Kirnardaz stared at the area before him. It was blessed ground, and he stood on it. His corruptive influence literally killed the ground below him, but the blessing brought it back as soon as he stepped off. He was a demon in a realm of angels. It was strange, how one person, one demon could offset a balance so old and time-worn that it could take a dragon's wrath, but it died when he stepped on the grass.
Here he just had his sword though. His sword, and his natural reflexes, strength and agility. The blessing on this place would not let him use his magic. It would throw him back to the rest of Le'raana, or worse, his own realm. He hated his realm, it was full of chaotic demons, unwilling to follow order, or to try and coexist with what little goodness existed.
Kirnardaz found good deeds and purity fascinating. By simply never having maliciously or selfishly committed an act of sin, someone could stop Kirnardaz touching them. Children, girls mainly, were the worst. Once a woman's baby was stricken by a disease. She came to Kirnardaz to help, but everything Kirnardaz did was deflected by the simple purity of the baby girl.
Some demons were lucky, in that their souls were not dark or tainted enough to be affected. But Kirnardaz was a demon made of manifested corruption. He was, by no means, the only embodiment of corruption, but he was one.
So, he walked on, his armour aflame, the ground beneath his feet dead, waiting to meet a soul willing to interact.