In the church, black magical energy seeped slowly from the cracks in the ground, slithering upward along Kirei's immaculate black trousers like a venomous serpent. It clung tightly to his muscles, forming wrinkles in the fabric, and, when paired with the priest's cold and indifferent expression, shattered any illusion of ascetic purity.
The magic crept higher, like countless tiny arms grasping him, tugging at his body, as though eager to tear the garments away.
If some lonely young women—or men—had witnessed this scene, they might have screamed. For Kirei was, strictly speaking, a strikingly handsome man. More importantly, he possessed a perfectly sculpted physique. Such a combination, beauty and form together, would inevitably attract not only admiration but also desire.
[God said all beings are equal, so I should be born. Kirei, let me be born.]
A whisper of pure malice slid into his ears. No matter how soft or gentle its tone, it carried only one impression: chilling evil.
Yet, whether the voice promised tenderness or radiated corruption, neither good nor evil seemed to stir the young priest's heart. Still, fragments of that malice made his lips curve faintly. Why did his pulse suddenly quicken? What emotions pressed against the emptiness within his chest?
It felt as though the void in his heart had been filled at last. Yes… all beings are equal. Then it deserved to be born. Since it had birthed its own consciousness, it was, by definition, alive. And as a servant of the Lord, Kirei believed he must treat such life as an equal. Judgment and punishment would come from God alone—once it was born.
Kirei inhaled deeply, as if sealing his resolve. He slowly lifted his arms. The magic binding him seeped into his body, and the turbulent emotions within him cracked open. Yes… I am a natural monster.
I want to see the flower of evil bloom in this world.
Darkness suffused the church. The statue of the Virgin in the center began to weep black tears. Stained-glass windows shattered, and the bells high in the tower tolled endlessly, echoing across the night.
In the back chamber, an old priest stirred from his sleep. Startled awake, Risei clutched the cross at his chest. He had lived long in the Far East to oversee this Holy Grail War, but the knowledge of the Church was far from forgotten. What he sensed now was unmistakable—pure, overwhelming malice.
Either a spirit of great evil had manifested, or a demon had been born. Perhaps something even darker, even purer. But in any case, it was undoubtedly the enemy of the Church. And for such a presence to be born here, within holy ground… what blasphemy!
Risei armed himself with cross and holy water, then walked with deliberate caution into the moonlit nave. Shards of broken glass glimmered across the floor. The Virgin's face, once serene, was stained with black tears, desecrated beyond recognition.
The miasma of evil was so thick it made his aged muscles coil in readiness. Though his body had long since weakened, Risei had never abandoned daily training. He was not so frail as to be easily struck down.
He smeared holy water across his fists, which began to glow faintly with sacred light. Then, standing firm, he began the chant:
"I declare—
I kill, and I create.
I wound, and I heal.
None escape my hand, and none escape my sight.
Return to dust.
The fallen and the old are summoned by me.
Submit, learn, and serve.
Rest, but remember to sing, to pray, to call my name.
My body is light. I will free you from the suffering of all things.
Cast off your disguise.
Revenge for forgiveness. Betrayal for trust.
Despair for hope. Darkness for light.
Black death upon all the living.
Rest is my gift. Burn your sins, bear their brand.
Eternal life can be given only by death."
This sacred chant—the Baptism Rite—was the Church's own form of sorcery, miracles wrought through doctrine. Unlike magecraft, it was permitted, and believers accepted it without hesitation. Though it lacked the raw destructive power of magic, it was devastating against spirits. With each line of prayer, corrupted beings were purified, sublimated, and returned to their rightful seat.
Risei's fists blazed brighter as he prepared to drive them into the heart of the evil before him. The moon traced its path across the sky, casting a pale beam through the shattered windows, illuminating the figure bound at the center of the malice.
The old priest's chant faltered. His eyes widened in disbelief.
Standing there, shrouded in corruption, was his own son.
What cruel jest was this? Kirei—the one he had raised, his most diligent pupil, whose faith had never wavered, whose mastery of the Church's teachings was flawless?
Had his son's faith strayed? No. Risei could feel it. Kirei's devotion to the Lord remained unshaken. It was only his understanding that had twisted—an interpretation bent by his very nature.
Kirei did not turn. Instead, he lifted his hands higher, voice calm yet heavy with something unspoken.
"Father… I remembered that day again. Was what I felt then truly happiness, or was it the grief of wanting to kill the one I loved most? Even now, I still don't know the answer."
-End Chapter-
Visit the Patreon!!
Read 30 chapters ahead, more on the way!
[email protected]/TrashProspector