Kariel Lohars lifted his head and glanced at the gargoyle that had perched above him. The stone monster stared silently into the night, its maw bared in a silent roar.
"Farewell," Kariel said to it.
He extended a pale hand with a noticeable tattoo on his wrist from under the ledge. Within seconds, his palm felt the cold drops of rain, and he immediately pulled it back.
But a slight burning sensation had already appeared.
Kariel curled his lips. A flicker of displeasure crossed his pale face, but it vanished just as quickly.
"Excellent," he muttered. "It's raining."
He turned and stepped back slightly to avoid soiling his feet in blood. The source of this blood was a corpse with a ripped-open chest and abdomen, lying at his feet.
Kariel bent down and turned the body over. The movement was smooth, but during it, he heard a dull thud.
He realized it was his insides falling out of his rib cage and touching the ground.
This made Kariel sigh. He began to doubt if his skill had dulled.
With just one upward strike – how could it have happened that he disemboweled him?
Pondering this, he tore the cloak from the corpse. The inner side was still bloody, so Kariel had to shake it and turn it inside out. This way, it could be worn.
A little advice: if it's raining on Nostramo and you absolutely must go out, it's better to throw something over yourself.
If there's nothing to throw on, don't leave your shelter.
The reason?
On Nostramo, the rain is poisonous.
He stepped out from under the ledge. There were no more passersby, but many hungry eyes lurked in the darkness, watching the shadow in the cloak.
Hive City Quintus on Nostramo was just like that. In fact, like any other hive on this planet.
Forever overcrowded, forever foul-smelling, full of suffocating smoke. Nature had long been destroyed by endless resource extraction, and sunlight had left Nostramo centuries ago.
Gangs had divided territories, large and small, replacing law with violence and taking everything under their control. However, in reality, they were just dogs kept by the aristocrats of the Upper Hive.
Inhaling, Kariel felt the thick smell of rust. This damned 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 that he seemed to have already gotten used to it.
At this thought, Kariel stretched his lips into a smile, his shoulders relaxed and dropped, and silver glinted dully at his cuffs.
Rain.
Excellent weather for killing.
He walked forward, crossing dark metal bridges and narrow slums. As he passed, he heard the anxious whispers of sleeping people.
The smile on Kariel's face grew wider until it turned into a chilling grin that would send a shiver down anyone's spine. His muscles tightened his skin, his teeth faintly grinding in the wind.
Suffering, fallen, oppressed. Even in their sleep, they dared only to curse their fate in hushed tones.
Poisonous chemicals hung in the air, devouring the lungs, hearts, and bodies of these poor laborers.
They devoured their senses, devoured all that they were. And the perpetrators of all this sat in their exquisite homes, enjoying life and not even seeing the death of those they exploited.
Unfair, wasn't it?
Kariel continued to walk. After about half an hour, he easily leaped over a high wall and found himself in front of a church.
Under the low night sky, in a shroud of poisonous acid rain, it looked sinister. Two gargoyles on the spire next to the stained-glass windows gazed at him. Raindrops fell vertically to the ground and shattered.
"Good evening."
Kariel greeted softly. His words in Nostramo hissed in the damp stench raised by the rain.
He moved forward, his gait strikingly different from that on the street. His leather boots touched the ground without a 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, locked-from-the-inside metal door opened by itself, though Kariel hadn't even pushed it.
He chuckled, and for a moment, a cold blue light flashed in his eyes.
…
"The people of Kolpa 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 inhabitants of Nostramo were thin due to hunger and the oppression of the upper class, but he was very sturdy.
The one he called Father did not answer immediately. He knelt before a statue of a deity, his eyes closed and his fingers clasped in a prayer.
"Father…"
The tattooed man called out hesitantly again. This time, Father opened his eyes.
As he stood up, the man involuntarily swallowed. The reason was simple: Father was incredibly tall. The sight of the rising giant evoked the same oppressive feeling as if a mountain were straightening its shoulders before your eyes – a chill ran down his spine.
