Khalil Lohars raised his head and glanced at the gargoyle squatting above him. The monster made of stone was silently looking into the distance of the night, opening its mouth fiercely and roaring silently.
"Goodbye," Khalil said to it.
He stretched out his hand from under the cover of the eaves. His skin was pale and there was a conspicuous tattoo on his wrist. Just a few seconds later, he felt cold raindrops on his palm, which made him immediately retract his hand.
However, there was already a slight burning sensation in the palm of my hand at this moment.
Khalil curled his lips, a kind of displeasure flashed on his pale face, but it quickly disappeared.
"Very good," he said to himself. "It's raining."
He turned around and moved his feet a little further away to avoid being soaked in blood. As for the source of the blood, you have to ask the corpse at his feet with its chest and abdomen wide open.
Khalil bent down and turned the body over. His movements were gentle, but a dull snapping sound was heard in the process.
He knew that it was the sound of the corpse's internal organs falling out of the chest and abdomen and touching the ground.
This made Khalil sigh and began to wonder if his craftsmanship had deteriorated.
It was just a swing from bottom to top. How could it disembowel him like this...?
While he was thinking, he pulled off the cloak from the corpse. The side that was originally facing in was still stained with blood, so Khalil had to shake it out and turn it over so that he could wear it.
A little knowledge, when it rains in Nostramo, if you have to go out at this time, then you'd better find something to cover yourself.
If not, don't go out from a place where you can get some protection from the wind and rain.
As for the reason...
In Nostramo, the rain is poisonous.
He walked out of the eaves. There were no pedestrians on the road, but there were many watching eyes in the darkness, looking at the cloaked shadow walking with hungry eyes.
The Quintus hive in Nostramo is like this, or rather, any hive on Nostramo is like this.
They are always crowded, always smelly, and full of choking smoke. The natural environment has long been destroyed by endless mining, and the sunlight left Nostramo a long time ago.
Gangs divided up large and small territories, replaced the law with violence, and controlled everything. However, they are actually just dogs raised by the upper-class nobles.
Between his breaths, Khalil smelled a strong smell of rust. The damn smell filled his mouth, making his tongue feel like a rusty nickel stuck between his jaw.
The sticky feeling disgusted him very much, and what disgusted him even more was that he found that he had become accustomed to this feeling.
Thinking of this, Khalil twitched the corners of his mouth and smiled, his shoulders naturally relaxed and drooped, and two silver lights loomed at the cuffs.
It's raining.
It's killer weather.
He walked forward, crossing dark metal bridges and passing through narrow shantytowns. As he passed here, he could hear the restless murmurs of the people in the shantytowns as they slept at night.
The smile on Khalil's face began to grow bigger and bigger, until it turned into a terrifying and ferocious smile that made anyone who saw it panic. The skin was stiffly lifted up by the muscles, and the teeth rubbed slightly in the air.
Those who suffer, those who perish, those who are oppressed. Even in his sleep, he only dared to curse quietly.
Toxic chemicals filled the air, eating away at the lungs, hearts, and bodies of these poor workers.
It also consumes their emotions and everything about them. But the instigator enjoys everything in his exquisite home without even having to witness the death of the oppressed.
It's not all fair, is it?
Khalil continued walking, and about half an hour later, he easily climbed over the towering wall and came to the door of a church.
It was so eerie in the low night and poisonous acid rain. Two gargoyles stared at him from the spire and stained glass windows. The raindrops fell vertically to the ground and smashed into pieces.
"good evening."
Khalil greeted softly. His Nostramo hissed in the damp stench stirred up by the rain.
He took steps and walked forward. His posture was completely different from when he was walking on the street. The leather boots touched the ground without making any sound, and the speed was amazing. It was more like gliding than walking.
In this way, Khalil came to the side door of the church and put his hand on the handle. After half a breath, the heavy and locked metal door opened spontaneously, and Khalil didn't even push the door.
He smiled slightly, and a deep cold blue light flashed in his eyes.
------------------
"The money that Korpa's gang handed over wasn't enough, Father."
Said a man with tattoos on his face.
His skin was as pale as all the other Nostramos, and his eyes were completely black, but his figure was not.
While most Nostramos were emaciated by famine and oppression from above, he was strong.
The man he called priest did not answer immediately. He closed his eyes and intertwined the fingers of his hands, holding them together. At this moment, he was kneeling down devoutly under the statue of the god and praying.
"Father..."
The tattooed man called again hesitantly, and this time, the priest opened his eyes.
He stood up, and the man swallowed uncontrollably. There was no other reason than that the priest was simply too tall. Seeing the pressure he felt when he stood up was like witnessing a mountain moving its back in front of you. It was terrifying.
"Kolpa...the mine to the north?" the priest asked.
His voice didn't fit his figure. It wasn't heavy or deep, but seemed very gentle. When the Nostramo language came out of his mouth, it actually had some elegance to it.
This is not the accent of lower class people.
"Yes." The tattooed man replied. "The pit that produced the adamantine ore."
