The Long Night (3)

A magnificent and massive chandelier swayed gently, its six curved, outward-extending arms holding candles that burned slowly with a pristine white flame.

The flames danced against its golden surface, casting a glow that, in its rhythmic swaying, appeared intoxicating—even romantic.

Without a doubt, this was a chandelier perfectly suited for a ballroom.

It would make the atmosphere ideal for ambiguous friction and provocative dance steps; under its radiance, everyone would find their thoughts drifting into flights of fancy.

They would stare into their partners' faces, their hands resting in places where they could feel the searing heat and soft flesh, their breathing growing shallow and rapid.

However, the unfortunate truth was that Karyl would not be dancing with anyone present.

Moreover, he had not come here to attend a ball. If anything, he was more like someone who had come to destroy it.

A step forward, a slash of the blade, and a head went flying.

A pivot, a side-kick, shattering a man's jaw and sending him airborne.

He grabbed the man by the foot, plunged a blade into his heart, and tossed him to the other side of the hall, causing a woman clutching her skirts in a frantic escape to scream and collapse to the floor.

"Be quiet," Karyl said softly. "You're still playing music; the screaming makes it hard to hear."

The woman was too busy screaming to hear his words. Yet, it was true.

Inside this ballroom, music was indeed playing.

Soft and gentle, accompanied by a hint of flirtatious laughter, a woman's voice hummed an ambiguous, wordless melody, making the night feel all the more provocative. To be fortunate enough to dance to such a song would surely be a stroke of luck.

"Hah."

Karyl exhaled a breath of stale air and wiped his face.

Prolonged slaughter had brought forth a massive amount of blood; his clothes were thoroughly soaked, and even his hair had become damp, which was quite annoying.

He flexed his wrists and then began to walk slowly toward the nobleman who had been knocked to the ground.

Karyl was quite fastidious when it came to this. He chose his footing carefully, stepping over corpses and mangled flesh, preferring to walk slowly through the pools of blood rather than touch them.

Though, inevitably, his boots were still stained crimson. At least he did not have to feel the bodies of the dead.

"No, no, spare me!"

The woman on the floor sobbed and pleaded, devoid of any noble grace. Karyl couldn't help but laugh; he had seen too many similar scenes tonight.

At first, every noble was bewildered upon seeing him.

Then, after he drew his blade and began the slaughter, they would either promise him gold or threaten him with their power.

Upon realizing that neither money nor power could stop the blade, they would break down in tears.

Some tried to resist, some tried to run, and others tried to offer him their so-called "family secrets" in exchange for their lives.

It was all so interesting, Karyl thought.

Although he had issued warnings, few had paid attention. The nobles seemed to treat it as a cruel joke.

Well, this was no joke. Karyl did not like jokes.

The woman on the floor naturally had no idea what Karyl was thinking. At this moment, she only wanted to get away from the monster who had suddenly appeared and killed everyone.

She crawled forward through the pool of blood. Her clean gown and velvet gloves were soaked through, and she was surrounded by the corpses of her companions.

She had once been familiar with the scent of blood, but now it felt as if it were driving her mad. She had killed many people with her own hands, yet now she trembled in fear.

"Hmm." Karyl nodded helplessly. "Honestly, if you want to run, you should at least stand up, my lady."

He walked over and, ignoring her struggles, pulled her up from the pile of corpses. The woman thrashed like a madwoman, so he grabbed her shoulders and applied a bit of pressure, using the pain to curb her frenzy.

The ghost did not care.

He simply breathed calmly, his face covered in blood, his dark eyes holding nothing but stillness.

After a while, the woman gave up struggling and screaming. She sobbed in fear, whimpering brokenly.

Gazing at this face—which had once claimed nobility but was now utterly destroyed by terror—the ghost laughed abruptly.

"It's always the same: begging, asking me to spare you."

He began to talk to himself.

"Promising gold, promising status, promising everything you are accustomed to trading. Within the rules of profit, you can buy and control anyone with wealth and power, but I do not belong to those rules."

"To be honest, my lady, if you keep knocking on the gates of hell, then sooner or later, the devil will come looking for you."

Having said this, he ignored the woman's pleas and struggles, raised his left hand, and gripped her throat. Then, he exerted force, bringing her cries and pleas to an end.

There were still many things waiting to be finished tonight.

Dropping the corpse, the ghost shook his head wearily. He walked to the open doors of the ballroom and stepped out slowly.

The grand corridor was filled with blood and corpses; the guards had been killed one by one, completely unaware. This time, Karyl hadn't even chosen to take a detour; he had entered through the front door, fair and square.

The blood-soaked robes dragged against his body, the sticky heaviness causing his skin to sting. They seemed to be reminding Karyl not to forget what he had done this night.

He certainly would not forget, though in truth, whether he remembered or not did not matter. In a little while, all of this would dissipate completely.

The calling was growing closer and clearer.

