity, though, I will explain, as this is a formal proceeding. It is important that there be no misunderstanding. Attend.”

He saw her chin rise, her gaze rise to lock with his. That brief flare of anxiety again. Good.

“I am Father Gavriel Victor. I am here at the behest of the Ecclesia Nova, specifically the Court of Inquisitors at the Holy See in Londinium. My mission is to locate a pure young woman for an incredibly important task. The stakes are high; its success is paramount for the preservation of our Faith. The person we seek must be someone who has not only a deep understanding of The Faith but also an upright character, diligence, spirit, obedience and, above all else, courage. She must face the trials that follow with endurance and devotion. What lies ahead of the candidate will challenge her physically and mentally. It will test her Faith and imperil her soul. The chosen must be strong."

He paused for effect.

"After consideration, the Mother Superior has concluded that you might be a fitting candidate. So you have been summoned. I am required to Examine you and ascertain if Mother Aida’s decision was indeed correct. If I find it to be so, you will travel with me to Londinium for further Examination."

He let his words sink in. Ruth's gaze dropped to the floor, her breathing quickened. Victor's manhood stirred.

“Tell me, Ruth, do you consider yourself to be such a person? If so, why? And if not, why has the Mother Superior erred so in her judgement? Tell me, also, of your birth, your upbringing and what called you to the Faith. And why here, in this place?”

Victor had found that an open question was best to begin any interrogation. Indeed, the Inquisitor’s Handbook, “De Inquisitione”, recommended such an approach. It allowed the Examined opportunity to fashion their own noose with their own words and hang themselves. Hedging the question with jeopardy added to the subject’s stress. If Ruth were to answer that she was not a suitable candidate, she would disrespect the Mother Superior. And if she answered 'Yes', well, that would be fair grounds for deeper enquiry. The question had no easy answer, as it carried risks no matter how Ruth approached it. 

“You may speak,” Victor said. He sat back in his chair, curious to see what answer she would make.

Inquisitor Victor had made the most of his minutes. The opulence of the guest chamber had surprised him. The Mother Superior had deemed it ‘Exalted’ and indeed it was. There was none of the austerity he had seen in the Mother Superior’s chamber, simply unbridled extravagance, of the kind he had only seen in the quarters of the Bishops and Cardinals in the Inner Sanctum of The Holy See.

"The chamber is always kept ready, sir," Elsa said as she unlocked the door. She had given him a nervous, almost timid, smile over her shoulder before she hastily turned away. He had detected a hint of fear in her expression; that pleased him. Victor’s eyes had been on the curve of her rump and she could not have mistaken his gaze. He saw her neck redden as the keys rattled in the lock. “In case the Bishop visits.” She thrust the door open and stepped aside. “Though he never has.” She stopped, uncertain. “I-We hope you find it comfortable.” She bit her lip. “You must have had a long journey.”

“Indeed.” Victor stepped into the doorway and stopped, half-turning to look down on the girl. He gave her the full glare of his regard, making no secret of the path his eyes took. Under his penetrating gaze, Elsa quivered, a blush of rose flowering on the pale skin of her neck and blooming into her cheeks. Elsa clasped her hands together and squeezed them into knotted fists.

His eyes lingered on the swell of her breasts, large, and firm, the tight fabric of her habit subtly tented by the buds of her nipples. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, unintentionally seductive. Victor mused about what her breasts might look like in his hands if he were to reach in and slip them out of Elsa’s bodice. And how would Elsa respond? Would she scream? Or would she remain mute? He imagined taking a nipple between his callused thumb and forefinger, and squeezing. Would she make a sound then? The question intrigued him.

His gaze slid down to her hips, broad and womanly. What other delights lay beneath her simple robes? A quick glance at her mouth revealed a hint of a quiver in her fleshy pink lips. Dexter’s years of debauchery had led him to the observation that the lips of a woman’s sex shared the same characteristics as those on her face. He envisioned Elsa’s pussy to be as dewy and succulent as Elsa’s mouth, as fragrant and tender as a ripe peach plucked from the branch. Victor’s mouth watered and his cock followed suit, stirring beneath his robes.

She was jolly, Victor decided. He imagined she might be the sort of woman who screamed when she was taken. The walls of the bedchamber were thick stone and would doubtless contain Elsa’s moans. Victor wondered if he would get the chance to taste her later. Seducing her would require time and effort, though, and Victor wasn’t sure his mission would allow it. More’s the pity, he thought. It had been many days of travel, with little time to sample the delights of the flesh, bone weary as he had been from riding. Elsa would have been a welcome distraction.

As if feeling his eyes on her, Elsa glanced up at the Inquisitor. She dared met his stare only momentarily, her mouth popping open, before glancing hurriedly back down at her hands.

Victor smiled. “It was a long journey. I shall be glad of some refreshment. By way of thanks for your troubles, Sister Elsa. I should like to give you a blessing, if I may?”

“Oh! I- I am not worthy…” she gasped, eyelids fluttering.

“Hush.” She fell silent. “To your knees.”

Elsa arranged her skirts and knelt on the cold stone floor. Victor took a step closer, planting his right foot between Elsa’s knees. As he leaned in, Victor’s kneecap brushed her bosom. Elsa started, made to draw back, then stilled as he laid a steadying hand of Benediction on her head. He inched forward again and felt the soft weight of her breasts part as his knee pressed in. The sensation was quite pleasant, soft yet with a pleasant underlying firmness.

