It needed a blessing.
This crazy house filled with crazy people, mad by association, ready to slaughter at a moment's notice. Ready to leap into a blood filled battlefield and laugh maniacally .
A blessing was what it needed, that madhouse, and be it religious or magic, everyone agreed that there was one person for the job.
Someone just as crazy to burn the foul smelling incense and remove the stickiness of the dead, the suffocating screams of the tortured, and the last gurgling cries of the young that seemed to seep from the walls of that madhouse. They all knew their home was sick. Their presence gave the area wounds, and their germs made the wounds infected.
So when that crazy man with his silver hair and purple eyes bumbled around the madhouse in a black robe, telling each of them to 'give him a finger' before brutally stabbing it and dripping the blood into a dish, no one complained. Because they all knew that 'Jashin-sama's cleansing touch by ritual', was the closest thing to a blessing that the madhouse would get, and the closest thing to salvation that any of them deserved.