A Normal Nostramo Rainy Night (End)

Long ago, Karyl had understood one thing.

Despite their outward appearance, the gangs of Nostramo could not be considered human. They were unworthy of the word.

In Karyl's view, they were at best some sort of close relative to humanity—a deranged, close relative devoid of any moral sense.

Their minds had been tortured to the point of shattering by hallucinogens and a world of madness. Then, they began to hunger for blood, for violence, and for the groveling and trepidation of others.

All these factors combined meant they didn't even need a reason to wantonly murder others. And the biggest problem was that, on Nostramo, all of this was normal.

Karyl found this absurd—until one day, he understood, and it dawned on him.

They were not human. Yes, they were not.

After figuring this out, Karyl began his work.

Yes, he called the act of roaming the hive city to murder gang members "work."

In fact, in his opinion, aside from the work being somewhat unique, unpaid, and performed in a hostile environment, everything else was actually fine.

He held his work in the highest regard, exercising extreme caution because he knew just how dangerous the gangs were.

They had guns, cannons, and everything needed for slaughter—and most importantly, they generally did not fear death.

You had to use some special methods to make them afraid.

And the young Wraith clearly did not understand this. His power made him feel like a fish in water when it came to killing, and because of this, he could not see some things that only a mortal like Karyl could see.

He did not know what a rare virtue caution was.

"My time is very tight, Wraith. You had better be worth the waste."

Karyl sighed, leaped from a gargoyle, and plummeted. He passed through the cold, condensed mist, his cloak snapping, his black hair dancing wildly in the wind, his eyes bright to the point of terror.

Twenty-five seconds later, he landed without a sound. The blue light in his eyes had already begun to turn the falling raindrops into cold, frozen crystals; they lingered for a moment before falling again, shattering into pieces.

But he did not.

Standing in place, Karyl took a calm, deep breath. He closed his eyes, and the pitch-black field of vision was lit up by a certain radiance at that moment.

A blurred shadow was twisting and dancing not far away in the abstract world, baring its fangs and brandishing its claws, filled with despair.

He knew who that was. Karyl sighed silently.

Can you really shoulder this responsibility, you naive little monster?

Karyl opened his eyes, and at the same time, a cold sensation of nausea began to linger in his throat.

Immediately after, a blurred voice, as if muffled by a curtain, came from the far end just right. It was as gentle as a father's, whispering some indistinct words.

It tried to make him answer, and he almost complied.

Once again, Karyl suppressed the urge and sneered.

No, not today. You won't get your way, you thing hiding in the dark.

He gripped the blade in his hand and began to run across the grim rooftops of the spires.

It seemed to be an unwritten rule that on Nostramo, everyone qualified to build houses chose this grim style in unison. That was fine; at least they matched a ghost.

The bricks and tiles trembled beneath his feet, the curtain of rain was torn apart by his speed, and with a bone-chilling cold and a quietly rising anger, Karyl began to approach his target.

He leaped silently through the night, shaped like a drifting ghost.

Then—at the end of this sprint—

The Wraith began to laugh wildly.

"Did you hear something?" a man asked.

"I only hear the sound of failure," a woman replied lazily.

She leaned against her motorcycle, using a small knife made of bone to poke at her left forearm again and again. There were already many bloody marks there, and she seemed to enjoy it thoroughly, with no intention of stopping.

"No, no, Dill, I'm serious." The man turned his head and said, "I really heard something."

"Do us a favor, Karlo, and shut that asshole on your face."

Dill remained lazy; she raised her eyes to glance at Karlo and sneered with disdain. "We lost the convoy, which means we failed, so shut up, okay?"

"Don't bring that up."

Karlo frowned, looking somewhat enraged. He had a face split in two by some kind of paint. The upper half was pale, the lower half scarlet. This interesting contrast made his expression look terrifying at the moment.

But Dill didn't buy it, and she sneered again.

"If it weren't for you, you asshole with an asshole on your face, saying you saw that thing running this way, we would still be killing people with the main force. Maybe we could have gotten two doses of drugs to shoot up after it was done. How the fuck do you have the face to say these things now?"

"I told you to shut up!"

Karlo growled, pulled a shotgun from his motorcycle in the rain, and aimed it at Dill. It was rough, and the handguard even had burrs on it. Karlo looked at her, panting, and spoke word by word.

"I said, I heard something. You idiot bitch!"

He roared suddenly, an outburst of emotion without warning, and unlike most people, it didn't build up gradually—he seemed to shift from slight annoyance to blind rage in an instant.

