The atmosphere in the air was tense; any sudden move could make a blunder.
Cyril's eyes roamed wildly around the room, looking for an exit to break out of the house. Finding none, he grabbed a wooden staff behind him and grasped it tightly.
"I suggest you don't resist. Let us settle this in peace. Give us the girl," the inquisitor said — taking a step inside.
"Over my dead body," Cyril retorted.
"I will never let the likes of you take her away from me. Lunatic."
The inquisitor sighed; the indifference etched on his face expressed his deep annoyance with the situation.
"You want your sister to see you die in front of her? Listen to me, the truth is this: dying here will not make you a martyr, it'll only make you a criminal. Take my word for it."
Cyril's grasp on the wooden staff tightened as he gritted his teeth, trying to calm his temper.
"And why should I?" he questioned.
The inquisitor closed his eyes before unfastening his waist belt, letting it fall with the scabbard onto the floor — then slowly approached the siblings.
"We are no different, you and I. We both had someone we wanted to protect. I lost mine years ago when I was standing in your place."
Cyril lowered his guard a bit.
"Lost someone? You lost your sister?" he asked.
The inquisitor shook his head and looked at Safia, then back to Cyril — boring into his eyes.
"No. She was a friend. A very dear friend. Back then, I thought I had everything because of her. She was my world and the giver of my happiness," the inquisitor said as a small smile played on his lips before dimming again.
"But when she was taken away from me, I learned that nothing is truly mine to protect. And eventually, every sacrifice was never in vain."
Cyril stood quietly for a moment, closing his eyes as he processed the inquisitor's words.
When he opened them again, Cyril looked at the inquisitor with an intense glare — piercing through his soul.
"And you let her die? You said you loved her.. and you let her die for the sake of your twisted ideology!" Cyril raised the wooden staff and assumed a defensive stance.
"You are nothing like me! We are nothing alike! Because I would never surrender the one I love, even if they put the sun in my right hand and the moon in the other."
The inquisitor's eyes widened, taken aback by Cyril's words. But as quickly as it came, the indifference returned to his face.
"I see. I have nothing more to say. Let us end this." He flicked his finger, and suddenly the churchmen entered the house and quickly moved toward the siblings.
"Hide behind me, Safia!" Cyril commanded.
Cyril reacted fast, swinging the wooden staff toward one of them — the staff broke in half upon impact, sending the churchman to the ground.
However, he was now unarmed.
Left with no choice, he relied on his strength and tackled another churchman to the ground — wrestling against the masked man.
Safia could only watch helplessly as her brother fought fiercely to defend her. "Brother.. don't give up.." In her weakened state, she managed to mutter words of encouragement.
The knocked-down churchman got back on his feet, rubbing the spot where the staff had struck him. He glared at Cyril, who was still wrestling with another churchman.
"This filthy peasant!" He grabbed Cyril's arms from behind and restrained them in a vulnerable position.
"Let go of me, bastards!" Cyril struggled, but futilely.
The churchmen surrounded him, restraining his movement completely. One of them raised their hand and delivered a powerful strike squarely to his lower abdomen — knocking the wind out of him.
The inquisitor, who had been watching from the side, retrieved his waist belt and fastened it around his waist. He pulled out a small pill from his pouch as he approached Safia.
She tried to move her body, to run away from danger, but it refused to cooperate like a mannequin.
The inquisitor grabbed her chin forcefully, opening a small gap to slip the pill into her mouth as she was forced to swallow the bitter pill.
As the pill began to take effect, Safia started to feel dizzy and soon succumbed to slumber's embrace.
Once the girl had fallen asleep, he turned to his men — silently ordering one of them to carry her back to the church.
The inquisitor then slowly walked toward Cyril.
"Please know that I hold you in high regard. I did not come here to ridicule you," he whispered into Cyril's ear with a comforting tone.
Slowly, the inquisitor unsheathed his sword from its scabbard. "Before we depart, let me bestow upon you my sword. It is an honor to die as a blade with a man of your courage and tenacity."
As the words slipped from his mouth, the blade plunged directly into Cyril's heart — sending a shiver down his spine as it pierced through and emerged from his back.
Blood pooled in Cyril's mouth as he gasped his dying breath.
The churchmen released his body as it fell to the ground, leaving his corpse to rot without looking back at the house.
When everyone had left, the inquisitor lingered for a moment, looking down at the corpse with remorse. After bidding his final farewell, he too left the house with a burdened heart.
—Penning a new chapter...