"Uh-huh."
Kariél nodded at the man and with one movement took off his head.
He listened to the aristocrat to the end, showing a modicum of respect.
The scene around was familiar: corpses and severed limbs scattered everywhere. Blood flowed across the dark red carpet, forming a murky puddle. If you didn't look closely, you might not notice it.
Then he smelled fear.
Kariél slowly absorbed this feeling. He turned his head, and the blade of his sword flashed in the darkness. A shadow of fear flickered around the corridor corner.
His prey.
"Run," Kariél said softly. "While you still can."
The next second, a piercing scream echoed from around the corner.
The hidden aristocrat made a final sprint of his life. He quickly left the den where the nobility indulged in pleasures and ran out into the street.
The streets of the Upper Hive were smooth and beautiful. The soft white light of the lanterns gave the dark night a sense of peace. The nights here were quiet, and the fugitive heard only his own heavy breathing and the echoing thud of his footsteps.
But what else?
Would this creature, this monster… catch up to him?
The aristocrat dared not look back. He lacked the courage, he was afraid that if he looked back, he would see a shadow rushing at him, which would rip open his belly with its blade, just like all the others.
So he ran, ran without stopping.
Standing by the second-floor window, Kariél calmly watched him go, not intending to pursue and kill the survivor.
He let him go intentionally.
The attack on this den was a spontaneous decision, and he let him go to sow a little terror among the aristocracy.
He had already seen him.
And he had already remembered him.
So for this aristocrat, there was only one way to save himself. He didn't know it yet, but he would soon find out.
Closing his eyes, Kariél took a deep breath.
This habit had been deliberately cultivated by him, as a kind of psychological self-suggestion. At first, he simply told himself that deep breathing was calming. Now, it actually worked.
He had repeated it too many times, and his mind had accepted this suggestion.
"People really do change subtly," Kariél thought.
He opened the window and silently jumped from the second floor. His boots made only a light rustle as they touched the pavement. The height, which he had previously had to treat with caution, now required no cushioning. His muscles and bones had become much stronger than before.
And, it seemed, they continued to grow stronger.
Kariél pursed his lips and quickly disappeared into the night darkness.
He didn't know if it was good or bad, but he could say with certainty: he didn't like this feeling. He would have preferred to get his old body back, which ached for half a day after each use of strength.
Half an hour later, he returned to the Sanctuary.
The Ghost was already waiting for him. He squatted at the edge of the building like a wild beast. Neon lights cut the sky into jagged shapes, and dark spires loomed in the distance. A cold wind ruffled the Ghost's long hair.
His hair was soft now.
Kariél emerged from the shadows, deliberately scuffing the sole of his boot on the ground. The sound startled the Ghost out of his reverie. He turned with obvious surprise on his face.
"Kariél?"
"What is it?" Kariél asked with a smile.
"You…" The Ghost blinked, looking at him suspiciously. "You just returned?"
"No."
"But I didn't notice you return," the Ghost said confusedly. "How so?"
"I don't know myself."
Kariél shook his head with a smile, not revealing his anxieties and dislikes to the Ghost. There was no need.
"Perhaps, only with time will we find the answer to this question."
"And now… hmm, it's still early, maybe you can tell me about your patrol?"
He walked over and sat next to the Ghost, not rushing to finish the leftover paste. The smell of blood had not yet dissipated, and although he was hungry, he didn't feel like eating in this state.
After all, one must have some principles.
The Ghost nodded and smiled – for the first time so naturally. Although it was only a slight smile, it was enough for Kariél to smile back.
"The workers have started living a little better," the Ghost reported joyfully. "Before the Great Purge, the factories let them go on vacation… and didn't even cut their rations."
"Naturally, the Great Purge happens once every twenty years."
"The gangs divide territory, that's one thing, but they aren't so brainless as to kill factory workers at such a moment – otherwise, who would run production afterwards?"
"Let them go, let them hide in the slums – a temporary safe zone. The right decision."
"Too right."
Kariél nodded impassively, listening carefully and not rushing to interrupt or express his opinion. He knew perfectly well that at such moments, the Ghost always had something to say.
