You reach up and tap your chin, looking up and "hmmm"-ing in faux concentration.
"Do I think I can kill 'em all? Well, lass, I just remembered that while I gave ye my name, we haven't really been properly introduced. So..."
You rear up to your full height; it's not always obvious next to the giant fuckers you deal with, but there is a lot of you. You grin in anticipation of finally being able to preach to a-
No, bad Anderson. No "captive audience" joke. You're better than that.
Anyway, where were you? Oh, right.
"I am Father Alexander Anderson. Killing Judge. The Purifier. Saint Guillotine. God's Assassin. I dragged those titles from the throats of abominations beyond yer reckoning. I have killed things that would make yer false gods bow down and worship. Yesterday, I cut through a city of monsters and capped it off by fightin' an immortal shapeshiftin' bastard who pulled an army ten-thousand-strong out of his arse as an openin' move, an' I did most of it with one arm. Then I came ta Yharnam, and so far?
"I am not impressed.
"Those beasts in the streets you lot shit yer britches over and hide from in the Cathedral? They don't even slow me down. The Mediocre One? I carved it up for parts. The Artificial Hunter who had every one o' you pissin' yer pants? I put him down like the untrained amateur he was.
"So no, lass, I don't think I can kill yer gods. I know I can. And that's exactly what I'm gonna do. And once I'm done, I'm gonna help the survivors of this city as a good Christian should. As a good person should."
You lift Rosemary up by her collar, dangling her completely off the ground as you give her the most disapproving glare decades of Catholic teaching can provide.
"As you fuckin' didn't."
You drop her back down.
"I'm gonna burn yer wickedness ta the ground and build a good world from the ashes."
She looks to your stone-faced companions one after the other, visibly sweating.
"And you're all following this man?"
"He's doing a damn sight better than you lot ever did," replies Djura.
You look around the chapel and notice that Agatha, the new lady, the girls, and both of the injured Churchmen are staring at you. Hopefully Eileen briefed them on the situation, because that was a lot to take in.
The new guy continues to ignore you like a champ.
You reluctantly shelve the maniacal laughter that would ordinarily accompany one of your sermons and watch Rosemary try to surreptitiously scoot as far away from you as possible. With a grin, you step over and clap her on her shoulder, producing a satisfying twitch.
"And just think: it's all thanks ta yer kindly assistance."
The color doesn't so much drain from her face as sprint headlong away from it. You're pretty sure even Hope has a healthier pallor than her right now.
"So," you say, "now that everyone's on the same page, whatever shall we do with you?"
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