Kariel Lokhars lifted his head and looked at the gargoyle perched above him.
The stone beast silently gazed into the night distance, its jaws wide open in a silent roar.
“Farewell,” Kariel told it.
He reached a pale hand out from under the cornice, a noticeable tattoo on his wrist.
Just a few seconds later, his palm felt the cold raindrops, and he quickly pulled it back.
But the faint burning sensation had already appeared.
Kariel curled his lips.
Displeasure flickered across his pale face but vanished just as quickly.
“Excellent,” he muttered.
“It’s started raining.” He turned and stepped back a little to avoid soiling his boots in the blood.
The source of that blood was a corpse lying at his feet, its chest and stomach ripped open.
Kariel leaned down and rolled the body over.
The movement was gentle, but in the process he heard a dull thud.
He realized the entrails had spilled from the chest cavity and hit the ground.
It made Kariel sigh.
He began to wonder if his skill had dulled.
Just one strike from below — how could it have disemboweled him?
As he pondered this, he tore the cloak off the corpse.
The inside was still bloody, so Kariel had to shake it out and turn it inside out.
It was perfectly wearable that way.
A little advice: if it’s raining on Nostramo and you absolutely must go out, it’s better to throw something on.
If you have nothing to throw on, don’t leave shelter.
The reason?
On Nostramo, the rain is poisonous.
He stepped out from under the cornice.
There were no more pedestrians on the street, but many hungry eyes hid in the darkness, watching the shadow in the cloak.
Hive City Quintus on Nostramo was exactly like that.
Just like every other hive city on this planet, really.
Forever overcrowded, forever reeking, filled with stifling smoke.
Nature had long been destroyed by endless resource extraction, and sunlight had abandoned Nostramo centuries ago.
Gangs had divided the territory, big and small, replacing law with violence and taking everything under their control.
Though, in truth, they were merely dogs kept by the aristocrats of the Upper Hive.
As he breathed in, Kariel caught the thick smell of rust.
That cursed aroma filled his mouth, and his tongue felt like a rusty five-cent coin stuck between his jaws.
That sticky sensation disgusted him, but what disgusted him even more was that he seemed to be getting used to it.
At that thought, Kariel stretched his lips into a smile, his shoulders relaxed and dropped, and silver glinted dully in his cuffs.
Rain.
Perfect weather for a murder.
He walked forward, crossing dark metal bridges and narrow slums.
As he passed, he heard the anxious whispers of sleeping people.
The smile on Kariel’s face grew wider until it became a terrifying grin that would send chills down anyone’s spine.
Muscles pulled at his skin; his teeth gnashed faintly in the wind.
The suffering, the fallen, the oppressed.
Even in sleep, they only dared to quietly curse their fate.
Poisonous chemicals hung in the air, devouring the lungs, hearts, and bodies of those poor workers.
They devoured their senses, devoured everything they were.
And those responsible for it all sat in their exquisite homes, enjoying life, not even seeing the deaths of those they exploited.
Unjust, isn’t it?
Kariel kept walking.
After about half an hour, he easily vaulted over a high wall and found himself before a church.
Beneath the low night sky, in a veil of poisonous acid rain, it looked ominous.
Two gargoyles on the spire beside the stained-glass windows gazed down at him.
Raindrops fell vertically to the ground and shattered.
“Good evening.” Kariel greeted quietly.
His words, in Nostramo Common, hissed in the damp stench stirred up by the rain.
He moved forward, and his gait was strikingly different from what it had been on the street.
His leather boots touched the ground without a sound, and his speed was astonishing — he glided rather than walked.
This is how Kariel reached a side door of the church, placed his hand on the handle, and within half a breath, the heavy metal door, locked from the inside, opened by itself, even though Kariel hadn’t pushed it.
He chuckled, and for a moment, a cold blue light flashed in his eyes.
…
“The Kolpa people underpaid, Father,” said a man with a tattoo on his face.
His skin, like that of all Nostramans, was pale, and his eyes were coal-black, but his build was very different.
Most inhabitants of Nostramo were thin from hunger and the oppression of the elite, but he was very stocky.
The one he called Father did not answer immediately.
He was kneeling before a statue of a deity, eyes closed, fingers interlaced in prayer.
“Father…” The tattooed man called out hesitantly again.
This time, Father opened his eyes.
When he rose to his feet, the man involuntarily swallowed.
The reason was simple: Father was incredibly tall.
The sight of the rising giant evoked the same oppressive feeling as watching a mountain straighten its shoulders — it sent a chill down your spine.
“The mines north of Kolpa?” Father asked.
His voice did not match his stature — it was not heavy or low, but soft.
The Nostramo language in his mouth even acquired a certain elegance.
It wasn’t a commoner’s accent.
“Yes,” the tattooed man replied.
“The one mining adamantium.” Father sighed.
“It’s always the same,” he said slowly.
“There are always those who think they can hide from the divine gaze.
