Standing on the spire's summit, he looked down.
After the rain, Quintus always exuded an unbearable stench, and the putrid smell of acid precipitation was far from the limit.
The puddles on the roads, after standing for a while, generated even more complex chemical odors, and every detail of the city only exacerbated this stench.
In a way, the rain was a reflection of Nostramo itself: whenever it seemed like things couldn't get any worse, it presented an even more disgusting surprise.
The world seemed to have a consciousness and deliberately mocked you.
But for Kariel, at this moment, it wasn't the complex and disgusting smell that was unbearable, but the chaos that an ordinary person couldn't sense.
Compared to the former, the latter was far more agonizing.
He silently looked at the district three hundred meters away. Gunfire was already raging there.
The Great Purge had begun on schedule. The family that had promised places in the Upper Hive had disappeared, but the gangs obviously weren't going to give up this glorious tradition. Today's shooting was fiercer than on any previous night. The entire city had descended into madness.
A thought flashed through Kariel's mind.
They need this.
Shaking his head slightly, he jumped from the spire into a dark alley.
Without even looking, he knew what was happening on the street around the corner: patrolling bandits with weapons at the ready were covering their territory. Few of them were in their right minds. The air reeked of hallucinogens.
Kariel slowly approached the alley exit. He stepped over a drainage ditch and pressed himself against the wall, becoming absolutely silent. His breathing was almost imperceptible, and his tall body completely dissolved into the darkness. No one noticed his arrival.
But he wanted to be noticed.
And he emerged from the shadows.
Several pale faces noticed him. Their black eyes held emptiness. In their minds, filled with primal rage from drugs, a direct and undisguised danger signal suddenly flared.
Their minds screamed, roared, ordering them to flee. But they no longer had a chance.
"Good evening," Kariel said.
His voice was quiet, but the entire patrol heard it. Forty-seven people. They all heard him.
After that, it was simple.
A lunge, disarm, bend the weapon and throw it, killing the one who tried to flee.
Another lunge, break two necks, break the spine of a third with a careful kick, and then crush his throat to end his suffering.
Retreat, elbow strike, shatter two hearts. Duck, evading a bullet, jump, attack again. Hand-knife: a chopping blow, a straight thrust, a stab...
A massacre.
Within a minute, Kariel was the only one left standing.
This was not enough.
He turned, sighed, and in the most demonstrative manner, burst into the lower level of the spire where he had recently stood.
The wall crumbled to dust, and he burst out of it.
The bandits inside, hearing the noise and preparing to come to the rescue, instinctively turned, but their vision managed to catch only a fleeting shadow. And then, before they could open fire, they heard a greeting.
"Good evening."
Gunshots rang out, followed by three minutes of spreading death.
Kariel stood in the middle of the devastated hall and nodded thoughtfully. The smell of burnt metal and synthetic chemicals hit his nose, but the thick smell of blood overpowered everything.
The first gang... destroyed.
How many more?
A number flashed in his mind. Kariel chuckled. The Great Purge usually lasted three to four days. One night was not enough for Quintus's gangs to settle all their affairs.
But for Kariel, one night was enough.
He lowered his head and looked at his blood-stained hands.
Killing to stop killing is not a solution; he understood that perfectly.
To fundamentally change Nostramo, some order had to be established first. At least, not worse than the current one. And that would require decades of hard work.
Building is always a hundred times harder than destroying.
But he didn't have time now.
In a sense, the huge ship now hanging in orbit above Nostramo had changed everything. Kariel couldn't yet understand whether it was for better or worse, but he knew one thing for sure.
It couldn't get any worse than it was now.
***
"A tiger in a sheep pen."
Rogal Dorn shook his head.
"With such speed, with such efficiency... is he going to cleanse this entire hive city in one night?"
"Perhaps so."
Ferrus Manus nodded vaguely.
"He has destroyed six gangs in the last fifteen minutes. They simply cannot stop him."
