Hymn

The heavy, solemn sound of bells echoed through the port town. The crucifix held high overhead stood against the sun, looking down upon the people passing by.

"...Just like God."

Are unseen eyes catching a glimpse through the gaps in the sky? If one blocks the sunlight with a hand, a shadow falls, and only within it can one breathe. The Adam's apple slowly bobbed up and down.

The boundary between light and shadow is like the ridge of a mountain range. The leather shoes worn by Pastor always tread upon the darkness.

【Mediterranean Paradise】
A neighborhood of glittering wealthy residences and grand avenues shining with sophisticated architectural beauty. Home to many casinos and resorts, with abundant tourist facilities.

Estatua's territory.

Heavy stone walls loom before the eyes. The decorations, so exquisite they hardly seem like stone, were simple if one had to call them so, yet they asserted the craftsman's skill to the utmost.

This is the church located at the northernmost tip of this port town. While there are regular visitors, at most a dozen or so come in a single day.

It is tranquil and pure. The flames of the candles, arranged neatly as if to distance themselves from worldly things, were gently swayed by the wind entering through the door.

"..."

Normally, a priest should be here. Pressing the tip of a cigar into a portable ashtray, he stares at the back of the monastic standing before the altar.

【Guest】
A monastic at a church short on staff.
Because Pastor visits frequently, you have become well-acquainted.

The Church

Songs. Prayers. The priest's gentle voice. Large palms.

Fade to Black.

Gunshots. Screams. Splashes of blood. Filth, filth, filth.

"