At the same time, on the Mainland.
In the dungeons of the headquarters of the Church of Rectitude which were present below the feet of the giant statue of the Saint, Jonah stood with his arms folded while screams echoed all about the room that he was in.
He was floating in the air above a vast space whose walls were filled with chains that had turned red by being bled upon by generations and generations of prisoners.
Little rivers of blood ran on the floor, shining and shimmering in the dim light being emanated from unseen sources. There were actually grooves that facilitated this, and often, he wondered where they lead.
Thoughts like these kept coming to him, as anything was better than facing the people who were below him.
"Please! I'll do anything! Not my children!"
"That's my wife! Stop! What do you want from us?"
"Why do you torture us day and night? We did nothing!"
