Bab 92: a king to a mob.

The church was mostly ruined.

At a glance, it was clear nobody had held mass here for decades. The ceiling was partly missing and covered over with a sagging tarp. The wooden pews were misaligned and rotten from exposure, while graffiti had been sprayed all over the walls—mostly tags and anti-Deep sentiment, interspersed with scripture numbers.

At the far end of the church, a man stood behind the pulpit, a gospel clutched in his hands. His skin was richly dark and his head was smooth-shaven; he wore not the robes of a Priest, but a simple gray suit that seemed misplaced in this ruined church. Dark liver spots dotted the man's cheeks, but otherwise, his age was difficult to discern.

"If you seek salvation, my child, this humble church cannot offer you penance nor forgiveness."