The priest sighed.
"Always," he said slowly. "There are always people who think they can escape God's gaze. I give them my favor, but they don't cherish it..."
The tattooed man lowered his head - he did not dare to answer the priest's words. It was the priest's prerogative to talk about God and God's grace in the church.
"Send someone tomorrow."
The priest waved slowly.
"Bring Korpa to me, and I will make him understand with my own hands how precious the love God has given us... Sinners like him who commit ungodly sins should be shattered in hell. .”
He stopped speaking and stared at the man silently. His gaze was like a blade, coldly scraping through the man's bone marrow, causing him to tremble uncontrollably.
Finally, the priest slowly spoke again.
"Also, don't disturb me at night anymore. This is my prayer time."
"Yes, Father." The man quickly lowered his head and agreed, his back already wet with fine sweat.
"Are you religious, then, Father?"
A sound suddenly sounded, and then there was the sharp sound of metal rubbing against each other. There were no lights in the church, only a few candles burning quietly near the statue. Their tiny light is not enough to dispel the darkness.
Something was moving in the misty darkness.
The tattooed man's expression suddenly changed. He immediately came to the priest and took out a pistol from his waist.
The appearance of that thing was very rough, and the handle was even just a wooden board wrapped with tape, but it could kill a mutated beast in the wilderness outside the hive with one shot.
"Of course I'm religious."
The priest seemed unfazed and spoke softly. "And you, Your Excellency? Did you come to my church late at night to confess to me?"
"Oh...confession?"
A low laugh came from the darkness: "I do have something to confess... Well, Father, I killed a lot of people. In the beginning, he was just a bully who oppressed the miners. I hanged him in the room.”
"Then, I started getting out of hand. The second one was a bastard who used drugs to control the kids and sell their bodies."
"As for the latest one... let me think about it... an unlicensed physician who liked to eat his patients. I picked him apart."
Hearing this, the tattooed man's hand shook suddenly, and his face became horrified. He had realized something.
The priest gently raised his hand and placed it on his right shoulder, calming the unstoppable trembling.
Then, he said: "Based on your description, I guess you are the vengeful spirit, right?"
"Revenge for whom?" the man in the darkness asked. "No one knows me in this city, who should I avenge?"
"So you're not killing for justice."
"justice?"
A sharp, piercing laugh suddenly came from the darkness.
The priest frowned, and the hand he held on the tattooed man's right shoulder tightened at this moment. The huge force made the man groan in pain. Even so, he did not dare to make any big moves.
There was a monster watching in the darkness, and there was also a monster behind him. He didn't know which was scarier.
"There is justice," the priest said slowly. "You are too extreme."
"Yeah?"
"Yes."
"So, do gods exist?"
"Nature exists too."
A low laughter came from the darkness, and a man in a cloak walked out of the darkness.
"Father...if God really exists, why doesn't He, who is omniscient and omnipotent, send down thunder to punish us?"
"Because He has mercy on us," the priest said calmly. “He wants us to find our way back, not to cleanse our flesh with destruction.”
The tattooed man let out a low hiss of pain.
The priest's tone was calm, but the force exerted by his right hand became stronger and stronger. This is the source of pain for tattooed men.
The man in the cloak smiled again. He put down his hand, took off the cloak and threw it aside.
His skin color and eyes are the same as those of all Nostramos. His skin is as pale as a corpse, and his eyes are as dark as tombstones. The colors are opposite, but they coexist.
The priest stared at him. The moment their eyes met and he saw the man's face clearly, he exerted force and crushed the tattooed man's shoulder blades.
A scream of pain like a beast suddenly broke out, the tattooed man fell to the ground, and the gun also fell to the ground. Blood began to spread on the floor.
"My name is Khalil, Khalil Lohars, Father." Khalil said with a smile. "How does this last name sound to you? Does it sound familiar?"
The priest raised his hand gloomily and unbuttoned his robe. He took off his thick and solemn black priest's robe little by little and threw it on the notice table nearby. The body under the robe is covered with crisscross scars.
On the chest, there is a tattoo.
"Familiar," the priest said. "There is no surname on Nostramo that I am more familiar with than Lohars."
"That's good."
Khalil smiled slightly and raised his hands, the two sharp blades reflecting the confusing light of the candlelight. He began to jump gently on the spot, his back relaxed, his posture leisurely, and the blade of the knife was looming at his wrist.
"Mr. Khalil..."
The priest slowly clenched his fists, and there was a rumbling mechanical sound in his arms.
"Go on, Father - you can say it longer and think of it as your last words," Khalil replied with a chuckle.
The priest didn't answer, but took a deep breath of blood-laced air.
The man on the ground was still screaming, so he raised his foot and trampled hard on the soft throat, ending the man's pain.
The priest said: "You are indeed here for revenge."
"No, Father, no," Khalil responded softly. "I'm here for you."
The swipe was fleeting, and the candle flame was extinguished. Roars and laughter alternated, and one eyeball of the tattooed man rolled away, disappearing silently in the darkness.
