Nostramo's lower passageways had never been so "lively."
The filthy air carried the pungent smell of food cooked in recycled grease and the sour tang of cheap synthetic liquor. People who usually hurried along with numb expressions now gathered in twos and threes beside the stalls lining the passages, or leaned against rusted pipes, talking quietly. Their faces even bore a rare hint of relaxation.
"Have you heard? 'Dark Night Judgment' descended again." A man lowered his voice, but could not hide the satisfaction in his tone.
"Of course. The news is everywhere! Another mansion in the upper levels was wiped out. Apparently it belonged to a family of loan sharks. Hundreds of them, including their bodyguards, all got... without even putting up a proper fight."
Another man drew a finger across his throat and continued, "Tsk, tsk. Clean and quick. There weren't even ten gunshots."
"Serves them right! Those bloodsuckers had it coming long ago!"
The talk spread through the crowd in whispers. Thanks to the elusive "Dark Night Judgment," the gangs and nobles of Nostramo's upper levels, normally so brazen, had indeed reined themselves in lately.
An invisible fear tightened around their throats like a shackle. Before oppressing ordinary citizens, they now had to consider whether a pair of eyes might be watching them from the boundless darkness.
Yet the people strolling and talking in these relatively safe passageways had no idea that the subject of their conversation, that figure who embodied fear and vengeance, was sweeping above their heads like a true ghost.
Curze moved through the shadows of the towering buildings on either side, swift as lightning yet utterly silent.
Thick pipes, protruding steel frames, and sheer walls all became footholds for him.
He raced along the surfaces of the buildings like flowing darkness, his black