Sighing, Kariel plunged his blade into someone's heart.
He didn't care about the man's name or his pain. In fact, even before the victim, gasping, collapsed to the floor, Kariel was already rushing to the next target.
He ran, not forgetting to dodge the bullets flying at him. They pierced holes in the wall behind him with roars and fury. At the very moment a bullet, kicking up a cloud of dust, entered the wall, his blade entered flesh.
Then he cut: with his left hand, he ripped open the abdomen, with his right – severed the throat. The human body was so fragile, full of vulnerable spots.
"It's that ghost!" someone shouted in the darkness, and his voice carried undisguised terror. "The avenging spirit!"
"He must be trembling," Kariel thought. This thought brought a smirk to his face.
"Yes, I have come."
"And you..."
A quiet laugh echoed in the dark and gloomy corridor.
Killing was a ridiculously simple matter for Kariel. He did it with ease, naturally, easier than breathing. It had become almost instinct.
For him, killing was akin to solving a simple arithmetic problem. Does one need paper and pen to add one plus one?
Of course not.
But that didn't mean he liked it.
He didn't kill for the sake of killing.
Five minutes later, Kariel decapitated the last man in this long corridor.
He stopped, surveyed the floor littered with corpses and pieces of flesh, and took a few deep breaths. Savoring the blood-infused air, he began to wait.
Feeling a vibration at the far end of the corridor, Kariel jumped without hesitation and, plunging his blade into the ceiling, clung to it for a moment.
Gunfire erupted: assault rifles, shotguns, machine guns – someone even fired a laser weapon. He involuntarily squinted and licked his lips.
Half a minute later, when the deadly lead rain stopped, he jumped back to the floor.
The sound of his landing was barely audible, but it was still noticed. There was nothing he could do; he couldn't be as silent as the Ghost, and the bandits were very perceptive.
In fact, Kariel thought that for a bunch of madmen constantly on psychotropics and other crap causing hallucinations, they were too vigilant.
Realizing he was still alive, someone roared and threw a homemade grenade at him. Kariel, with a smile, kicked it back, doing it as naturally as kicking a ball.
The bandits gave him a gift, and Kariel, considering himself a polite person, responded with a powerful explosion and flames – and, of course, the ensuing chaos.
This sudden explosion freed Kariel from a dozen minor problems that would otherwise have had to be solved with a blade and violence, but he didn't consider it luck.
Too loud.
"Well... mistake," he thought, rapidly leaving the scene.
There was no arguing about it. His job was such that it always threw surprises at the most inconvenient moments.
You never knew what these bandits would pull out to unleash a barrage of fire on you.
A homemade grenade was not even the most dangerous option. It was better than a grenade launcher capable of leveling an entire building.
Taking a deep breath, Kariel tensed his leg muscles, preparing to leave.
He couldn't linger if he didn't want to experience the same carnival as the Ghost.
Half a second later, an icy blue light flashed in Kariel's eyes again.
Then he easily leaped out of the window and, landing, bent his knees. His muscles bulged, and in just a few leaps, he was on the roof of a tall building hundreds of meters away.
The wind whistled in his ears, the icy cold almost made his skin numb, but he dared not close his eyes.
The landscapes of Quintus flashed by, and only when they completely disappeared did he allow himself to smile.
Feeling the ground under his feet, he realized he had landed.
Taking another deep, slightly tired breath, Kariel slowly sank to the floor, leaning against the wall. His back ached unpleasantly, and he needed something to lean on to ease the pain.
More than ten air purifiers were quietly operating on the roof. They were in excellent condition, obviously recently serviced. The residents of this building must have had connections with the aristocrats, otherwise they wouldn't have received such benefits.
Noting this to himself, Kariel focused on his condition. But every time he did, he was inevitably overcome by pain.
It was always like this.
Listening to himself, Kariel felt his leg muscles aching painfully, and his bones groaning from the strain.
Obviously, after such a battle and inhuman escape, his body protested.
In other words, his physical condition was failing him.
But it didn't matter.
The rain had stopped.
Kariel shook his head and decided to resort to his most hated sense of humor again to tell himself a joke and somehow lift his foul mood.
"Look at things more simply," he muttered. "At least you returned those two motorcycles, didn't you? You have to be polite and honest. Tit for tat."
After telling this joke, Kariel waited for three minutes.
He didn't laugh. He couldn't laugh.
