A long time ago, Kariel had realized something.
The bandits of Nostramo, despite their outward resemblance, were not human. They simply didn't deserve that title.
In Kariel's eyes, they were, at best, something like distant, utterly insane relatives of humans, devoid of any sense of morality.
Their minds were almost destroyed by psychotropic substances and the madness of the surrounding world. They craved blood, violence, the subservience and fear of others.
All these factors, layered upon each other, led to them no longer needing a reason for gratuitous murder. But the worst part was that on Nostramo, such behavior was considered normal.
Kariel found it absurd – until one day it dawned on him.
They are not human. Yes, exactly. They are not human.
Having realized this, Kariel got to work.
Yes, he called hunting bandits in the hives his work.
From his perspective, the work was quite bearable – except that it was a bit peculiar, unpaid, and took place in disgusting conditions.
He approached his work with extreme caution, fully aware of how dangerous the gangs were.
They had guns, cannons, they had everything needed for killing, and most importantly – they generally weren't afraid of death.
To make them fear, special methods were required.
But the young Ghost obviously didn't understand this. His strength made killing easy, like playing in water, and therefore he didn't see what was visible only to mortals like Kariel.
He didn't know what a rare virtue prudence was.
"My time is limited, Ghost, so you better be worth the minutes spent on you."
Kariel sighed, jumped off the gargoyle, and plummeted down like a stone. Piercing the icy clouds, he fell; his cloak billowed in the wind, his black hair danced wildly, and his eyes burned with an almost frightening intensity.
Twenty-five seconds later, he landed without making a sound. The blue glow in his eyes froze the falling raindrops, turning them into ice shards. Hovering for a moment, they fell again and shattered.
But he did not.
Standing still, Kariel took a calm, deep breath. He closed his eyes, and the familiar blackness was illuminated by an inner light.
Nearby, in an abstract space, a blurred shadow writhed and contorted, full of despair.
He knew who it was. Kariel sighed silently.
"Can you truly bear this burden, naive little monster?"
Kariel opened his eyes, and at that moment, an icy nausea rose in his throat.
Immediately, a muffled voice, as if from beyond the Veil, reached him from afar. It was soft, paternal, and mumbled something unintelligible.
It tried to make Kariel respond, and he almost succumbed.
Kariel suppressed the urge again and gave a cold smirk.
"No, not today. Don't hope. It won't work, creature hiding in the darkness."
He tightened his grip on his blade and ran across the roofs of the sinister spires.
As if by unspoken agreement, all who had the right to build houses on Nostramo chose this grim style. Well, at least it suited the Ghost perfectly.
The tiles trembled under his feet, the curtain of rain was torn apart by his speed. With icy cold and approaching fury, Kariel neared his target.
He leaped silently in the darkness of night, like a soaring spirit.
And then... at the end of this swift run...
The Ghost burst into wild laughter.
...
"Did you hear anything?" a man asked.
"I only hear the sound of failure," a woman replied lazily.
She leaned against her motorcycle and lazily poked her left forearm with a bone knife. Her arm was already covered in bloody cuts, but the woman seemed to enjoy it and had no intention of stopping.
"No, no, Dir, I'm serious," the man said, turning his head. "I really heard something."
"Do me a favor, Carlo, shut your fart hole."
Dir glanced at Carlo just as lazily and snorted contemptuously.
"We missed the convoy, which means we failed. So just shut up, okay?"
"Don't remind me."
Carlo frowned, a hint of anger in his voice. His face was split in two by some kind of paint: the upper half deathly pale, the lower half scarlet. This bizarre contrast gave his face a terrifying appearance.
But Dir was unimpressed. She smirked coldly again.
"If you, ass-faced bastard, hadn't said you saw that creature run this way, we'd still be cutting people up with everyone else. Maybe we'd even get a couple of doses after the job. And you still have the nerve to say something?"
"I said, shut up!"
Carlo roared and, snatching a shotgun from his motorcycle, aimed it at Dir. The weapon was crude, with splinters sticking out of the forend. Breathing heavily, Carlo looked at her and stated:
"I said, I heard something... you stupid bitch!"
He suddenly screamed. The outburst of emotion was completely unexpected, without any buildup – it seemed he instantly went from mild irritation to furious rage.