Karyl had never seen what lay behind the veil, but he sensed it. His reason compelled him to reject these voices time and time again.

He knew they came from the darkness and belonged to the darkness.

Or rather, they were the darkness itself.

Since the ancient ages, they had likely been waiting, famished, for humanity. The one calling to him was naturally one of them.

Therefore, he would not allow himself to become their puppet, nor would he allow himself to be tempted by them. He would eliminate every possibility.

However, this power was truly terrifying.

In just four hours since accepting it, Karyl had already reached an entirely new level.

His once-gaunt frame had become powerful; bullets he once had to dodge could now be disintegrated with a single glance.

The dangerous Machine Sentries had transformed from formidable foes into a group of mobile scrap metal. With a mere thought, they could no longer perceive his existence. Moments later, they turned their muzzles upon one another.

What kind of power was this?

Wraith shook his head with a sigh and walked out of the fortress.

The biting wind rushing toward him cleared his mind, casting aside unnecessary thoughts. Karyl bent his knees slightly and leaped. Amidst the air of the upper Hive City, which almost felt fragrant, he sprinted toward his next destination.

—He didn't need to kill every noble; he couldn't finish them all in one night.

But he could ignite the flames. He could dismantle the families that held the vast majority of power and influence, and after that, Wraith would finish everything for him.

While the remaining nobles were busy tearing each other apart, Wraith would reduce them to embers in the wind.

But...

Is this really what you want to do, Wraith? Or is this just my own wishful indoctrination? Furthermore, your origins...

Yes. Where do you actually come from?

Karyl offered a bitter smile, and a surge of anger toward himself began to burn in his heart.

He took a deep breath, suppressed it once more, and began to run.

When the slaughter began tonight, he had drawn up a list of families that needed to be purged.

And at this very moment, the high tower he was sprinting toward belonged to a family that was not on that list.

Gunfire rang out incessantly.

Automatic rifles, shotguns, laser guns—crude products assembled by hand, high-end goods from other Hive Cities, assembly-line products from factories.

No matter where they came from, they were roaring now.

No matter where they came from, they were held in the hands of people filled with terror, used to vent emotions they had nowhere else to release.

And yet, was it of any use?

—The answer was, naturally, no.

From the end of the narrow corridor, Wraith charged. Like some terrifying, predatory beast, he extended his claws. With just two intersecting swipes, the people who had been firing at him moments ago became a pile of stacked corpses.

No one could stop him; even at the cost of their lives, they couldn't make him pause.

Wraith crashed through a window and reached the other side of the plaza in a few bounds. The neon lights couldn't illuminate him, and the gangs couldn't capture his shadow.

They only knew that the gunfire never ceased, accompanied by screams and the thick, metallic stench of blood dissipating into the foul air.

If they hadn't seen it with their own eyes, no one would believe in the existence of Wraith. But to see him with one's own eyes meant that death was not far away.

Six minutes later, Wraith grabbed the last gang member and tossed him off the high building. The latter's scream rang out in the cold wind, and finally, a dull thud against the ground marked the end of his life.

"."

Wraith wiped the blood from his hands and sat on the edge of the building, lips pressed tight.

Karyl had left; he was well aware of that.

But what was he going to do?

Wraith had no answer; he only felt a sense of annoyance. He had completed his mission, and Karyl had not appeared.

So, should he wait?

Return to the Sanctuary?

In a few hours, perhaps he would return.

Would he return?

Wraith looked up blankly at the dim, lightless sky. The shattered neon lights could not illuminate this deep darkness. Staring at the thick clouds, a heavy feeling suddenly began to permeate his heart.

—With just a slight lapse in focus, that icy sensation returned.

Wraith didn't even have time to be angry at himself before his eyes widened, plunging into a frenzy of visions.

Confused and rapidly intersecting images piled upon one another, flashing by in an indescribable madness.

He saw flames—flames that consumed an entire planet. They were a crimson so deep it resembled blood, and three stars emerged from the darkness in the sky, flickering ominously. A familiar voice sighed in agony from the other side of the stars, seemingly filled with sorrow, as a golden light flickered and vanished.

I am sorry, Wraith.

A voice resonated with the wind, then vanished.

Karyl?

No, no—don't do this!

Wraith clamped his jaws shut, his teeth clattering together with a sharp click.

His will forced a surge of immense power to erupt within this still-growing superhuman frame. Another future drew rapidly near; the flames remained, yet their color had shifted. The dazzling golden light stung his eyes and struck him like a bolt of lightning.

Wraith collapsed backward, convulsing atop the freezing roof of the building. It took several full minutes before he finally regained his senses.

He struggled to his feet, the spasms and muscle twitches slowly fading away. He only needed a few dozen more seconds to recover his strength, but he could not wait.

Wraith limped to the edge of the building, clenched his fists, and leaped into the void.

The cold wind persisted, but he already understood what he had to do.