When Zhivago gave the young Sin a warning that life as a bandit was full of pain, he hadn't understood how that would transform him.
Pain aggregated over time, he found, was so inconsequential it was hardly noticeable anymore. Pain in the intimate 'now' was fleeting – a quick irritation leading to nothing. Not even the deepest thrust of betrayal from a friend truly hurt when it wouldn't last for even three beats of his burdened heart.
No, it wasn't physical pain he felt, but a deep and abiding agony inside his soul that could never be healed and it was named Elaine.
So, he let himself be captured when he could have easily had defeated the Holy Knights that took him into custody. Sir Jude, after all, had promised torment beyond description and maybe – just maybe – all that intense anguish could overwhelm the despair, the misery, that all-encompassing guilt.
"You will scream for me, Ban the Bandit, the Fox's Sin of Greed," Jude promised as he pierced the renegade's limbs with heavy steel spikes, driving him down to the floor.
While he breathed through the sting, Ban welcomed the pain and let it flood through his senses. Sir Jude grabbed his hair, slamming his head backward against the cold stone. His mouth fell open to protest the impolite treatment, only to receive a thick bar to the mouth, shattering his teeth, and momentarily gagging him.
"Undead Ban," Jude said, chuckling. "Yes, we will have years to discover ways for you to atone for sins, you pitiful fallen knight."
Ban's eyes narrowed. Fool, he thought, a real sin can't be erased, no matter what you do.