Kariel Lohars raised his head and glanced at the gargoyle perched above him. The stone beast stared silently into the night distance, its jaws wide in a silent, savage roar.
"Farewell," Kariel said to it.
He reached out a pale hand from beneath the ledge, a distinct tattoo visible on his wrist. Only a few seconds later, his palm felt the cold droplets of rain, and he immediately pulled it back.
But a slight stinging sensation had already appeared.
Kariel curled his lips. A flicker of displeasure crossed his pale face but vanished just as quickly.
"Excellent," he muttered. "The rain has started."
He turned and stepped back slightly to avoid staining his feet in the blood. The source of that blood was a corpse with a ripped-open chest and stomach lying at his feet.
Kariel leaned down and rolled the body over. The movement was soft, but in the process, he heard a dull thud.
He realized that the internal organs had fallen out of the ribcage and hit the ground.
This made Kariel sigh. He began to wonder if his skill had dulled.
A single upward strike—how could it have happened that he had eviscerated him?
Pondering this, he stripped the cloak from the corpse. The inner side was still covered in blood, so Kariel had to shake it out and turn it inside out. In that state, it was perfectly wearable.
A small piece of advice: if it is raining on Nostramo and you absolutely must go out, it is better to throw something over yourself.
If you have nothing to wear, do not leave your shelter.
The reason?
On Nostramo, the rain is toxic.
He stepped out from under the ledge. There were no longer any passersby on the street, but many hungry eyes hid in the darkness, watching the cloaked shadow.
Hive City Quintus on Nostramo was exactly like that. In fact, it was just like any other hive on this planet.
Forever overcrowded, forever stinking, full of suffocating smoke. Nature had long been destroyed by endless resource extraction, and sunlight had abandoned Nostramo many centuries ago.
Gangs had carved up the territories, great and small, replacing law with violence and taking everything under their control. In truth, however, they were merely the hounds kept by the aristocrats of the Upper Hive.
Inhaling, Kariel felt the thick scent of rust. This cursed aroma filled his mouth, and his tongue felt like a rusty five-cent coin stuck between his jaws.
This sticky sensation disgusted him, but what disgusted him even more was the fact that he seemed to have already grown used to it.
At this thought, Kariel stretched his lips into a smile, his shoulders relaxed and dropped, and silver glinted dimly at his cuffs.
Rain.
Excellent weather for a killing.
He walked forward, crossing dark metal bridges and narrow slums. Passing by, he heard the troubled whispers of sleeping people.
The smile on Kariel's face grew wider until it turned into a ghoulish grin that would make anyone's skin crawl. Muscles pulled the skin tight, and his teeth ground almost imperceptibly in the wind.
The suffering, the fallen, the oppressed. Even in their sleep, they only dared to quietly curse their fate.
Poisonous chemicals drifted in the air, devouring the lungs, hearts, and bodies of these poor laborers.
They devoured their feelings, devoured everything they were. And the perpetrators of all this sat in their exquisite homes, enjoying life and not even seeing the deaths of those they exploited.
Unfair, isn't it?
Kariel continued walking. About half an hour later, he easily vaulted over a high wall and found himself in front of a church.
Under the low night sky, in the shroud of poisonous acid rain, it looked ominous. Two gargoyles on the spire next to the stained-glass windows glared down at him. Raindrops fell vertically to the ground and shattered into pieces.
"Good evening."
Kariel greeted quietly. His words in Nostraman hissed in the damp stench raised by the rain.
He moved forward, and his gait was strikingly different from the one he had on the street. His leather boots touched the ground without a single sound, and his speed was astonishing—he glided rather than walked.
Thus Kariel reached the side door of the church, placed his hand on the handle, and after half a breath, the heavy metal door, locked from the inside, opened of its own accord, even though Kariel had not even pushed it.
He chuckled, and a cold blue light flickered in his eyes for a moment.
...
"Kolpa's 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 physique was very different.
Most residents of Nostramo were thin due to hunger and the oppression of the elite, but he was very sturdy.
The one he called Father did not answer immediately. He knelt before a statue of a deity, eyes closed and fingers clasped in a prayerful gesture.
"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 crushing feeling as if a mountain were squaring its shoulders before your eyes—it sent a chill down one's spine.
"The mines north of Kolpa?" Father asked.
His voice did not match his height—it was neither heavy nor low, but, on the contrary, soft. The Nostraman language even acquired a certain elegance in his mouth.