"My sense of humor is truly terrible. I hate telling jokes," Kariel thought.
He sighed and sank into thought. At the same time, he took deep breaths continuously.
"The Great Purge will begin soon," he thought.
Once every twenty years, almost like a cruel law of nature. The aristocrats will profit from it. In fact, it doesn't matter if the Great Purge happens or not; they always win.
This cruel event was more like entertainment... and what else is there to say? On Nostramo, it wasn't something out of the ordinary. At least it was far more normal than sewing live people into mattresses.
In the first case, there was at least a benefit, and in the second... if Kariel hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he would have considered it the ravings of a madman.
Kariel smirked.
There were almost seven hundred gangs in Quintus, and he couldn't eliminate them all. Even if he killed until he died, it would be impossible. As long as the oppression of the aristocrats existed, more and more poor workers would give up their human essence.
This world had already changed, changed beyond recognition. How could he alone bring everything back to normal?
He couldn't even create a decent organization to recruit assistants. The mentality of Nostramo's inhabitants was completely distorted; there was no room for kindness in this world...
"But you can't stop murder with murder, Kariel."
"Yes, I know."
Kariel closed his eyes, completely discarded extraneous thoughts, and began to delve into his consciousness, digging deeper and deeper. In a place like Nostramo, making plans was very difficult, but he had to try.
The gang whose leaders the Ghost had killed was called the "Sons of Unity."
A stupid name.
Like all other gangs, these people always sought to imitate the aristocrats.
Giving themselves such strange and pretentious names was part of this imitation. They thought that way they could one day join the ranks of the aristocracy. Only a few understood that gangs were merely the lapdogs of the aristocrats.
"Sons of Unity"... Kariel began to search for this name in his memory. He shouldn't have these memories. But it didn't matter, did it?
Soon he found the answer.
One of the leaders of the "Sons of Unity" had recently joined the "Knocking Teeth."
Excellent.
The "Knocking Teeth" and House Scryvok...
Two ancient aristocratic houses. Now their attention would surely be drawn to Quintus. What a joy. I wonder if I will have the honor of meeting these noble gentlemen?
Kariel smirked coldly.
House Scryvok had lost one interrogator. Although they might have had hundreds of the same kind, the death of one of them was still not a trivial matter...
House Scryvok, like all other high aristocrats, was very similar to others, except for one detail that made them special.
They attached great importance to "rules" and "honor."
Ironic, isn't it?
But it was true.
Those who served them could gain a lot. For complete loyalty, these people could get almost anything they wanted until death.
This meant that House Scryvok would definitely try to find the interrogator's killer.
As for the "Knocking Teeth"... it was a pack of madmen who adored bloody feasts and thrills. They wouldn't miss such a wonderful opportunity to descend into the Underhive for a hunt under a plausible pretext either.
Kariel opened his eyes and smiled.
He already knew what to do. If the "Knocking Teeth" and House Scryvok were going to have a dinner party in Quintus, then he had already preempted the organizers and received an invitation.
Standing up again, Kariel, leaning against the cold wall, exhaled a long, trembling breath.
The pain still prevented him from standing straight. After a short rest, a new, even stronger and continuous wave of pain surged. It was always like this. This power was terrible, but at the same time very useful.
It wasn't for nothing that he picked up that broken chair at the junkyard.
Firstly, no one needed it, and it could be taken. Secondly... he really needed a chair.
There was no day on Nostramo, only eternal night. Standing on the edge of the building and looking at the landscape spread out below,
Kariel pondered.
All the cities on this planet were rotten. They had been built from corrupted materials from the very beginning. He was just an ordinary human; he could change neither them nor these people.
He also knew that it was extremely selfish to shift all the responsibility onto the Ghost, but what choice did he have?
"Only now do I realize that phrase was true."
Kariel chuckled and muttered to himself:
"There is no free will, unless you put a bullet in your head, inhale gas, or jump off a pier..."
...
+He refused again.+
+Really, my Lord?+
+Yes. It seems he has a very mistaken idea of me.+
+You can't expect someone on the other side of the galaxy to simply accept your challenge, my Lord.+
+Perhaps. But I will try a few more times. Konrad Curze's fate is in his hands now.+
+Then good luck to you, my Lord. By the way, I remember you saying yesterday that the word "fate" is extremely absurd.+
"Yes, my friend."
The giant in golden armor opened his eyes and said:
"But sometimes it really does exist."
***
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