"But the bandits have hidden from the streets," the Ghost grimaced. "I didn't hear anything useful today. Oh, and also the twenty-first gargoyle!"
He looked at Kariél. The latter was not surprised, understanding that it was his turn to answer.
"What about it?" he asked softly.
"It was demolished," the Ghost said, and there was no particular emotion in his voice. "Along with the building."
"Did someone start the conflict early?"
"It seems so. There are many traces of explosions at the site… I saw someone collecting bodies… Kariél, can I ask you a question?"
"Of course, you can."
"Will they also be sent to the butcher shop after death?"
"No."
"Then where?"
"To the crematorium, to the black market, or to doctors who deal with body modifications."
Kariél gave three clear and exhaustive answers. When it came to the Ghost's questions, he was always very careful.
"The butcher shop is not their lot."
"But why?"
"Because… in the eyes of the gangs, they are all people to each other," Kariél replied. "And people don't eat people."
The Ghost's eyes widened: "But…"
"Yes," Kariél smiled. "It's exactly as you thought. They don't consider commoners as people… even if they themselves were once one of them."
"This idea has been around on Nostramo for thousands of years. That's largely why most teenagers desperately try to join gangs – they want to become people."
The Ghost listened attentively, nodding occasionally. The change of roles between listener and narrator happened so suddenly and yet so naturally. The night sky hung low overhead, and they talked calmly under the cold wind.
It seemed like another ordinary night.
If not for that beam of light that pierced the darkness.
Kariél sharply raised his head. A voice sounded in his mind.
+Come outside the city, Kariél Lohars. And bring your Ghost, my son, Konrad Curze.+…
"My Lord, I ask you again to reconsider."
"I have thought it over many times."
"But the Sigillite…"
"Please, Constantin," the giant in golden armor said. "I must do this, or I will not be able to earn his trust."
"You don't need the trust of a psyker from a distant planet, especially since the Sigillite says he is full of suspicious traits."
"In Malcador's eyes, everyone is full of suspicious traits," the giant replied. "Sometimes he even says I'm doing the wrong thing."
"But this psyker is truly suspicious, My Lord."
"You haven't even seen him, Constantin."
"I'd rather trust the Sigillite and his hitherto infallible judgments than an unknown psyker who has brought one of your sons."
The giant sighed.
"Fine," he said. "Are you going to listen to my opinion at all, Constantin?"
"You are my lord, I am, of course, ready."
"Then I ask you – and you, I know someone is listening to our conversation with your Chapter Master behind your back – allow me and my sons to descend alone."
The man called Chapter Master was without his helmet. His hair was cut short, almost to the skin. He was not handsome, but he inspired confidence. His face conveyed calm strength.
Constantin Valdor, such was his name.
"So, Constantin?" his lord asked.
"If it is the command of the Lord of Mankind, the Emperor, we will obey."
The giant, adorned with a high title, sighed again. If his sons saw him now, they would be very surprised. Some might even look with jealousy at the Chapter Master of the Adeptus Custodes.
And the Chapter Master wouldn't care. He never cared.
"Do you absolutely have to act this way, Constantin Valdor?" his lord asked slowly.
"You ask me to neglect my duty. You ask all of us to neglect our duty… You even want to personally descend to this defiled land to meet a filthy psyker…"
Constantin raised his head and said firmly: "Therefore, yes. You must command."
"Well," the Emperor said slowly, "you leave me no choice."
At that moment, for the first time, he looked as befitted his title.
"My sons and I will descend to the surface. None of you will follow us. Deactivate all weapon systems on my ship. Let the Astartes and other troops remain in their positions."
"Anything else, My Lord?" the Chapter Master of the Adeptus Custodes asked reluctantly, but fulfilling his duty.
"No," the Emperor smiled imperceptibly. "I always liked seeing you like this."
"…"
The Chapter Master of the Adeptus Custodes silently raised his hands in a ritual salute and left the room in his armor. Behind him, the lord slowly opened the large door, and the expression on his face had already changed.
+Prepare yourselves.+
He said mentally to the other four consciousnesses.
+We are departing immediately.+
***
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