Karlo abandoned his motorcycle and stumbled over to Dill. He pressed his gun against her forehead with such force that she nearly fell off her bike. "I told you, I heard something! I heard it! I heard it! I wasn't lying! I heard it!"

"Fine, fine, you heard it. Damn it." Dill cursed under her breath. "Get that thing away from my head, Karlo. Goddamn, you've really huffed so much paint your brain's turned to mush."

"I heard it! I heard it!"

Karlo shrieked, clutched his shotgun, and turned to run away. Dill frowned, watching him disappear into the curtain of rain for no reason, and couldn't help but curse again.

"What a fucking idiot. Is his head filled with nothing but shit?"

Feeling that her luck had soured, Dill shook her head and restarted her own bike, intending to ride back to gang territory and get some sleep.

As for Karlo's bike—let it stay here. Civilians wouldn't dare touch it; the Crimson Finale emblem on it was unmistakable. They knew the consequences of taking it. And other gangs?

Ha.

Dill wished they would take it. That way, the Crimson Finale would have a reason to start a war. And Karlo? Honestly, he wasn't even a consideration. In fact, she wished he were dead right now.

But a scream that pierced through the rain interrupted her thoughts and actions.

Dill frowned and turned her head to look. The darkness and the downpour blocked her vision, and the sound of the heavy rain lashing the ground made it impossible for her to hear anything else.

She got off the bike and cautiously drew an automatic pistol from the side bag. Facing the rain, she shouted, "Karlo! Is that you?!"

No one answered, save for the sound of acid rain shattering against the ground. Dill began to feel a chill; it was an imperceptible sensation that struck her spine the very second it appeared, leaving her shivering all over.

"What the hell. That idiot."

Muttering to herself, she stood there, hesitating with her gun raised. She didn't know whether to keep moving forward or turn around and leave it all behind.

As she pondered, her peripheral vision suddenly caught a change in the color of the rainwater flowing at her feet.

The murky water flowing past her leather boots had shifted from its filthy hue to a deep, absolute crimson. A bone-chilling cold emerged once more, but this time, it didn't rise from her spine. It came from directly ahead.

She trembled as she looked up.

"Who is it?" Dill shrieked. "Who is it?! Come out! Come out!"

"Shh."

A soft voice emerged from the rain, piercing the downpour with pinpoint accuracy and reaching her ears: "Keep it down, someone is sleeping."

Dill's face twitched violently. She tried to pull the trigger, but her finger failed to obey. A flash of silver moved faster, piercing through the rain and stabbing through the palm of her gun hand.

With a clatter, her automatic pistol dropped to the ground and was quickly washed away into a dark corner by the rain, not even giving her a chance to retrieve it.

"No—!" she screamed.

Amidst the pain and terror, Dill heard someone chuckle deeply. Then, the voice spoke again.

"Yes," he said gently. "Also, why don't you meet your companion?"

A head was tossed out from the rain, striking Dill's body with perfect precision. She stared, wide-eyed, and instinctively caught the head in a trembling grip.

The eyes stared blankly at the sky, the jaw had been carved open, the tongue hung limp between the separated mandibles, and bits of flesh were stuck between yellowish-brown teeth. The upper half of the face was deathly pale, while the lower half was entirely crimson.

It was Karlo's face.

No, this was Karlo's head.

In the final moments of her life, Dill wept, trembling. She collapsed to the ground, making no attempt to run or resist; she simply wept, just like all the innocent people who had died at her hands in the past. Karlo's head lay beside her, staring blankly.

Fear shattered her, completely.

Then, a pale hand reached out and lifted her chin.

"Don't cry," Karyl said softly. "Crying is a human privilege, and you are not one."

A flash of silver flickered and vanished.

The headless corpse fell to the ground, its limbs still twitching from nerve reactions, but that no longer mattered.

Karyl turned his head slightly, the blue light in his eyes flowing quietly. The blood-soaked Wraith drifted over from the other side of the rain. He kept his eyes closed, clearly still unconscious, his brows furrowed as rain streaked across his face.

"By rights, I should thank them for the motorcycles—but I usually only say thank you to people."

Karyl smiled, deciding to end the night with a sense of humor he didn't particularly care for. He flicked his fingers, and the Wraith sat upon one of the motorcycles, even starting the engine.

"Let's go, Wraith, but be careful," Karyl said with a smile. "This is your first time riding a motorcycle, after all; safe driving is very important."

A few seconds later, two motorcycles shattered the curtain of rain and drifted away into the distance.

The stone in the author's heart finally settled.

By the way, this book has a group: 774284093.

So, may I ask for a vote?