Long, long ago, Karyl had understood one thing.
Despite their similar appearance, Nostramo's gangs couldn't be considered human. They didn't deserve the word.
In Karyl's eyes, they were at best some distant kin of humanity—mad relatives utterly devoid of morals.
Their brains had been worn nearly to pieces by hallucinogens and the mad world around them. Then they began to crave blood, violence, and the groveling obedience of others.
All these things combined meant they could murder people at will without even needing a reason. And the biggest problem was that, on Nostramo, all of this was normal.
Karyl had found it absurd—until one day, he understood. It finally clicked.
They weren't human. Yes, they weren't.
Once he'd figured that out, Karyl got to work.
Yes, he called roaming the Hive City and murdering gang members "work."
In his view, aside from being a little unusual, unpaid, and conducted in terrible conditions, the job wasn't so bad.
He was twelve thousand percent careful about his work because he knew exactly how dangerous the gangs were.
They had guns, cannons, and everything else they needed to kill. Most importantly, they usually weren't afraid of death.
You had to use special methods to make them afraid.
The young Wraith clearly hadn't understood that. His power made killing as easy as breathing, and because of that, he couldn't see certain things that only an ordinary man like Karyl could.
He didn't know how rare a virtue caution was.
"My time is limited, Wraith. You'd better be worth the trouble."
Karyl sighed, leaping off the Gargoyle and plummeting toward the ground. He passed through the frozen, icy clouds, his cloak snapping in the wind and his black hair whipping wildly, while his eyes shone with an almost frightening brilliance.
Twenty-five seconds later, he landed without making a sound. The blue light in his eyes had begun turning the raindrops falling from the sky into icy clumps. They hung in the air for a moment, then fell again and shattered.
But he did not.
Standing where he was, Karyl calmly took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, and a certain Radiance lit up the dark expanse of his vision.
A blurry Shadow writhed and danced in the distance, in that abstract world, all claws and desperation.
He knew who it 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 nausea began to rise in his throat.
Then a hazy voice, as if veiled, came at just the right moment from somewhere far away. It was as gentle as a father's, murmuring indistinct words.
It tried to make him answer, and he almost obeyed.
Once again, Karyl suppressed the urge and gave a cold smile.
No. Not today. You won't get your way, you thing hiding in the dark.
He tightened his grip on his blade and began to run across the roof of a gloomy spire.
It seemed to be an unspoken custom on Nostramo: everyone rich enough to build a house chose this gloomy style. That was all right. At least it suited a Ghost.
The bricks and tiles trembled beneath his feet, and his speed tore through the curtain of rain. With icy chill and anger quietly kindling inside him, Karyl closed in on his target.
He leaped soundlessly through the night, like a drifting Ghost.
And then—at the end of his charge—
the Ghost 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, idly poking the small bone knife in her hand into her left forearm. It was already covered in bloody marks, and she seemed to be enjoying herself far too much to stop.
"No, no, Dill, I'm serious." The man turned to her. "I really did hear something."
"Do me a favor, Karlo. Shut that asshole on your face."
Dill remained languid. She glanced up at Karlo and gave a contemptuous snort. "We lost the convoy. That means we failed, so shut up already, will you?"
"Don't bring that up."
Karlo frowned, anger rising in his expression. His face was split in two by some kind of paint. The upper half was pale, the lower half scarlet. The stark contrast made him look truly terrifying.
But Dill wasn't impressed. She snorted again.
"If you hadn't said you saw that thing run this way, asshole-face, we'd still be with the main force, killing people. Maybe we could've scored a couple of doses when the job was done. And now you've got the nerve to say this shit?"
"I told you to stop!"
Karlo growled, yanking a shotgun from his motorcycle and aiming it at Dill through the rain. It was crudely made; even the fore-end still had splinters. He stared at her, panting, and spoke one word at a time.
"I said I heard something, you stupid bitch!"
He suddenly roared. His outburst came without warning, and it didn't build up gradually like an ordinary person's anger. He seemed to leap straight from mildly annoyed to furious.
Karlo abandoned his motorcycle and stumbled over to Dill. He pressed the gun to her forehead, hard enough to nearly knock her off her bike. "I said I heard something! I heard it! I heard it! I wasn't lying! I heard it!"
