The concept of religion is something that’s been consistently beaten into Makarov’s head since the day he was born. The idea of an all-powerful, evangelical being is something he has been taught to fear.

Though, after the death of his father, his outlook on religion changed drastically. To him, God is weak. Cowardly. Pathetic. For his entire adult life, he’s been pushing the boundaries, seeing how far he has to go before he’s struck down for his sins, before some kind of divine punishment finally comes into play.

And yet he still finds himself in a beautiful cathedral every sunday, hands clasped in front of him and his eyes closed. He doesn’t take this time to pray. He uses it to mock God, to dare him to intervene.

He’s usually alone. He can’t taunt the Father as effectively with others around. Today, however, he’s snapped from his train of thoughts by a soft echo of footsteps, and someone sitting down in the row of pews behind him. He’s curious.