“Crimson Finale” a Nostramo gang that’s hard to describe in words.
Don’t misunderstand, it’s not about their horrifying appearance or cruelty.
You need to understand, those two qualities are standard for any Nostramo gang.
If you don’t have at least one, the gang itself will come to “fire” you.
Moreover, in terms of cruelty, they were far from the top.
Besides a large number of motorcycles and a habit of painting half their face red, “Crimson Finale” had nothing remarkable.
Furthermore, they showed no creativity in their use of motorcycles.
They didn’t tie people to them to drag them to death, and they didn’t run down passersby.
They just rode them, shooting and waving knives.
Compared to other gangs that also loved motorcycles, they were laughably unimaginative.
But it’s hard to describe this gang in words because right now… Well, right now most of them were in a rather fragmented state.
Literally.
Kariel stood calmly before the closed wooden door, his hands lowered and hidden under his cloak.
He breathed quietly, almost inaudibly.
The floor under his feet was flooded with blood that already covered the thick soles of his boots.
He stood motionless before the door, patiently waiting.
He had always been patient.
Fifteen minutes later, from behind the door came two quiet sighs of relief that immediately fell silent.
Kariel continued to wait without moving.
Five minutes later, voices and the sound of boots stepping on concrete reached him from behind the door.
At that moment, Kariel abruptly shifted his stance.
He tensed his legs, thrust his right shoulder forward, and with a powerful blow, the door was torn from its hinges, taking with it the one who had come out to check what was happening.
The man flew aside with a scream, struck the wall awkwardly, and immediately fell silent.
Shots rang out, but this time Kariel was ready.
No sound would escape.
In fact, the massacre had already been going on for some time, but the gang across the street still hadn’t noticed the slaughter happening here.
“Hello,” Kariel said quietly.
His eyes gleamed with icy blue light, making his voice sound eerie and low, like the scrape of a knife against bone.
He stood in the empty doorway, his head tilted, in no hurry to kill the last survivor.
Blood spread under his feet, and the corridor behind him was strewn with corpses.
Through broken windows and holes in the walls, a deathly pale street light filtered in.
Kariel had planned this angle in advance.
He needed the survivor to see all of it.
“Don’t come near… don’t come near…” Silence fell in the room for a few seconds, then a frightened voice and the sound of a protesting weapon whose trigger was being pulled endlessly but which had run out of ammunition.
The last sound was especially distinct.
Kariel smirked, in no hurry to push further.
He could already smell the fear.
Fear changes many things.
It can make a wise man a fool, and a fool resourceful.
Few can withstand the pressure, ignore fear, and press forward.
But most inevitably become its slaves.
He slowly stepped forward, deliberately showing his figure to the survivor.
The wretch screamed immediately.
His imagination made him envision what Kariel would do to him next.
He crawled backward on all fours, grabbing any garbage from the floor and throwing it at Kariel.
“Perfect.
Just as I expected.” Kariel narrowed his eyes, and the icy blue light flared up again.
He stood still, not dodging.
All the debris passed through his body without even touching the edge of his clothes.
It all fell to the floor, into puddles of blood and onto torn bodies, splattering bloody droplets and making dull slapping sounds.
A few seconds later, a scream rang out again.
This time it was especially piercing and breaking.
The sole survivor of “Crimson Finale” squeezed his eyes shut and began muttering incoherent phrases, flailing his arms randomly, begging the avenging spirit to spare him.
He didn’t know that Kariel could barely move at that moment.
“That was too much, after all.” He frowned, thinking: “I still don’t understand this power well enough.
But it seems that as long as I don’t use it too intensely, that creature from the world of the dead can’t find me.” “That’s an unexpected plus.
I need to remember it and tell Ghost later.
He also has the potential to awaken this power… though I hope he never uses it.” Sighing silently, Kariel pushed through the intense pain and ache and continued walking forward.
Now his gait was genuinely slow and stiff.
This stiffness, coming from his own body rather than pretense, made the survivor, who heard the footsteps and opened his eyes, scream even more horribly.
In the corridor outside the room, the hunched-over Ghost frowned.
The survivor kept retreating, screaming.
His sanity was utterly shattered by fear, beyond reassembly.
But his self-preservation instinct still drove him to act.
For example, retreating, trying to get as far away as possible from this icy room and the specter standing in the doorway.
