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He first knew he wanted to be a priest of Asmodeus when he was 8 years old.
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What else could he say? Sergi did love to be didactic, a small part of him that wasn't entirely consumed by pain and terror thought.

"Yes sir."

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The Reverend gestured at the side door, which Orgull knew opened into a small torture chamber. 

He walked there of his own will, opened the door. His hands did not shake, they did not shake, he was in control. If he walked towards this himself then it was choosing it, so it was the dignified decision of a Chosen of Asmodeus, not the actions of a scared child. 

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The chamber was laid out to the standard pattern he could have drawn from memory. Though the equipment was of finer quality than what the students got to work with, some effort had been made to clean the flagstones (though flecks of blood and char were visible in the cracks). A comfortable leather wingback armchair, matching those in the Reverend’s private rooms, and a small bookcase, added a homey touch.

A wizard he didn't recognize was sat on a much less comfortable chair by the brazier, looking bored. 

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He took off his robes and hung them by the door. His skin pimpled in the cold. 

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Sergi looked at him with clinical detachment.

"Your holy symbol as well"

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That was somehow worse.

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