"Fine, fine, you heard something. Damn." Dill muttered a curse. "Get that thing away from my head, Karlo. Shit, you've sniffed so much paint your brain's gone bad."
"I heard it! I heard it!"
Karlo shrieked, then turned and ran off, clutching his shotgun. Dill frowned as he vanished into the rain for no apparent reason, then cursed again.
"What a fucking idiot. Is his head full of shit?"
Feeling thoroughly unlucky, Dill shook her head and started her motorcycle again, intending to ride back to the gang's territory and get some sleep.
As for Karlo's bike, she'd leave it there. Civilians wouldn't dare take it; the Crimson Finale's insignia was plain to see. They knew what would happen if they took it. As for the other gangs—
Ha.
Dill hoped they'd take it. Then the Crimson Finale would have an excuse to start a war. And Karlo? Honestly, he wasn't even worth considering. In fact, she wished he'd die.
But a scream that pierced the rain interrupted her thoughts and movements.
Dill frowned and turned to look that way. The darkness and the rain blocked her view, and the sound of the downpour smashing against the ground drowned out everything else.
She got off her bike and cautiously drew an Autogun from its side bag. Pointing it into the rain, she called, "Karlo! Is that you?!"
No one answered. There was only the sound of acid rain breaking apart against the ground. A chill came over Dill. She couldn't explain it; the moment it appeared, it struck her spine and left her shivering all over.
"What the hell? That idiot."
She muttered under her breath and stood frozen, gun raised. She didn't know whether to keep going or turn around and leave all of this behind.
As she thought it over, the corner of her eye caught the rainwater flowing past her feet. Somehow, its color had changed.
The muddy water running past her leather boots had turned from its usual murky shade to a deep scarlet. The icy chill returned, but this time it wasn't coming from behind her. It was coming from straight ahead.
She raised her head, trembling.
"Who's there?" Dill screamed. "Who?! Come out! Come out!"
"Shh."
A soft voice came through the rain, cutting through it without fail and reaching her ears. "Keep your voice down. Someone's sleeping."
Dill's face twitched. She wanted to pull the trigger, but her fingers wouldn't obey. A flash of silver came first, piercing the rain and stabbing through the hand gripping her gun.
With a clatter, her Autogun hit the ground. The rainwater quickly swept it into some dark corner, leaving her no chance to retrieve it.
"No—!" she shouted.
Through her pain and fear, Dill heard someone laugh softly. Then the voice spoke again.
"Yes," he said gently. "And while we're at it, why don't you come meet your companion?"
A head came flying out of the rain and struck Dill squarely in the body. Her eyes widened as she caught it instinctively, trembling.
Its lifeless eyes stared up at the sky. Its jaw had been split open, its tongue hanging between the parted halves, bits of flesh caught between yellow-brown teeth. The upper half of its face was deathly pale; the lower half, entirely scarlet.
It was Karlo's face.
No, it was Karlo's head.
In her final moments, Dill trembled and wept. She fell to the ground without trying to flee or fight back. She only cried, just like all the innocent people who had died at her hands. 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 gently. "Crying is a privilege of the human race, and you aren't human."
A flash of silver appeared and vanished.
The headless corpse collapsed to the ground. Its limbs still twitched from the nerves firing, but that no longer mattered.
Karyl turned slightly, blue light quietly flowing in his eyes. The blood-covered Wraith drifted over from the other side of the rain. His eyes were closed; he was clearly still unconscious, his brows furrowed as rain slid down his face.
"By rights, I should thank them for their motorcycles—but I usually only thank people."
Karyl smiled, deciding to end the night with a joke he didn't like. He moved his fingers, and Wraith sat astride one of the motorcycles. The engine even started.
"Let's go, Wraith, but be careful," Karyl said with a smile. "This is your first time riding a motorcycle. Safe driving is important."
A few seconds later, the two motorcycles tore through the rain and disappeared into the distance.
The stone in Qianyue's heart finally fell.
Incidentally, this book has a group chat: 774284093.
Could I get a vote while I'm at it?
Before you continue