I grant them my mercy, and they don’t appreciate it…” The tattooed man lowered his head — he dared not answer Father’s words.
In the church, speaking of God and His mercy was a privilege belonging only to Father himself.
“Send people tomorrow,” Father waved his hand unhurriedly.
“Bring Kolpa to me.
I will personally make him understand how precious the love bestowed upon us by God is…
A sinner who commits such an unholy crime must be crushed in hellfire.” He fell silent and stared intently at the man.
His gaze was like a blade that slid coldly through bone marrow, making him tremble.
Finally, Father spoke again, slowly: “And another thing: don’t disturb me at night from now on.
This is my time for prayer.” “Yes, Father,” the man answered hastily, bowing his head low.
His back was already soaked with cold sweat.
“So you are pious, Father?” A voice suddenly sounded, followed by the sharp screech of metal.
No light was on in the church; only a few candles quietly crackled by the statue.
Their faint glow was not enough to dispel the darkness.
Something stirred in the murky gloom.
The tattooed man’s expression changed sharply.
He immediately stepped in front of Father and drew a pistol from his belt.
The weapon looked crude, its grip wrapped in simple electrical tape, but a single shot could bring down a mutated beast from the wastelands outside the hive.
“Of course I am pious,” Father said calmly, showing no concern at all.
“And you, sir?
Have you come to my church in the middle of the night to confess?” “Oh, confess?” A quiet chuckle came from the darkness.
“I do have things to confess…
Well, Father, I’ve killed many people.
The first was an overseer who oppressed the miners.
I hanged him in his own room.” “And then I couldn’t be stopped.
The second was a bastard who used drugs to force children to sell their bodies.” “And the last…
let me think…
an unlicensed doctor who liked to eat his patients.
I took him apart.” Hearing this, the tattooed man flinched, his face twisted in horror.
He already knew who stood before him.
Father gently placed a hand on his right shoulder, calming his uncontrollable trembling.
Then he said: “Judging by your description, I take it you are the Vengeful Spirit?” “Vengeful for whom?” asked the voice from the darkness.
“No one in this city knows me.
Who would I avenge?” “So you don’t kill in the name of justice.” “Justice?” Suddenly, a shrill, piercing laugh rang out from the gloom.
Father frowned, and the hand resting on the tattooed man’s shoulder tightened.
From the monstrous force, the man groaned but didn’t dare even stir.
A monster lurked in the darkness before him, but another was behind him.
He didn’t know which was more terrifying.
“Justice exists,” Father said slowly.
“You are too absolute.” “Really?” “Yes.” “Then does God exist?” “Of course He does.” A low laugh came from the darkness, and a man in a cloak stepped out of the gloom.
“Father…
if God really exists, why doesn’t the omniscient and omnipotent One hurl His thunder down upon us and punish us?” “Because He is merciful to us,” Father replied calmly.
“He wants us to repent and return to the righteous path, not to purify our bodies through destruction.” The tattooed man let out a quiet, agonized groan.
Father’s voice was calm, but the force with which his right hand gripped the man’s shoulder kept growing.
That was the source of the man’s suffering.
The man in the cloak chuckled again.
He lowered his hands, took off the cloak, and tossed it aside.
The color of his skin and eyes were the same as every Nostraman’s: skin pale as a corpse, eyes black as a tombstone — contrasting colors existing in symbiosis.
Father looked at him.
The very instant their gazes met and he made out the man’s face, he squeezed his hand sharply, shattering the tattooed man’s collarbone.
A wild, animalistic scream rang out.
The tattooed man collapsed to the floor, dropping his pistol.
Blood began to spread across the floor.
“My name is Kariel.
Kariel Lokhars, Father,” Kariel said with a smile.
“That surname — does it sound familiar?” Father grimly raised his hand and unbuttoned his cassock.
He slowly removed the heavy, majestic black vestment and threw it onto the lectern.
The body beneath was covered in scars.
There was a tattoo on his chest.
“Familiar,” Father said.
“There is no surname more familiar to me on Nostramo than Lokhars.” “Very good.” Kariel smiled and raised his hands.
Two blades reflected the flickering candlelight.
He began to softly dance in place, his back relaxed, his posture casual, the blades appearing and disappearing at his wrists.
“Mr.
Kariel…” Father slowly clenched his fists, and a rumble of mechanisms sounded within his arms.
“Speak, Father,” Kariel replied with a slight smirk.
“You can speak for a long time.
Consider this your last word.” Father did not answer, only took a deep breath of the blood-scented air.
The man on the floor had not stopped screaming, so Father lifted his foot and stomped down with all his might on his throat, ending his suffering.
“You truly came for revenge,” Father said.
“No, Father, no,” Kariel replied softly.
“I came for you.” The strike flashed so fast that the candle flames went out.
A furious roar and mad laughter alternated.
The tattooed man’s eye rolled out and silently disappeared into the darkness.