Their voices echoed in the room. Two giants stood on either side of a long table. A holographic projection bathed the room in blue light. A red dot moved rapidly across a map of the hive, dotted with ominous spires and clusters of buildings.
"Did you try to dissuade him?" Dorn asked after a brief silence.
"I just said I could help," Ferrus replied calmly. "That's all. But he refused. I suppose he believes that a new order imposed by external force would be little different from the existing one in this hive. At least the workers wouldn't notice the difference. They would simply take us for another structure ruling by violence."
"In a sense," Dorn shook his head, "we are such a structure."
"But what he is doing now is no different from destroying everything by force."
Ferrus sighed involuntarily. A delicate black wooden case with fine carvings lay before him.
"He is a Nostramian."
Rogal Dorn crossed his arms, carefully studying the trajectory of the red dot on the hologram.
"This small difference is enough to change a lot," he said.
"He has created a symbol."
Ferrus frowned.
"A symbol of fear, a ghost of vengeance... operating in the darkness, avenging the innocently slain... When Konrad spoke of this, I thought it was some ancient legend. I didn't expect it to be true."
"And what?" Dorn asked, not taking his eyes off his brother.
"And what? What can a symbol change?" Ferrus replied slowly. "Can a symbol awaken these numb people? Konrad spoke of fire, but I don't understand how this fire can burn in a world where it constantly rains."
"Promethium."
"...What?"
Dorn calmly and slowly nodded to his brother. His chin was raised with such conviction.
"Promethium fire."
Ferrus's expression finally became a little strange. He took a deep breath.
"Is this a joke, Rogal?"
"I'm not joking."
"But the fire I spoke of doesn't exist in reality. It's not real fire, but something like a spirit or a will to resist. You can't use promethium as an example to argue with me."
"I can."
"You can't."
"I already have."
Rogal Dorn said seriously, "Promethium fire can indeed burn in the rain. And why did you decide that the fire he ignited cannot burn in the downpours of Nostramo?"
"Because..."
Ferrus froze. Indeed, why?
He lowered his head, thought seriously, and agreed with his brother: "Perhaps you are right, Rogal."
"No."
Rogal Dorn shook his head again. His reaction made Ferrus frown in bewilderment.
"I don't know if I'm right. I'm just putting forward a hypothesis, Ferrus."
"A hypothesis?"
"Yes. Whether he succeeds, we don't know. The complexity of the situation on Nostramo is also unprecedented for us."
"In fact, we both know how, under normal circumstances, one should deal with a world where cannibalism has become the norm. If not for Konrad's explicit desire to change this place..."
He fell silent. Ferrus nodded silently.
"In any case," Dorn leaned his hands on the table and stared at the hologram, "let's change the subject. Talking about how a year-and-a-half-old child is trying to change such a world seems strange to me."
"He has an assistant."
"His assistant is far more pessimistic than he is," Dorn said impassively. "And his future assistants... their views, I'm afraid, will not be too optimistic either."
"Konrad is their Primarch."
"I've also had to listen to objections from my deputies."
Dorn shook his head.
"Everyone has their own opinion. If simple obedience to a genetic father could erase the difference between right and wrong, it would be too sad."
"True... However, are you implying that the Eighth Legion might carry out a Great Purge on all of Nostramo, Rogal?"
"I'm not implying, I think so. And as soon as they arrive, we will have to leave."
Dorn's face became serious. He frowned, his gray eyes narrowing under his short gray hair.
"Do you think a year-and-a-half-old child can stand up to his criminal sons?"
Ferrus paused for a moment, then chuckled quietly.
"Don't worry, Rogal."
Under Dorn's bewildered gaze, Ferrus allowed a fleeting smile to linger on his face a little longer.
"Konrad is very perceptive," he said. "Fulgrim will agree with me on this. And even if it happens, Kariel Lohars will not stand aside."
"That is precisely what I fear," Rogal Dorn replied impassively.
***
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