“The Lord is pleased with you, Sister Elsa,” Victor said in a honeyed voice. “It is said that He blesses those he loves with physical beauty, and you are clearly one such.”

Elsa’s breath hitched at the compliment, her breasts sliding against Victor’s knee, but she kept her head bowed.

“I-I am at your service, my Lord,” she blurted, before adding. “And God’s.”

“Oh, I have no doubt about that,” Victor replied with a sly smile. He leaned down slightly, his warm breath tickling her ear. “Hush, now. Let me pray for you.” He stood upright and recited the words in a monotone.

“Holy God, grant this young girl, Elsa, the favour of your Grace. May she grow in wisdom and obedience, following the True Word as spoken by we, your humble servants, so that she may become an Instrument of Your Love. In the name of the True. Amen.”

“Amen,” she squeaked.

“You may rise now.”

Elsa complied, rising gradually. Her knees trembled, her heart raced. She couldn’t believe what was happening. The noble Inquisitor was showing an interest in her, a mere novice in the Sisterhood. She had never imagined being in the presence of such a man, let alone being deemed pleasing to God.

“I-I should go fetch you some water, my Lord,” she stammered.

“No need,” Victor said smoothly, placing a hand on her lower back and turning her around. His palm slid down to the small of her back, resting on the curve of her rump. “I will take care of myself for now. But I may have need of you later.” He paused and smiled. “How might I summon you?”

Elsa blinked. The sensation of the Inquisitor’s hand on her was unsettling. She felt hot and at odds. “Sister Catherine is responsible for seeing to exalted guests, sir. But-”

Victor shook his head. “I will have you.” He let the words hand in the air. “I mean, I wish you to attend to my needs. You may inform the Mother Superior that is my requirement. How do I summon you when I have need?”

Elsa swallowed. Was it her imagination or had the Inquisitor gripped her buttocks momentarily? The sensation was fleeting. It was so hard to think! She picked at her crucifix as she spoke.

“I am honoured, my Lord. Um, there is a cord next to the fireplace. It rings a bell downstairs, in the kitchen, where Sister Catherine sleeps. I will sleep there in her stead tonight, if the Mother Superior allows it. You have only to ring and I will attend.”

Victor nodded. “The Mother Superior will allow it. She is to follow my orders while I am here. I am pleased with you, Sister. Go with God. Until later.”

Victor turned her around with a gentle pressure and propelled her out the door. He turned his back and swept into the room. He heard the door close behind him and her clogs clattering down the stairs double time.

The Exalted Guest Chamber was as described, fit for a Bishop of the Ecclesia. Acres of deep-pile rugs covered the stone floor. Elaborate tapestries adorned the walls, with each one portraying a different scene from the New Bible. Some depicted the mighty walls of Jeriko tumbling down, while others showed Tavid standing victorious over the fallen Golath. A roaring fire crackled in the fireplace, its warm glow mingling with the softer light from the candles and wall sconces, all glinting off the polished silver cutlery laid out on the oak table in serene order. The covers of the four-poster bed in the corner had been drawn back. The air carried the sweet scent of herbs, with their fragrant smoke rising from the fire, covering up the faint undertone of mould that was inevitable in these old buildings.

Victor was pleased. He had seen and stayed in, far worse. The surroundings would add flavour to the task in front of him.

Dinner arrived moments later, brought in by an old nun with a limp who he assumed was Sister Catherine. She laid the tray on the table and bowed with a small dip before retreating. Victor seated himself and ate; the food was simple, but wholesome, well-cooked and properly seasoned. Oven-fresh bread, potatoes cooked in the coals, the skins charred and delicious, a perch caught in the river, the flesh tender and sweet, followed by figs and apricots. The wine in the decanter was young, but pleasant. After, the old gatekeeper arrived with the Inquisitor’s saddlebags, followed by two stout, plain nuns in brown garb, hauling a steaming cauldron between them. This they had emptied into the enamelled bath. The entourage had bowed and left. Victor had unpacked, then bathed, before dressing in his Robes of Office.

He chose the Raiment of Inquisition, a heavy fabric dyed black with flashes of crimson that swished and rustled with every step. Next went on the heavy gold chain from which hung the glimmering badge of his office, then, finally, the Inquisitor’s Mask. Victor served as a Hound, a specialised group within the Inquisitor’s Court responsible for detecting and uncovering conspiracies. His mask was wrought in the likeness of a mastiff. It was designed to dismay. Victor had seen horror bloom in the eyes of those unfortunate enough to attract the attention of the Hounds. Even after their limbs had been twisted out of their sockets, their skin scored, and their tongues excised, the mere sight of the Inquisitor in his Raiment sent a fresh wave of dread through the faces of heretics. Most of those subjects were hardened men, rogues, and scoundrels, well accustomed to mutilation and violence. What, he wondered, might be the effect on an innocent young woman?

Victor’s insides tingled at the thought, rousing his male essence. Anticipating further such emotion, Victor adjusted himself, easing his cock to lie flat against his belly. Then he laid out the Instruments on the table before covering them with a black cloth. Finally, he placed the Book of Truth within reach. He glanced at the timepiece. It was nearly the hour. He heard a muted footfall ascending the stair, two pairs of feet, then hushed conversation, then one pair of feet descending. One remained, no doubt awaiting the moment.

He took his seat behind the table, facing the door. He waited for the knock, heard it, waited two breaths, then called out.

"Enter."