'Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name...'

Kotomine Kirei sat in the middle of the bed with the Bible propped open on his lap, hands pressed together. As he recited the prayer in his mind, he bowed his head and closed his eyes. The gesture, he knew, was meant to reinforce the humility of the worshiper, to put the one in prayer at the mercy of the supreme deity. And yet, as he spoke, and submitted himself before the Lord, Kirei felt no granting of comfort, experienced no humbling in appreciation of life. Rather, the prayer resounded inside his mind with a pale echo, as if it had tried to find his soul but found his body hollow. When he spoke to his parishioners, he preached of awe and reverence towards the Lord, of being awash with spiritual ecstasy upon accepting the futility of one's existence before God. These were only repetitions of his teachings. All he ever felt from his God was cold indifference.

'Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven...'

When it came his time to stand before heaven's gate, would his Lord judge him worthy? Would St. Peter, that keeper of the kingdom's keys, look at his life and allow him admittance? Kirei could not understand the Lord condemning him for the evil in his heart, when He was the one to place it there in the first place. He thought his theological studies would teach him the answer to that question, but most people preferred to pretend circumstances such as his did not exist. And why shouldn't they? No one could understand the struggle of denying one's own existence without experiencing it firsthand. It was easy for people to dismiss his situation as unrealistic ("No one is purely evil, of course. There is good in all of His creations.") or misunderstood ("A devious heart is not one's natural state. It is a malady of human experience, perfectly curable through proper spiritual practices."). He could not let anyone he discussed it with know he spoke from personal experience and not hypothetically, and so he had no choice but to accept their answer and let them continue in ignorance. He would not find the answer from a man of the church. The only way to know the answer was to carry out the same will of God that had birthed his wretched existence, to perform the same action on earth as the Lord once had in heaven. Then, he'd finally understand.

'Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us...'

Kirei found forgiveness to be an easy act. After all, how could he condemn someone for any act of malice when he harbored much worse in the depths of his soul? Despite this, he used to despise holding confession. When a parishioner would come to him and confess the sins that tormented him, it took all of Kirei's energy to choke back his glee. Just the thought of the other person's suffering brought about that schism of his soul, his desire for holy righteousness in contention with his innate sadism. Not only was the struggle exhausting, the former part of his being always won out. Whatever enjoyment he took from the confessor's pain, the misery of his guilt devoured. In recent years, he'd shifted away from that, however. The more he came to accept his nature and draw pleasure from it without self-derision, the more fond he became of playing the role of holy confidant. He especially enjoyed the giving of false platitudes, knowing the easy forgiveness would only burden the confessor with more guilt in the long-run.

On a personal level, to those who wronged him in life, he also granted forgiveness. For a while, he thought of his deceased wife with resentment. Through committing suicide, she'd been the one to confirm for him, once and for all, that he was beyond salvation. In her ignorance, she'd killed any hope of him even at least pretending he could posses a normal happiness. Yet, after deliberation, and with time, Kirei bestowed forgiveness upon her. He'd thought she understood him more than anyone could, but that was a false assumption. No one without similar experience truly understood. Her efforts were doomed from the beginning, but neither of them knew it at the time. He could not begrudge her for what was nothing less than the fated result of their marriage. He held a similar regard for the other man he'd made the same mistake with - Emiya Kiritsugu. He thought the man to be a parallel of himself, but once again, he was betrayed by his assumptions. While he still loathed the man, and had experienced disappointment when he discovered his mistake, he could not blame Kiritsugu for not living up to unrealistic expectations.

Some days, though, Kirei struggled with forgiving the Lord who had created him. His entire existence seemed designed for failure and disappointment, pitting his natural state against the environment and notion of righteousness he'd grown up in. Why would his God bestow such a fate upon anyone? But if it was the Lord's design, then it meant Kirei was inherently worthy of divine forgiveness. His actions, his dark soul, were the intentions of the Lord Himself, so He must understand Kirei's plight. And He must forgive him, because there had to be a reason behind his struggle. And so Kirei, too, could forgive the Lord. For at least He had given him a chance at life, a chance to do right even if his nature made for long odds. It was the greatest and most awe-worthy act of his God - that He'd gifted life to an abomination such as himself and given him so much, knowing that his empty soul could very well have led him on a path of evil. If there was any reason for his strong reverence for the Lord, it laid in that fact.

