The Grand Inquisitor

The Grand Inquisitor looked down through his window at the stupid peasant masses. The familiar feelings of hate and scorn welled up within his heart. He sensed a deep resentment towards the ignorant cow-like masses. His black and golden robe had a majestic appearance under the gentle rays of the sun-light.

“Woe to you if all men speak well of you,” he thought. He had often used this verse to justify himself and the disgust and fear these pathetic peasants felt towards him.

His eyes watched every detail like an eagle for the smallest sign of fault or imperfection. At times like these when he had no open cases, he always went looking. This was his entertainment; the shrinking back in terror, the running and begging and his favorite part, the pleasure he derived from inflicting pain on the heretics was the fire that drove him on.

The latter part made his whole body vibrate with joy of the coming pleasure. He had a slight smirk on his face. He was extremely powerful and with that power all his heart’s desires had been granted to him like a tight dress exaggerates the body of a young girl with its beauty and imperfections.

“A young girl…” His mind focused on these words and he started to get a slight erection. How he wished to be able to ravish and violently exploit a girl! This is the one area he struggled the most finding a verse to justify himself. Not only did the church strictly forbid it, but Yahshua also had said “If you only look with lust at a woman, you have already committed adultery with her.” 

He had often tried to convince himself with Apostle Paul’s saying that “all things are lawful for me…” but still, he did not think it was a good argument.

So what was his solution? Fantasy, lots and lots of fantasy, which often resulted in him relieving himself because of the physical repression during his sleep.

He walked majestically and confident with a straight back, the edge of his robe was touching the ground as he walked.


Morning time he oversaw and directed the interrogations. These were poor souls from closed cases who had a short but nightmarish time on the earth ahead of them, followed by an eternity of torment.

He emptied himself on these poor souls, all his repressed rage and hate he vomited on them like a tongue of a snake penetrating the core. But first he liked to play with them. He bathed himself in their fear; it made him feel like God.

Before any of the juicy stuff, he would talk to the chief interrogator. The 3 aspects of the prisoners he wanted to know were as follows:

  1. He wanted to know their weakness? He used this like a pair of pliers twisting the nose to ring out any information he wanted, but even after the prisoner had been broken, he kept twisting the weakness until he was bored.
  2. He wanted to know their habits and connections. This often involved informants and a long period of spying on the prisoners and tracking their movement. He used these habits to snoop out other potential heretic, like a master spider uses its web.
  3. He wanted to know what words the prisoner had written or spoken. These words were what he would erase with great effort of an obsessive perfectionist (in fact one of his favorite finishing touches was pulling out the tongue with a pair of pliers.) Words were more contagious than any virus and the most destructive to the great purpose which had been entrusted to him.

The interrogation quarters were in a separate building within the castle him and his closest minions lived. As he opened the door outside, sweet smell of roses filled his lungs. It was a beautiful and sunny fall morning. He had a graceful stroll as he walked, taking his time.

This quality, his patience and ability to delay, was what made him stick out as a ruthless opponent. He could easily wait for years for an opening to strike.

He gracefully walked on the cobbled pathway. There was a row of red Roses to his right and orange leaved trees on the other side. He scanned everything meticulously, hours later he could recall details of the things he had seen. This quality also strengthened his position and fame greatly.

As he walked by the last row of roses, in the corner of the patch right beside a stone wall, he saw something that shook the core of his being.

There was a black snake sitting quietly and staring at him. He was shocked and momentarily frightened by the eyes of this snake. There was no fear and no trembling of subordination; in its place was the death-stare of a skilled predator. There was also malevolence and a hint of playful mocking. The snake’s tongue was going in and out with a barely audible hissing sound.

He froze in fear. This same sensation he had experienced last night while reading the verse “For judgment will be merciless to one who has shown no mercy; mercy triumphs over judgment.”

All of a sudden it was as though the cloud of illusion was lifted up; shadows leapt and crept in and around him. He had felt this feeling many times before when his victims were on the interrogation chair. This is what he called “stinky vibes” but he had never felt them this close and inside of him. He had mastered the art of not internalizing other’s suffering.

“I am imperfect and I have a weakness!” This thought dominated and terrorized his heart more than the verse and the snake combined.

Immediately, he came to his senses and a feeling of murderous rage welled up within him. “I must eliminate and erase the source of this fear.” He turned his whole being and attention towards the snake, but the snake was gone.

