I Came for You

Karyl Lohars looked up at the gargoyle crouched above him. The stone monster gazed silently into the distant night, its mouth gaping open in a silent, savage roar.

"Goodbye," Karyl said to it.

He reached out from beneath the shelter of the eaves. His skin was pale, and a conspicuous tattoo marked his wrist. A few seconds later, cold raindrops touched his palm, and he immediately pulled his hand back.

But by then, a faint burning sensation had already begun in his palm.

Karyl pursed his lips. A flash of displeasure crossed his pale face, then quickly vanished.

"Good," he muttered to himself. "It's raining."

He turned and shifted his feet a little farther away to avoid the blood. As for where it had come from, you could ask the corpse at his feet, its chest and abdomen torn open.

Karyl bent down and rolled the body over. He moved gently, but as he did, he heard a dull, wet plop.

He knew it was the corpse's innards falling out of its chest and hitting the ground.

Karyl sighed, wondering if his handiwork had gotten worse.

It had only been a single upward slash. How had he managed to gut the man like that?

As he pondered this, he pulled the cloak from the corpse. The side that had been facing inward was still bloodstained, so Karyl shook it out and turned it inside out. It would do.

A little piece of advice: when it rained on Nostramo, if you absolutely had to go outside, you were better off finding something to cover yourself with.

If you had nothing, then don't leave a place that could shelter you from the wind and rain.

As for why—

The rain on Nostramo was poisonous.

He stepped out from beneath the eaves. The road was already empty, though plenty of eyes watched him from the darkness, hungry eyes following the shadow in the cloak.

That was Quintus Hive on Nostramo—or, for that matter, any hive on Nostramo.

They were always crowded, always stinking, and full of fumes that could choke a person to death. The natural environment had long since been ruined by endless exploitation, and sunlight had abandoned Nostramo ages ago.

Gangs divided up the territory, replacing the law with violence and controlling everything. In truth, though, they were just dogs kept by the nobles above.

As he breathed, Karyl caught a strong smell of rust. The accursed stench filled his mouth, making his tongue feel like a rusty five-cent coin wedged between his jaws.

He hated the sticky sensation. What he hated even more was realizing he had grown accustomed to it.

At the thought, Karyl curled his lips into a smile and relaxed his shoulders, letting them hang loose. Two slivers of silver glimmered faintly at his cuffs.

It was raining.

A fine night for killing.

He kept walking, crossing dark metal bridges and passing through narrow shantytowns. As he went by, he heard the uneasy muttering of people asleep in the night.

The smile on Karyl's face grew wider and wider, until it became a terrifying grin that would make anyone who saw it uneasy. His muscles dragged his skin taut, and his teeth scraped faintly together.

The suffering, the fallen, the oppressed. Even in their dreams, they dared only curse in whispers.

Toxic chemicals drifted through the air, devouring the lungs, hearts, and bodies of these poor laborers.

They devoured their feelings, everything they had. Yet the people responsible sat at ease in their elegant homes, never even having to witness the deaths of those they exploited.

None of this was fair, was it?

Karyl continued on. About half an hour later, he nimbly climbed over a towering wall and came to a church.

Beneath the low-hanging night sky and poisonous acid rain, the church looked grim indeed. Two gargoyles watched him from beside the spire and stained-glass windows. The raindrops fell straight down, shattering on impact.

"Good evening."

Karyl greeted them softly. His Nostraman hissed through the damp, foul-smelling air stirred up by the rain.

He strode forward, his movements now entirely different from the way he had walked through the streets. His boots touched the ground without making a sound, and he moved with astonishing speed, more like a glide than a walk.

Just like that, Karyl reached the church's side door and placed his hand on the handle. Half a breath later, the heavy, locked metal door opened by itself. Karyl hadn't even pushed it.

He smiled faintly, and a cold blue light flashed briefly in his eyes.

--

"Kolpa's people haven't paid enough, Father."

A tattooed man spoke.

His skin was as pale as that of every other Nostraman, and his eyes were completely black, but he was built differently.

Most Nostramans were gaunt from famine and exploitation by the upper classes. This man was powerfully built.

The man he called Father did not answer at once. Eyes closed, he had interlaced his fingers and clasped his hands together. At that moment, he was kneeling devoutly beneath the statue, praying.

"Father."

The tattooed man hesitantly called out again. This time, the priest opened his eyes.

He stood, and the man couldn't help swallowing. There was no other reason: the priest was simply too tall. The oppressive sight of him rising was like watching a mountain roll its shoulders before you, enough to make your skin crawl.

"The mine north of Kolpa?" the priest asked.

His voice did not suit his build. It was neither heavy nor deep, but rather gentle. Even his Nostraman sounded somewhat elegant.

