The Gospels and books of Saint Vice—The Condemned Altruist
Below are my personal gospels and books as the founder. The link below this leads to some additional reading of my personal manifesto on my theology i call " Calm Within the Storm "", "The Lone Blade Forger" And what i call "Musings And Echo's of The Alter Ego." Text that i have written previously before i founded Project Nobel Sin that was in the context of a fictional story. Even though the text may be exaggerated, the core themes align with my core. I will update this page regularly. I have all the information about the saints and my alter ego written down in Obsidian. I just have to put it into the website. Without further ado, enjoy my gospels and books.
Musings And Echo's of The Alter Ego
A holy text for the outcasts, the heretics, the broken-hearted, the fighters who refuse to become numb. This isn’t a gospel for the comfortable. This is for the ones who felt sin-stained from birth and still chose to be good.
The Gospel of Saint Vice
Chapter I – The Sin of Birth
In the beginning, I was born wrong. Not in body, but in spirit—branded with guilt not earned, marked by chains I never forged. They said I must kneel to be clean. I said I would rather stand, even if I am never forgiven. For I saw children starving while churches gleamed, I saw cries silenced while preachers sang, I saw sinners punished for survival, while the righteous feasted on sacrifice. So I cast off my shame like rotted cloth, and clothed myself in grace I gave to others. Not grace bought with prayer— but grace forged in action.
Chapter II – The Mask and the Mirror
They told me to be good. But what they meant was: be silent, be still, be obedient. They did not want kindness—they wanted control. So I became a paradox. A saint, not of heaven, but of earth. A vice, not of corruption, but of refusal. I wore no mask but my own reflection— cracked, bloodied, unashamed. I was not without flaw. I was because of it.
Chapter III – The Hand in the Dirt
I do not preach. I plant. I do not pray. I act. I do not bless. I build. And though I walk through fire, and my name is spat in circles of gold, I stay. I stay with the broken, the bleeding, the cursed, the damned. Because we are not damned by our sins. We are damned by a world that profits from guilt.
Chapter IV – The Rise of the Unclean
The saints in towers said I was dangerous. That my hands were too dirty to heal. That my passion was too wild to be holy. They are right. For I am not holy. I am honest. I will not wash my hands when others are drowning. I will not preach peace while war poisons the poor. I will not forgive systems that feed on suffering. My holiness is not found in purity. It is found in proximity to pain. I rise not to be adored— I rise so others may rise, too.
Chapter V – The Creed of Saint Vice
Born in sin. Clothed in grace. Condemned by faith. Driven by virtue. I do not seek Heaven. I build sanctuaries on earth. I do not fear hell. I’ve lived in it, and still chose to love. Let them call me heretic, sinner, blasphemer. I will still feed the hungry, shelter the cast out, fight for the silenced. For Saint Vice is not a god. Saint Vice is a mirror held to the world. And in its reflection, the condemned will see: “You are not unworthy. You were just too real for the righteous.”
Saint Vice’s Creed: “Let them call me sinner. I will still feed the hungry, shield the broken, and bleed for the unloved. I don’t need salvation. I am the storm that shelters. The hand that reaches down, not up.”