"You misunderstand! The Father is just trying to expel the demons from my body!"
The innocent girl tried to defend the man who was moments away from assaulting her.
Rod looked down at her. His expression was a frozen mask, utterly devoid of emotion.
There was no point arguing with someone brainwashed by faith.
"Wait outside. The Father and I need to have a little chat."
He wanted to be polite. He wanted to reason with people. But his power level didn't allow for it.
He hadn't acquired this strength to speak calmly to others.
He acquired it so others would speak calmly to him.
The girl opened her mouth to protest, but under the crushing weight of Rod's gaze, her resolve crumbled in less than three seconds. She lowered her head and fled the room.
So scary!
His eyes are more terrifying than the werewolves!
The Father... will be okay, right?
The heavy door slammed shut, leaving only two men in the sealed chamber.
Rod kept one hand in his pocket and slowly raised three fingers with the other.
"Three questions."
"Number one: Where did you actually learn how to fight the wolves?"
The Priest's face twisted in indignation.
"I don't know what you're talking about! This is a House of God! You are not a believer—leave at once!"
He marched forward, feigning righteous anger, intending to shove Rod out.
BANG!
The gunshot echoed like a cannon blast in the small stone room.
The Priest collapsed, clutching his thigh, screaming in agony.
He stared in horror at the black, metallic instrument in Rod's hand.
Smoke curled lazily from the barrel. The scent of gunpowder overpowered the smell of incense.
Every instinct in the Priest's body screamed Danger.
"I didn't like that answer. Let's try again."
Rod flicked the cylinder of his revolver open.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
Five bullets dropped onto the stone floor. He left only one round in the chamber.
Snap. He spun the cylinder and flicked it closed.
"You have five chances to answer. Get it wrong, and I pull the trigger."
"Let's gamble. Let's see if your Lord loves you enough to stop the hammer."
Rod smiled. To the Priest, it looked like the grin of a demon.
No. It was worse. Demons had rules. This man had none.
"Question one, again: Where did you learn the anti-wolf tactics?"
Rod crouched down, pressing the cold steel of the barrel against the Priest's sweating forehead.
Faced with imminent death, the Priest's mind went blank.
Cold sweat poured down his face. His eyes darted around the room, desperate for an escape.
"Three... Two..."
Rod had zero patience. He started the countdown immediately.
"Divine Revelation! The Lord spoke to me in a dream!"
The Priest blurted out the first lie his panicked brain could summon. It was the same lie he fed the stupid villagers. Maybe it would work on this demon.
"Is that so?"
Rod grinned, his white teeth shining in the gloom.
Just as the Priest thought he had passed the test...
Click.
The hammer fell on an empty chamber. The sound was deafening in the silence.
"That's one down. Four to go. Do you think the bullet is next?"
Rod's smile hadn't changed, but the Priest was broken.
A dark stain spread across the front of his vestments as his bladder let go.
"It was the Chief! The Village Chief told me!"
The Priest screamed, his facade of piety shattering completely.
He had lived a life of comfort and sin; he wasn't ready to die like a dog on a cold stone floor. The thought of his head exploding was too much.
"Why would he tell you?"
Rod narrowed his eyes.
If the Chief knew how to fight the wolves, why funnel the info through the Priest? Why create a middleman?
"Because... because I saw him leaving the village! I saw him sneaking supplies in from the outside at night!"
The Priest spilled everything, terrified of the gun.
Sneaking supplies in from the outside?
Now things were getting interesting.
Every villager knew leaving the walls meant death.
So how did the Chief walk in and out unharmed?
And if he could leave, why the secrecy? Why the theater?
"Last question."
Rod looked around the torture dungeon. It was clear this wasn't a one-time setup. The equipment was well-used.
"How many girls have you brought down here?"
"Huh?"
The Priest blinked, confused. He didn't keep a ledger of his sins. He couldn't remember.
Seeing the hesitation, Rod lowered the gun.
He didn't aim at the head this time. He aimed at the crotch.
BANG!
The scream that followed wasn't human. It was the sound of a pig being slaughtered.
"You really should pick a better boss. A one-in-five chance, and you still lost? Your God seems to be asleep at the wheel."
Rod looked down at the writhing, bloodied mess and shook his head.
He hadn't rigged it. There really was only one bullet left.
It was just bad luck. Or maybe, cosmic justice.
"Fate is a bitch, isn't it?"
Rod turned and walked away, leaving the wailing man behind.
The original owner of this body had been a Christian. But Rod? He was a pure pragmatist.
If he had a religion, it was Power and Capital.
God?
What the hell is that?
If such a being existed, why was the world full of suffering?
If God's purpose was to test humanity through pain to offer salvation, then he was redundant.
The world was already a cesspool of misery. It didn't need a deity to manufacture more.