The smell of sweat, bodily fluids, and pain seeped into Raze's nose as he stood inside a dimly lit room. The air felt moist and warm, sticky. He stood at the door, his gaze locked on the figure at the very end of the room.

A man sat with his back to the wall, his head hung over, his body covered in scars, blood dripping from his face. His bones fought to leave his skin; he was a skeleton covered in skin. A puddle of blood, feces, and piss formed under him.

The scene made Raze's stomach churn. He could only imagine the pain that could bring a man to such a state. But he didn't feel pity for him, no, not one bit. This figure was someone who had taken pleasure in killing humans and turning them into abominations. There existed no pity for him.

"I-I said, I'll not speak." His coarse voice left his throat, sounding almost like a static radio.

Cough, cough. He coughed blood after speaking once, his body too weak to even cough properly.

"Is it really worth it?" Raze asked.

"Huh?" The man slowly lifted his head, and under his disheveled hair was a face with sinking eyes and no life.

"I asked, is it really worth it to be a member of the cult? To take the lives of humans for a goal that you don't even fully understand?" Raze asked, taking a few steps closer.

"Now you writhe in pain, your heart screams out for escape, you are hurt. Anyone that sees you would want to pity you.

But the souls of those that you have turned into abominations writhe in worse pain and have no escape. Is it really worth it?"

"Your question makes no sense," he said, before dropping his head low. Raze looked at him, his expression shifting into one of disdain.

"What I asked was: is the life you live as a cultist worth it? Has it benefited you in any way? What is your gain from this life that is all giving of pain and receiving of pain? What truly is your goal, what truly is your gain?" Raze asked, but the man went silent, not bothering to even answer.

"I see," Raze muttered. "I'll take away the curse that seals your ability to speak, and I'll make you speak, but I'll ensure that the process is as horrendous as possible, so that your last moments will bring you a level of pain that will fit what you have done in your life."

The man looked up, shock on his face. He could hear the reality behind that voice.

Raze took a few steps back, his third eye opened. Using God's Eye, he looked deep into the man, and it didn't take long before he saw it—a curse wrapped around the man's neck.

"So that's it," Raze muttered.

Since he had taken time to learn about soul magic and curses, he could tell that was it.

"To break a curse, I must use a force greater than the curse, or offer the curse a compromise," Raze muttered. "In this case, his entire soul is far worth more than his throat.

If I bargain with the curse and offer it his soul, and only ask that it gives me one hour before it takes his soul, then that would work. In that one hour, I can force him to speak the truth with a mind-control spell."

Raze detailed out his plan. Everything he was speaking about were things he learned because he was trying to see ways to fix abominations, and now it turned out it would be useful.

He had been learning spells that could enable him to communicate with souls, so that he could communicate with the soul of an abomination.

Raze walked forward. The man moved back, but the wall was behind him and there was nowhere to go. He didn't know what, but he felt something was up, and he was in real danger this time.

Raze placed his thumb on the man's head. "You brought this on yourself, sadly," Raze said. His thumb glowed bright, and immediately, his consciousness was pulled in.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw it, the true form of the curse, a massive black tendril coiled into a ball. Seeing this, Raze knew he had to be fast. He used a soul spell, a low-level soul protection that would ensure the curse didn't end up on him, and then he approached.

Curses were coded, and for a curse's coding to be changed like what he wanted, he needed two things: a strong soul and enough mana, which Raze believed he had both.

The curse registered his presence and wiggled violently. Raze stopped. "I'm not here to exorcise you. I'm here to give you a better option," Raze said, and then slowly stretched out his hands. The wiggling of the tendril slowed down, and he placed his hands on it.

"Here goes nothing."

He infused his mana into the curse, along with the will he had, and to his surprise, it didn't take long for the curse to respond. It loosened up instantly, then shot downward, headed for the soul. The process had worked. The tendril wrapped itself around the soul, and in one hour, it would detonate.

Raze pulled his thumb back from the man's head and stepped back. The man had a look of fear and shock on his face; he could tell something diabolical had happened inside him.

"That's the first stage. Now, to make you speak the truth."

[...]

After Raze was done, he informed Mark that they only had one hour, and the man would tell them everything, and just as he had said, they were able to get all the information that they wanted.

And as soon as the hour mark hit, Raze, who had been standing outside, heard a horrendous scream.

"Seems it's happening," he said.

The curse began detonating. Raze had used the game of equivalent exchange: the detonation of the soul was enough compensation for leaving the throat. At the end, the man suffered a death of immense pain.

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