'And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.'

What really constituted evil anyway, when you came down to it? The Catholic church recognized three elements of a moral act: the object, the intention, and the circumstance. When Kirei purposefully made someone suffer, was his own pleasure the object or the intention? Did he seek other's misfortune with the intention of deriving pleasure from it, or did he aim to reap happiness with the intention of causing suffering? In whether he wanted the suffering or the pleasure more, Kirei thought he could find the answer as to whether his actions constituted evil. A difficult task, when the two were intertwined so deeply he could not splice them apart. Either way, the circumstance - his lack of satisfaction and propensity towards schadenfreude - lessened any possible judgment of immorality, as the factors fell out of his control. Recently, he'd become more inclined towards the idea that pleasure could act as both the intention and the object, with the suffering of others simply an unfortunate circumstance fated by God. And since that type of happiness was endowed from his creator, it inherently could not be morally corrupt, as the divine could not have made a mistake in his creation. And Kirei was trying, in his actions, to emulate the path of the Lord.

It was easy to mark the changes in his thinking to temptation from the servant he lent sustenance to, the ancient hero Gilgamesh. But to think of Gilgamesh as the snake in the garden of Eden would be to grossly misconstrue the king of hero's depths. And Kirei was not a man so easily tempted into sin. Rather, he saw his meeting Gilgamesh as no more than a change of scenery that had, in its contrasts and revelations, provided him with an improved mindset. Much like a trip to another country could lead one to better understanding of one's own home country. As for the king himself, Kirei often wondered if the man understood him better and on a deeper level than anyone ever had, even his deceased wife. Whatever the answer, Kirei knew one thing with certainty - Gilgamesh was the only person ever to see the full ugliness of Kirei's barren soul and view it as a reason for admiration, a source of beauty and pleasure, rather than as an abomination to be cleansed. For that alone, he felt a gripping affinity for Gilgamesh. He did not know what to term the feeling or partnership they shared. After all, how could either man proclaim to be capable of what the average person called love? And yet how could they call a bond born of such ill intent friendship? Besides, the king of heroes refused to ascribe either term to anyone, reserving it for some partner long dead. Kirei decided not to dwell too much on the topic, and simply accept and utilize the gift of Gilgamesh's (admittedly sinful) affection for him, while returning the fondness in his own, more pious fashion.

As if just the thought of the man's name was a beacon, Kirei felt an overwhelming presence, the sense of power and glory that radiated only from the golden servant. In the next second, a weight fell upon his shoulders, and he felt Gilgamesh drape his arms loosely around his neck, an embrace from behind. A hot rush of air tickled his ear, but Kirei kept his face frozen, eyes still closed.

It was the last night before the Fifth Holy Grail War was slated to officially begin. It was only natural that Gilgamesh wanted to celebrate the entertaining occasion with Kirei, and probably with a few bottles of wine. Kirei, on the other hand, did not consider it a reason to celebrate. Rather, it would be the start of a laborious path that could either lead to his demise, or to the answers he desired. And even those answers , he did not know if they would provide spiritual peace and happiness, or if they'd only prove that he was right when he wondered if he shouldn't have been born, if his birth was but a botched miscarriage after all. Either way, tonight marked the end of his existence as he knew it, for better or worse. It seemed fitting to see its finish with the only man who could truly appreciate what that symbolized, but Kirei would not pretend his anticipation was celebratory. He'd rejoice in the turmoil and potential of what laid ahead, yes. But he would not forget what drove him to that point - the Father that labored him with the mission he faced. As long as he kept the Father in his heart, Kirei could not go wrong, could be sure of the morality of his actions. And that was all he needed.

Kotomine Kirei made the sign of the cross on his body. Then, he finished his prayer with a final prayer, as if to seal his fate.

"Amen."