"The mines north of Kolpa?" Father asked.
His voice did not match his height – it was not heavy or low, but, on the contrary, soft. The Nostraman language in his mouth even acquired a certain elegance.
This was not the accent of a commoner.
"Yes," the tattooed man replied. "The one where they mine adamantium."
Father sighed.
"It's always the same," 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 dared not 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 make him understand how precious the love granted to us by God is… A sinner who has committed such an unholy crime must be crushed in hellfire."
He fell silent and looked intently at the man. His gaze was like a blade, coldly sliding through the bone marrow, making him tremble.
Finally, Father spoke slowly again:
"And also, do not disturb me at night from now on. This is my time for prayer."
"Yes, Father," the man replied hastily, bowing his head low. His back was already damp with cold sweat.
"So, you are pious, Father?"
Suddenly, a voice rang out, followed by a sharp screech of metal. There was no light in the church, only a few candles crackling softly by the statue. Their faint glow was not enough to dispel the darkness.
Something stirred in the misty gloom.
The tattooed man's expression changed sharply. He immediately stood before Father and drew a pistol from his belt.
The weapon looked crude, its handle wrapped in simple electrical tape, but with one shot, it could take down a mutated beast from the wastelands outside the hive.
"Of course, I am pious," Father said calmly, not at all 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 truly have something to confess… Well, Father, I have killed many people. The first was a supervisor who oppressed the miners. I hanged him in his own room."
"And then I could no longer 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 loved to eat his patients. I tore him apart."
Hearing this, the tattooed man shuddered, his face contorted in horror. He already understood who was before him.
Father gently placed his hand on his right shoulder, calming his uncontrollable trembling.
Then he said, "Judging by your description, I believe you are that avenging spirit?"
"Avenge whom?" asked the voice from the darkness. "No one knows me in this city. Whom should I avenge?"
"So, you don't kill in the name of justice."
"Justice?"
Suddenly, a piercing, ear-splitting laugh erupted from the darkness.
Father frowned, and his hand, resting on the tattooed man's shoulder, tightened. The man groaned from the monstrous force but dared not even stir.
A monster lurked in the darkness, but there was another behind him. He didn't know which was scarier.
"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 emerged from the gloom.
"Father… if God truly exists, why doesn't the omniscient and omnipotent He strike us with His Thunder and punish us?"
"Because He is merciful to us," Father replied calmly. "He wants us to repent and return to the righteous path, not to cleanse our bodies through destruction."
The tattooed man let out a quiet, pained groan.
Father's voice was calm, but the force with which his right hand gripped the shoulder grew. This was the source of the man's suffering.
The man in the cloak chuckled again. He lowered his hands, took off his cloak, and threw it aside.
The color of his skin and eyes was the same as all Nostramans: skin pale as a corpse, eyes black as a tombstone – contrasting colors existing in symbiosis.
Father looked at him. The very moment their gazes met and he saw the man's face, he sharply squeezed his hand, shattering the tattooed man's collarbone.
A wild, animalistic scream erupted. 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 this surname sound familiar?"
Father grimly raised his hand and unfastened his cassock. He slowly removed the heavy, majestic black robe and threw it onto the altar. The body beneath was scarred.
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."
Kariel smiled and raised his hands. Two blades reflected the flickering candlelight. He began to dance softly in place, his back relaxed, his posture casual, the blades appearing and disappearing in his wrists.
"Mister Kariel…"
Father slowly clenched his fists, and the sound of mechanisms rumbled within his hands.
"Speak, Father," Kariel replied with a slight smirk. "You can speak for a long time. Consider it your last words."
Father did not answer, merely took a deep breath of the blood-scented air.
The man on the floor was still screaming, so he raised his foot and stomped on his throat with all his might, ending his torment.
"You have truly come to avenge," Father said.
"No, Father, no," Kariel replied softly. "I have come for you."
The blow flashed so quickly that the candlelight flickered out. A furious roar and mad laughter alternated. The tattooed man's eye rolled out and silently disappeared into the darkness.
***
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