The fear of judgment and the exposed point of vulnerability felt like a volcano about to erupt. This is the same feeling he had when he would finally succumb to his excessive fantasies about young girls to release himself.

He walked faster to the interrogation quarters. He felt watched and followed. He had never felt this way before; he felt for the first time that he was the prey.

He sat in the entrance of the stairway trying to regain his composure. He had a sickening sense of impending doom. He started to pray:

“Dear God, thank you for how you have raised me high above to bring honor to your name. I pray that you help and forgive and deliver your serpent…”

The last word slipped out of his mind without thinking.

“A serpent?! Am I a serpent? I have just been warned! Something monstrous is about to happen to me.”

He quickly walked down the stairs to the chief interrogator’s office. His stomach had an ominous sense of dread twisting and turning it. As he opened the door, he thought to himself “I must quickly withdraw into my room to escape this pain I am feeling.”

The chief interrogator was a balding middle-aged man whom the inquisitor often called “the saltless vegetable” behind his back. This sort of pathetic creature would comply to any order without the sense of right and wrong and morality, just his favorite kind of subordinate, easy to manipulate and discard of once he stopped being useful.

“Mr. Inquisitor!” Exclaimed the chief interrogator as he jumped out of his chair, with a sheepish and borderline trembling look in his eyes.

“I have prepared the files master.”

The inquisitor was still visibly shaken by the incident which had just taken place. His face was pale and his eyes lacked the usual confident and penetrating strength.

“No need today to do a long thing; just quickly tell me what we have here and I will give you direction.”

All 3 he showed mercy to. In the last 23 years, he had never done this. He wanted to be cruel, but today, he simply lacked the strength. All he was thinking about was withdrawing into his room where he would feel safe, until he had a chance to contemplate what has happened and what he must do.

He was starting to realize that he was feeling traumatized; he decided to take the long way back to his room and avoid the same route.

As he hurriedly walked, he had a chaotic manner that surprised the onlookers. The perfect composure was gone, his mask had slipped and he needed time to put it back on. He made certain to avoid eye contact because his eyes would have betrayed his vulnerability to the brood of vipers he had surrounded himself with, and this filled him with a sense of danger. He had internalized the spirit of a prey and all he could think about was how to wash away this vomit-inducing feeling.

As he was entering his quarters, he gave strict order to the servants that he is not to be bothered. This is the same order he gave when he had his fantasy-release blow ups.


Alone in his room, the inquisitor, now miserable and sullen like a withered poisoned black Rose, closed all the curtains and made the room as dark as he could. He sat in a corner of the stone wall near the wash basin.

His will had been dominated to a frozen and surrendered state. He knew this feeling so well because he had mastered the art of painfully and slowly bringing his victims to this state, but he had never been the prey.

“I am the prey…”

The universe he had been living in of pride and bliss and power had, with one divine arrow, been brought down. He felt every molecule of the universe around him being sucked into a black hole at the centre of his being. His once lovely universe had imploded and now he sensed all living creatures were like mad tribal warriors looking to hunt him down.

I am a wanted man.” The thought flashed in his brain.

 The inquisitor was extremely intelligent. He did not waste time running once he knew something was true. The greatest tool for him was using bible verses to justify himself, if he could not find a verse, he simply had self-control in that area of his life.

This means that the perfectionist and devious inquisitor lived in a very secure universe. He was in complete control and acted blamelessly. All his shenanigans were backed up with one verse or the other.

The snake had momentarily exposed a fatal flaw, a hidden and deeply repressed but worst of all truthful monstrosity that had the power to topple down his beloved empire.

As he sat there for a few minutes, in pain and frozen in fear, he felt muted and silenced. He wanted to pray but since he said serpent instead of servant, he had no fire and ability to do so. There was a wall between him and the divine he felt previously was at his side ready to grant him any of his wishes.

He felt as though he was a dead piece of meat. One large ray of sun came through the upper window shining on the opposite grey stone wall.

Looking from above, we see a dimly lit room and the Grand Inquisitor, now transmogrified into a pitiful man who has been marked for eternal destruction, with a wooden bucket beside him and his head between his hands.

O how the mighty have fallen! Not too long ago he was like King Nebuchadnezzar on his balcony in the pride of his heart congratulating himself on the greatness of his might.