This was not the accent of a commoner.
"Yes," the tattooed man replied. "The one where they mine adamantium."
Father sighed.
"Always the same thing," he said slowly. "There are always those who think they can hide from the divine gaze. I grant them my mercy, and they do not appreciate it..."
The tattooed man lowered his head—he did not dare to answer Father's words. In the church, speaking of God and his mercy was the privilege of Father alone.
"Send men tomorrow," Father waved his hand unhurriedly.
"Bring Kolpa to me. I will personally let him understand how precious is the love granted to us by God... A sinner who has committed 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 across the bone marrow, making the man tremble.
Finally, Father spoke again slowly:
"And furthermore, do not disturb me at night in the future. This is my time for prayer."
"I obey, Father," the man answered hastily, bowing his head low. His back was already drenched in a cold sweat.
"So, you are pious, Father?"
Suddenly a voice rang out, followed by the sharp grating of metal. No lights were burning in the church, only a few candles crackled quietly near the statue. Their dim glow was not enough to disperse the gloom.
In the misty darkness, something moved.
The expression on the tattooed man's face changed sharply. He immediately stepped in front of Father and drew a pistol from his belt.
The weapon looked crude, the grip wrapped in simple electrical tape, but with one shot, it could take down a mutated beast from the wastes outside the hive.
"Of course, I am pious," Father said calmly, not in the least alarmed. "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 indeed have something to confess... Well then, Father, I have killed many people. The first was an overseer who oppressed the miners. I hanged him in his own room."
"And after that, 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 shuddered, and his face contorted in terror. He already realized who was before him.
Father placed a hand gently on his right shoulder, calming the uncontrollable trembling.
Then he said:
"Judging by your description, I assume you are that very same avenging spirit?"
"Avenge whom?" the voice asked from the darkness. "No one knows me in this city. For whom should I seek vengeance?"
"Then you do not kill in the name of justice."
"Justice?"
Suddenly, a shrill, ear-piercing laugh rang out from the gloom.
Father frowned, and his hand resting on the tattooed man's shoulder tightened. The man groaned from the monstrous strength, but did not dare even to flinch.
A monster lurked in the darkness, but there was another behind him. He did not know which one was more terrifying.
"Justice exists," Father said slowly. "You are too categorical."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Then, does God exist?"
"Of course, He exists."
A low laugh came from the darkness, and a man in a cloak stepped out from the gloom.
"Father... if God truly exists, why then does the all-knowing and all-powerful He not hurl His thunder upon us and punish?"
"Because He is merciful to us," Father replied calmly. "He wants us to repent and return to the righteous path, rather than cleansing our bodies through destruction."
The tattooed man let out a quiet, agonized moan.
Father's voice was calm, but the force with which his right hand squeezed the shoulder kept growing. This 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 was the same as that of all Nostramans: skin pale as a corpse, eyes black as a tombstone—contrasting colors existing in symbiosis.
Father looked at him. At the very moment their eyes met and he recognized the man's face, he squeezed his hand sharply, crushing the tattooed man's collarbone.
A wild, beast-like 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 Lohars, Father," Kariel said with a smile. "Does that surname sound familiar to you?"
Father grimly raised his hand and unbuttoned his cassock. He slowly removed the heavy, majestic black vestments and threw them onto the lectern. The body beneath them was riddled with scars.
There was a tattoo on his chest.
"Familiar," Father said. "On Nostramo, there is no surname more familiar to me than Lohars."
"That's good, then."
Kariel smiled and raised his hands. Two blades reflected the flickering flame of the candles. He began to dance softly on the spot, his back relaxed, his posture easy, the blades appearing and disappearing into his wrists.
"Mr. Kariel..."
Father slowly clenched his fists, and the rumble of mechanisms rang out inside his arms.
"Speak, Father," Kariel replied with a slight smirk. "You may speak for a long time. Consider it your last word."
Father did not answer, merely took a deep breath of the blood-scented air.
The man on the floor had not yet stopped screaming, so he raised a foot and stepped on his throat with all his strength, ending his misery.
"You have indeed come for vengeance," Father said.
"No, Father, no," Kariel replied softly. "I have come for you."
The strike flashed so quickly that the candle flames went out. A furious roar and insane laughter followed one another. The tattooed man's eye rolled out and silently vanished into the darkness.