Deep in the Templar's Ossuary, in the company of the dead, there lies the Sign of Purity.
Innocence bled himself for the creation of that cruel and desperate weapon. Tempered in his own ruby ichor, it was forged to be a transcendent tool of punishment and purification. The Sign is a living agent of righteousness, or at least, the dubious kind of righteousness that my brother subscribes to.
Innocence found, in the first High Templar, a most faithful servant and gifted the Sign to him, so that it might be used in times of great need. The great need of Innocence believers, that is. Humanity's general well-being has never been of particular concern to my brother.
Though I am a god, I have not forgotten my humanity. I care for that which I once was. Kitava remembers nothing and cares for nothing but his own hunger and greed. He is an endless pit of gnashing teeth and churning guts.
While other gods rise on the mainland and fight for the meagre scraps of what was, Kitava has the most fecund and formidable civilisation of his age at his disposal. He can feed when he likes and he grows ever stronger with each morsel. All of Oriath shall soon belong to Kitava, and if that happens, he will rise beyond even our reach.
He lives, after a fashion. That pretentious little vessel of his served only to encourage his divine follies. I have procured him a more... sensible host, one that should contain his excesses and temper that fragile ego of his.
Hear this, Brother! "From mind of lead to heart of gold, your soul shall be bound, your wrath shall grow cold."