He had forgotten that God does not give one power to act like a cow! Abuse of power is a wicked abomination in the eyes of God. Most people go cuckoo with power; it corrupts men into a drunken stupor in which they are given over to a great spirit of delusion.

Many have fallen victim to the power seductress. Her house is the gateway to Sheol, descending to the chambers of death. The mad and miserable inquisitor had allowed the Boa of power wrap itself around him and now the scales had fallen from his eyes.

“Body parts! I dismembered and tortured people, sometimes for smallest offences. I showed no mercy and even had entire families burnt. I am an evil monstrosity. Darkness is my cloak. I have been blind, so very blind! How could I not see?!”

Faced with the inevitable eternal torment, the inquisitor lay down on his bed and broke one of his main rules; never sleep when you are upset, angry or suffering.


At the dead of night our villain was suddenly fully awakened in a serpentine nightmare:

In this dream, he could not move anything but his eyes and mouth. He was being carried on a seat by 4 black robed creatures. His hands and feet were bound by living snakes. His whole body was fastened by snakes of all shapes and sizes.

Even around his forehead was a crown of snake; an ocean of hissing could be heard blending together with maddening waves.

His eyes wide open with horror; he gazed around at this nightmarish domain. Eyes all around were watching him. He realized now these were only one set of eyes, the eyes of the snake in the garden which was now looking down on him the same way he looked down on all the little ones he made to stumble.

The seat moved slowly like a drug-induced sloth, as if some sick puppet master wanted him to soak in every nano-second of this terror.

Up in the sky, the crimson moon had a yellow snake wrapped up around it. The snake kept its eyes on the inquisitor at all times.

All the little blades of grass were snakes; an army of darkness coming to drag him down to the depths of Sheol for an eternity of torture and regret.

“Regret! There is nothing worse than regret…”

In this moment the dark lord was finally able to stare at the depth of the abyss of his own soul. The foul, rotten and stinking life he had lived, stared back at him in the mirror of this hell-induced nightmare.

Moving up a hill, the seat came to a standby at the edge of a cliff. On the other side there was a rock on which a peaceful man was sitting next to a golden tree.

Around this lovely being there were no snakes; in fact, if one were to look closely, up and around him you could see birds and butterflies and flowers and creatures of the light engaged in a sort of playful dance.

As, the now pathetic, inquisitor saw this being, a subconscious urge from the depth of his soul stirred his heart to speak:

“My Lord, you know the deeds of your slave. I have defiled my hands with blood, taken many lives, tortured and killed.

But my Lord, all this was done out of my fervor and love for you.

Love for YOU my Lord!”

At this point the inquisitor, for the first time in decades, started to cry.

“For YOU my Lord! Have mercy my Lord, I beg of you, mercy, mercy…”

As the inquisitor kept talking, his voice and alongside it his tongue, was mutating into a snake’s; the cry of “mercy, mercy…” was replaced with “hissy, hissy…”

The man by the tree could be seen from the side. His robe was white and gold with blue pants which seemed to be made up of the lightning. Blades of grass around his body had blossomed, and they were all gently hugging and carrying him off the ground.

The orange and scarlet sky could be seen behind him with a giant golden shooting star going across, joyously taking it’s time.

The man, only moving his lips, replied:

“Depart from me. I never knew you, you worker of iniquity.”


Upon hearing the words of the man, his eyes flashing with horror, the inquisitor sensed a monstrous pain in his throat. As he opened his mouth to scream, something slimy filled his mouth and an extremely sharp object penetrated his throat at the point where his speech came from, so no sound came out but an airy “Ahhhh….”

The look of horror from his dream was now the look of horror in reality; the black snake was in his mouth and had just bit his neck from the inside.

His hands on both sides of his body, the hands he had used to cause pain, were now helplessly convulsing and shaking with stiff frozen motion.

He moved around and started to make gulping sounds. After a few seconds he was unable to breath. The black snake was malevolently and violently twisting and turning in his neck and constantly biting other areas. He could almost sense the snake smiling.

“I can’t… breath!” He thought to himself. His whole being was trying to deny and resist the horror of this pain.

Once the inquisitor was dead, the snake spent a good hour or so biting him as many times as possible, especially on his face.

A shocked, twisted and mangled look of horror remained on the Grand Inquisitor’s face, for whom is reserved the blackest darkness forever and ever. Amen.


By Ashkan Jafarpisheh – May 2020

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