I lowered the blade.
“I... I cannot,” I said, confused by my actions.
“Do it!” the demon cried out again. I looked out over the tormented plateau, the life fluids of my fellows, and his, drenching the soil. I looked down again at this wretched creature, and stepped back.
“Damnit! Just get it over with already!” he said, with a groan in his voice.
I frowned at him. “You are remorseful.” The demon half rose, clawed feet scratching at the ground for purchase and a scaled hand resting against a rock for support.
“I am not!” he yelled. “You sanctimonious feathered git!” I took another step back and folded my arms, without replacing my knife.
“This is unusual,” I said to myself thoughtfully. Part of me was suspicious that this was somehow a ploy. The other part of me very much wanted this guilt I sensed in him to be real. There was a way to tell, a service often offered to mortals allowing them to absolve their sins and be brought into our Father's light. I did not see a reason not to at least attempt it. For is our Father not all loving and all forgiving?
“Would-” I paused, unsure of myself. I looked at the demon below me, his face screwed up with hate and pain. Converting a demon could be quite the coup. At worst the creature would attack me and in it's frail state I knew I could easily defeat it.
“Would you like to make a confession?” I asked.