Despite the congregation that filled the cathedral, the air was strangely cold and Esmé could see his flock shudder uncontrollably as they remained knelt down in prayer. Even his fellow clergy seemed to be in deep discomfort as they walked down the aisles as they waved their thuribles about, basking the air in an aroma of pine and lemon. It seemed only the Esmé was the only one that was not affected by the chill that sank into the bones of others. He’d often say that the robes that he wore protected him from the cold, but the truth was that his very soul was a torrential fire storm that was so great that his body constantly felt feverish.

He easily led them through the procession and as powerful as was his voice, his stature seemed to smother the cathedral with its presence. Despite it being a place of God, Esmé easily brought the focus upon himself so that, even though his flock chanted the words of their Lord, in their minds, their most holy priest dominated their thoughts. He didn’t need them to admit to such idolatry, however, even if it would be like the sweetest honey to his ears. No, he could //see// it in their minds and //witness// it corrupting their souls. With each swell of the music, he could feel new life being brought into him and he became that much more pronounced and even gave way to a bit of theatrics.

However, all of it was merely the precursor to what would become the highlight for many of the people there. After their prayers, a few of them would walk Esmé’s pulpit; their apparent meekness in their approach highly amusing to him. They reminded him of worms, for they most came to the surface when the downpour that drowned their lives became insufferable. That was fine. Each one that showed themselves to the priest was a ready meal for him and he gladly plucked them off of the ground to be devoured.

Each one had a different ailment and Esmé was quick to give his ‘blessings’ to them. Each time, they ate and drank the body and blood of Christ; sealing the deal in an act of symbolic cannibalism. There would be no immediate effects upon them, however. As much as such theatrics could bolster his claim as a holy man, he knew that such ravenous attention so soon would only make people suspicious of him. So, he worked in other ways:

The cancer patient, struggling with their treatment, would find that the latest dose of radiation would put their affliction into remission.

The poor would eventually come underneath fortune good enough that they would be able to work their way out of pits that fate had put them in.

The mentally troubled would, after going through a carousel of drugs that often made their problems worse, would stumble upon medication that would put their minds at ease.

He’d lend his support as they went through their trials and tribulations, too; only to become the benefactor of their faith when they returned with news of their good fortune. Esmé would tell them that the Lord worked in mysterious ways; that the mechanisms of their blessings had manifested through science and good will. They’d become all the more solidified in their misplaced faith while, as payment, Esmé inspired their dedication to being part of his flock.

On the surface, he was sure that each believed that they were in the service of God, but Emsé could see where their true loyalties lied: how they became enraptured by his every word to the point that they readily accepted his subtly warped interpretation of the scriptures without a second thought; of how they repeatedly closed their bibles and sought his council instead, as if his words rang truer than those of their religion; of how easily he was able to wipe away the shame and guilt of their failures knowing fully that they’d commit more of them, just to return in order to be forgiven once more; of how they treated him as infallible despite being apparently human.

He was just a few steps away from being the Messiah in their eyes and soon, all it’d take, would be a few well-placed miracles. He could do that when the time came.

All it would cost them was their souls.