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  “It is a shame that you will not see it to its end now. You live in the dark, D’Amour. And that is where you will remain,” the Hell Priest replied. And so saying, he raised his left hand to his face, whispering an indecipherable incantation. His words ignited in the cage of his blackened fingers.
...
 “Christ. What are you doing?” His heart quickened, not beating but hammering. And with each hammer blow the pricking worsened, as though invisible hands were steadily pressing white-hot needles into his eyes. He tried to blink, but his lids refused to close. The Hell Priest had turned to watch him, Harry’s eyes catching a gleam of the cold blue light that Lucifer was emanating. As the pain increased, darkness crept in from around the edge of Harry’s sight.

  “Look your last, witness.”

  Though the Priest still had magic, the strength of his workings had clearly left him, and the working on Harry’s body was nowhere near the paralyzing thrall the Priest had held over him in the cathedral. Harry fought the magic and reached out, making contact with the Hell Priest’s cold, wet body. His fingers found something to hook themselves under, though whether it was torn flesh or a portion of the Hell Priest’s stolen vestments Harry neither knew nor cared.
...
  The darkness encroached at ever-greater speed, and Harry could now no longer take in the Hell Priest’s face in a single glance but needed to scan it through the iris that was closing his vision down. He could see nothing in the demon’s face that suggested there was any reprieve to be had. There was only the cold light reflected off the Fallen One in his eyes. The rest, what had once been a kind of perfection, was ruin.
...
  And then every last pin drop of sight was gone.

-The Scarlet Gospel, BOOK THREE, Chapter 12