Carlo threw his motorcycle aside and, staggering, approached Dir. He pressed the barrel to her forehead with such force that she almost fell off the bike.
"I said, I heard something! I heard! I heard! I wasn't lying! I heard!"
"Alright, alright, you heard... damn it," Dir cursed quietly. "Get this thing away from my head, Carlo. Damn it, you've gone completely mad with that paint."
"I heard! I heard!"
Carlo shrieked and, clutching the shotgun, ran away. Dir frowned, watching him inexplicably disappear into the rain curtain, and cursed again.
"What a cretin, damn him. Is there only shit in his head?"
Feeling insulted, Dir shook her head, started her motorcycle again, and decided to return to the gang's territory to sleep.
And Carlo's bike... let it stay here. Civilians wouldn't dare touch it – the "Crimson Finale" mark was clearly visible. They knew what awaited them. And other gangs...
Ha.
Dir would be glad if they took it. Then the "Crimson Finale" would have a reason for war. And Carlo... frankly, she hadn't even thought about him. In fact, she wished him dead right now.
But a piercing scream, cutting through the sound of the rain, interrupted her plans.
Dir frowned and looked in that direction. Darkness and rain hid everything from her, and the sound of the downpour hitting the ground drowned out any other sounds.
She dismounted her motorcycle and cautiously took a submachine gun from her side bag. Looking into the curtain of rain, she shouted:
"Carlo! Is that you?!"
No one answered. Only the sound of acid rain drops shattering on the ground. Dir felt a chill run down her spine – the sensation appeared suddenly, in the very first second, and made her freeze.
"What the hell... this idiot..."
Muttering something under her breath, she froze in place with the submachine gun at the ready, unsure whether to go forward or turn back and forget everything.
As she pondered, she noticed out of the corner of her eye that the rainwater flowing at her feet had changed color.
The murky streams that washed over her leather boots had turned from dirty brown to a completely scarlet hue. An icy cold crept up again, but this time not from behind, but from the front.
Trembling, she raised her head.
"Who's there?!" Dir shrieked. "Who?! Come out! Come out!"
"Sh-sh-sh..."
A quiet voice came from behind the rain curtain, which unmistakably pierced the roar of the downpour and reached her ears:
"Quiet, they're sleeping here."
Dir's face twitched. She wanted to pull the trigger, but her fingers wouldn't obey. A silver flash preceded it, piercing both the rain curtain and the hand clutching the weapon.
Her submachine gun fell to the ground with a clatter and was immediately carried away by the water flow into some dark corner, leaving her no chance to retrieve it.
"No!" she screamed.
Through pain and fear, Dir heard a soft laugh. Then the voice spoke again.
"Yes," he said softly. "By the way, do you want to see your companion?"
A head flew out from behind the rain curtain and landed precisely on Dir. Her eyes widened, and she instinctively caught it.
Lifeless eyes stared at the sky. The chin was split, the tongue dangled between the two halves of the lower jaw. Pieces of flesh were stuck between the yellow-brown teeth. The upper half of the face was deathly pale, the lower half completely scarlet.
It was Carlo's face.
No, it was Carlo's head.
In the last moments of her life, Dir sobbed. She fell to the ground, making no attempt to run or resist. She just cried, like all the innocents who had died by her hand. Carlo's head fell beside her and stared at her lifelessly.
Fear crushed her. Completely.
Then a pale hand appeared and lifted her chin.
"Don't cry," Kariel said softly. "Crying is a privilege of humans. And you are not human."
A silver flash.
The headless body collapsed to the ground. The limbs still twitched in death throes, but it no longer mattered.
Kariel tilted his head slightly, and the blue light in his eyes flowed quietly. The Ghost, covered in blood, emerged from the rain curtain. He was unconscious, his eyes closed, his brows furrowed, and streams of water trickled down his face.
"Technically, I should thank them for the motorcycles," he said, "but I only say thank you to humans."
Kariel smirked, deciding to end the night with his least favorite sense of humor. He wiggled his fingers, and the Ghost sat on one of the motorcycles, even starting the engine.
"Let's go, Ghost, just be careful," Kariel said with a smile. "It's your first time on a motorcycle. Safety first."
A few seconds later, two motorcycles, breaking through the rain curtain, sped into the distance.
***
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