All at once, it came flooding back to the Courier, and he instinctively prised an immense, silver plate of armor from its silk-padded recess. It was lined from within by Itrian demon-sealing talismans, the shrines which produced them being one of the few traces of Itria whose continued existence His Divinity had allowed by integrating them into the Empire’s culture. Though the women who made these things were lifelong prisoners, they were at least granted lives equivalent to royalty; the Courier knew, having delivered things to the shrines many times. The only part of the plate’s interior that remained exposed was a glyph which the Courier did not recognize.

“This one, upper right arm!” he barked, handing the plate to one of the officers. Once the plate was lifted into place, the Courier could clearly see the glyph within light up for a moment before the plate ripped itself from the officer’s hands and slammed into place at Von Wickten’s shoulder. Segments of metal expanded outward and locked it in place, encasing his upper arm. So the process went, plate by plate, until only the Impurity Elemental’s dreadlock-wreathed head was left fully exposed.

“What now, y’gonna skewer me while I’m immobile and defenseless?” came a leering remark from Von Wickten. It was not a wrong guess.

The Courier gestured for the empty second layer to be cleared away, four men hoisting it out of the way to expose a row of three oval stakes made of milky-white, mutton-fat jade, each as long and half as thick as his forearm. Each had a circular cap on one end, elaborate and highly detailed, with designs differing from one to the next as well as a band of inlaid silver halfway down its length.

“No, not stakes… They’re spindles…” a thought ran through his head as his just-unlocked memories came back to him.

A grin of rotten teeth splayed out on the Impurity Elemental’s face like an infested wound: “Oho? I didn’t know this armor came with prescience!”

Despite his words, the confidence in Von Wickten’s voice had waned a touch; the Spindles’ seemingly unimpeachable purity was evident even to him. Reaching down, the Courier took up one of the Jade Spindles. Its physical weight was negligible, but merely moving it took all the effort he could muster. Gripping it with both hands, the man walked around to Von Wickten’s back. The central backplate, contoured to resemble a human spine, had a hole over specific points on the lower and upper back, one each over the lower and middle dantian; the upper left-hand backplate also had a hole, this one over the wearer’s heart. A sigil was stamped beneath each of them. The Courier glanced at the spindle in his hand, then lined the spindle up with its corresponding hole, that of the lower dantian.

As he brought the spindle’s needlepoint towards the slot, tendrils of congealed impurity whipped out as if to try and knock his hands away, but they shriveled and crumbled before they could touch him. Gouts of acrid, burning smoke erupted from the slot as Von Wickten emitted an inarticulate tirade of slurs and threats, but the Courier pushed on and thrust the jade spike into place. The Impurity Elemental’s flesh gave no further resistance once the jade sunk into it, and the spindle locked in place at the halfway band.

Sighing, he stepped back and realized that he was covered in burning, stinking tar; the smoke had congealed on his skin and clothes.

“Alright, three more and we can finish this…” he muttered as he walked away, noticing the Impurity Elemental twitching in his restraints. He looked to the officer of highest standing here - the Commissar - and gestured to himself: “Bring me water so I can wash this shit off, I need to be able to see to put the spindles in properly.”

With a gesture and a barked command, the Commissar sent two of the soldiers to retrieve a tub and bucket. As the tub filled with water heated by the same boiler as the manor’s formerly advanced central heating system, the Impurity Elemental continued spewing expletives and revolting phrases, especially directing his attention towards the chained, abused teen whom he had dragged here.

“He will no longer require debauchery to sustain him once the armor takes effect, yes?” the Commissar turned to the Courier, disgust suffusing even his voice.

“Well, I can’t know for sure…” the Courier uttered, scrubbing himself in the tub’s near-scalding water. He dunked his head and scrubbed until the tar was gone from his face, disregarding the pain of stripping the top layers of skin from his forehead.

“...But the Armor of Pure Purpose will hone in on the currently suppressed human will within the Impurity Elemental, amplifying what’s left of Ser Von Wickten’s sane mind until it can take control of his new form. His Divinity mentioned that this will be achieved through distilling a single purpose around which Ser Von Wickten’s mind will be reformed, so I think it a safe bet that he will no longer be interested in the degenerate habits which led him to this sorry state.”

The ground shook with Von Wickten’s furious thrashing as he struggled against his restraints and howled out a surprisingly cognizant diatribe: “YOU SHOULD PRAY THAT THIS TIN CAN WORKS, ELSE I SHALL VIOLATE YOU SUCH THAT YOUR SOUL WILL NEVER ESCAPE SAMSARA, FOR THE SUFFERING I INFLICT SHALL CARRY WITH YOU THROUGH ALL YOUR FUTURE LIVES!”

“...I think that may have been our man’s actual thoughts bleeding through the Impurity Elemental’s cognitive corruption,” the Commissar uttered. He turned to the teen in the corner, then to one of the soldiers, commanding: “Get the child out of here. Tend to his injuries and drop him off on the outskirts of Venzor. Lady Karmesin’s associates control the place so he should be well taken care of.”

As three soldiers sprang into motion and hefted the battered youth into the air, the Commissar turned to the Courier: “Let us continue.”