Whatever ends up going through Ignatius's mind, he doesn't make a big show of it - no screaming or whingeing or an emotional show of tears. It's not in his nature to give his enemies satisfaction, or to show everything that he feels on the inside. It's none of their concern, and every piece of information you have that the enemy doesn't is an asset.

Except, perhaps, when they are torturing you with spite built on things they don't know. That's something he'll have to think about later, if they don't kill him. There will be a lot of things to think about, it seems.

As it is, he shuts his eyes tight, bowing forward in psychological agony until the butt of the sword in his chest has almost touched the ground. He's shaking at the shoulders, a visceral and physical reaction that can't be helped. His breath is catching as nausea rolls over him in waves and his consciousness wavers on the edge of oblivion.

He only faintly recognizes the Great Beast's voice, at the end.