It was not the accent of someone from the lower classes.

"Yes," the tattooed man replied. "The adamantium mine."

The priest sighed.

"Always the same," he said slowly. "People always think they can escape God's gaze. I give them grace, but they do not cherish it."

The tattooed man lowered his head. He didn't dare respond. Speaking of God and His grace inside a church was the priest's privilege.

"Send someone tomorrow."

The priest waved a hand, unhurriedly.

"Bring Kolpa to me. I will personally make him understand how precious the love God has given us is. Sinners like him, who have committed the sin of impiety, deserve to be reduced to ashes in the fires of hell."

He fell silent and stared at the man. His gaze was like a blade, coldly scraping across the man's marrow and making him tremble uncontrollably.

At last, the priest slowly spoke again.

"Also, don't disturb me at night anymore. This is my time for prayer."

"Understood, Father." The man quickly bowed his head in agreement, cold sweat already dampening his back.

"Tell me, then. Are you devout, Father?"

A voice rang out abruptly, followed by the shrill scrape of metal against metal. The church was unlit. Only a few candles burned quietly near the statue, their faint glow insufficient to drive back the darkness.

Something stirred in the fog-like gloom.

The tattooed man's expression changed abruptly. He hurried in front of the priest and pulled a pistol from his waist.

It was crudely made. Even its grip was just a piece of wood wrapped in tape, yet it could kill a mutant beast from the wasteland beyond the hive with a single shot.

"Of course I'm devout."

The priest did not seem alarmed. He spoke softly. "And you, sir? You've come to my church in the dead of night. Do you wish to confess to me?"

"Oh, confess?"

A low chuckle came from the darkness. "I do have a few things to confess. All right, Father, I've killed a lot of people. At first, it was just a tyrant who oppressed the miners. I hanged him in his own room."

"After that, I couldn't stop. The second was a bastard who used drugs to force children into selling their bodies."

"As for the most recent one... let me think. An unlicensed doctor who liked to eat his patients. I took him apart."

At this, the tattooed man's hand jerked, and terror spread across his face. He had realized who the speaker was.

The priest gently raised a hand and placed it on the man's right shoulder, steadying his uncontrollable trembling.

Then he said, "From your description, I take it you are the Vengeful Spirit?"

"Vengeance for whom?" the person in the darkness asked. "No one in this city knows me. Whom would I be avenging?"

"So you don't kill for justice."

"Justice?"

A sharp, grating laugh suddenly burst from the darkness.

The priest frowned. His hand tightened on the tattooed man's right shoulder, and the tremendous force made the man groan in pain. Even so, he didn't dare make any sudden movements.

A monster lurked in the darkness, and another stood behind him. He didn't know which was more terrifying.

"Justice exists," the priest said slowly. "You're too extreme."

"Is that so?"

"It is."

"Then does God exist?"

"Of course."

A low laugh came from the darkness, and a cloaked man stepped out of it.

His skin and eyes were like those of all Nostramans: his skin was corpse-pale, his eyes as black as tombstones. Their colors were opposites, yet they existed side by side.

The priest stared at him. The moment their eyes met and the man's face came into focus, he suddenly exerted his strength and crushed the tattooed man's shoulder blade.

A pained, bestial scream erupted. The tattooed man fell to the ground, his gun clattering down beside him. Blood began to spread across the floor.

"My name is Karyl, Karyl Lohars, Father," Karyl said with a smile. "How does that surname sound to you? Is it familiar?"

The priest raised a grim hand and undid the buttons of his robe. He slowly removed the heavy, solemn black priest's robe and threw it onto the lectern. Beneath it, his body was covered in crisscrossing scars.

There was a tattoo on his chest.

"Familiar," the priest said. "On Nostramo, no surname is more familiar to me than Lohars."

"Good."

Karyl smiled faintly and raised both hands. Two blades caught the wavering candlelight, scattering it in a dizzying glimmer. He began to hop lightly in place, his back relaxed, his stance casual, the blades flickering into view by his wrists.

"Mr. Karyl..."

The priest slowly clenched his fists. A mechanical rumble sounded from inside his arms.

"Go ahead, Father—you can make it a long speech. Think of it as your last words," Karyl replied with a soft laugh.

The priest did not answer. He simply drew a deep breath of air tainted with blood.

The man on the floor was still screaming, so the priest raised his foot and stamped hard on the man's soft throat, ending his pain.

"You did come for revenge," the priest said.

"No, Father, I didn't," Karyl replied gently. "I came for you."

The slash flashed and vanished, snuffing out the candlelight. Roars and laughter rang out in turn. One of the tattooed man's eyeballs rolled away and disappeared soundlessly into the darkness.

New author, new book. I hope you all enjoy it. Two updates a day, 3k per chapter.