Unfortunately, his back was already against the wall.
There was nowhere left to retreat.
And then… The avenging spirit standing before him, who had wrought all this, began to speak slowly.
… “I still don’t understand why we didn’t kill him.” “Because… wait, let me catch my breath.” Kariel caught his breath.
He leaned against the filthy wall in a dark alley and bent over.
Only after a few seconds could he continue answering Ghost’s question.
“Because my plan needs a wretch broken by fear like him.” “A plan?” Ghost, crouching, tilted his head.
“What plan?
You never told me.” “You don’t need to know the details of this plan, Ghost.
You don’t even need to know its name.
The only thing I can tell you is this…” Kariel fell silent again.
He began to breathe deeply, but it came with difficulty.
Ghost saw his contorted face and sweat-soaked forehead, and it made him stand up.
“…what?” Ghost asked quietly.
“Its purpose,” Kariel said with a strained smile.
“I let him go because I know he’ll blab about what happened to his gang everywhere…” “And then?” “And then the gangs will learn which district the avenging spirit is currently operating in.
And those who didn’t believe before will start believing in its existence when faced with such a living, raving example.” “But you said it’s better not to leave witnesses, just leave the name at the crime scene?” Puzzled, Ghost approached and helped Kariel sit down.
“Thank you, Ghost.” Kariel said this without rushing to explain, thanking him first.
Politeness is important.
“Both methods have their advantages.
Don’t fixate on one; you need to assess the situation and use them as circumstances dictate.” “…I don’t really understand.” “If you understood, I’d probably be seeing a real ghost, you one-and-a-half-year-old little monster.” Kariel smirked.
“You can test their effectiveness later.
Back to business, Ghost.
Do you remember that woman?” “…I remember.” Ghost’s expression grew tense; he asked quietly: “She said I’m an iron golem with low intelligence.
What does that mean?” “You even heard that… fine, we’ll talk about that later.
Anyway, she was from House Skraivok.
It’s an ancient family from the Upper Hive; they have seventeen counts alone.” “She was an inquisitor of House Skraivok, responsible for patrolling the Underhive, maintaining order on territories controlled by their gangs, and collecting taxes.” “Compared to the gangs, she wasn’t that big a deal, but an inquisitor is a staff employee… do you understand what I mean?” Ghost listened to Kariel silently and patiently, nodding.
The phrase “staff employee” triggered a wave in his consciousness upon its arrival, revealing its meaning and that of many related words.
“And she’s dead.
I killed her.
Along with the Father from the Church of Repose and Razor from the Razor gang… and that member of the ‘Knocking Teeth’ that you killed.” “‘Knocking Teeth’?” “No lips, lots of piercings, nails or chains on his body.” Ghost suddenly understood: “The bald one!” “…Anyway, on the eve of the Great Purge, we managed to piss off House Skraivok and the ‘Knocking Teeth.’ To ensure the Purge goes smoothly, they’ll definitely send someone to deal with us.” “This is an excellent opportunity, Ghost.
We finally have a chance to kill someone from the high aristocracy.” Kariel slowly stretched his lips into a smile, and an indescribable joy suddenly blazed across his pale face.
“…That would be a first.” Ghost nodded and fell back into thought.
He really didn’t understand what House Skraivok, the “Knocking Teeth,” or the Great Purge were.
These strange names didn’t arise in his head on their own.
He didn’t understand them, just as he didn’t understand how Kariel knew so much.
In fact, in Ghost’s opinion, Kariel knew far more than he did.
However, some things don’t need to be understood.
It’s enough to determine whether they are good or bad.
After a brief and careful deliberation, Ghost reached a conclusion.
Kariel is right, and this is good.
But he still had one pressing question.
Kariel had said that if something was doubtful, he should ask directly, not hide it.
Ghost did just that.
He frowned and asked: “But we didn’t leave survivors before.” “…You’re really fixated on that, Ghost.
Fine, listen — killing is always just a means, not an end.
Don’t confuse one with the other, and also…” Kariel, sitting on the ground, slowly extended his hand.
Ghost looked at him in bewilderment.
Silence.
One second, two, three… Finally, the infamous avenging spirit sighed.
“Help me get to the Sanctuary,” he said.
“I can’t move yet.” “Oh.” The next second, Ghost obediently hoisted him onto his back.