To see the pain in his tired dark eyes is enough to elicit a flame of life in the zombified priest. It is as if he is a starved leech, and every breath Kiritsugu draws fills him with greater vitality and spirit. His old foe is one hell of a drug, and the Priest finds himself disgustingly bloated with delight that he is able to witness the Magus Killer at his lowest.
I did this, he thinks to himself, I have made a coffin of you. And now I want to sleep in it.
“Nonsense Kiritsugu, it is not over. Just because you have found peace through the rescue of a single soul… Do you know how many souls I am held responsible for on the daily? The number would astound you. You are not special.” Kotomine closes the distance between them, like an oblong shadow his large form swallows Kiritsugu whole.
“A beautiful home and a boy-child cannot stand in the way of the debt you owe me. One way or another, you must repay me.”
If he had been the man he had been before, Kiritsugu could have forced the priest out. But he no longer carried guns with him; he could not longer move as swiftly as he could all those years ago. The magus killer was nothing but a shell of his former self, a man running on borrowed time.
“I won’t say it again. I want you to go.”
His words are more firm this time, fist clenching as he attempts to hold his ground.
“I have no interest in hearing about your life. You’ve been nothing but a wicked person before, and no doubt you’ll continue to be.” With their distance being closed, narrow eyes lock onto Kotomine’s own with disdain. “I don’t own you a single thing.”
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