With a sigh, Kariel plunged the blade into someone's heart.
He cared neither for the name of this person nor for their pain. In fact, even before the victim, wheezing, collapsed to the floor, Kariel was already racing toward the next target.
He ran, not forgetting to evade the bullets flying at him. With a roar and rage, they punched holes in the wall behind him. At the very moment when a bullet, kicking up a cloud of dust, entered the wall, his blade entered the flesh.
Then he cut: with his left hand he ripped open a stomach, with his right—he slit a throat. The human body was so fragile, entirely composed of vulnerable spots.
"It is that ghost!" someone shouted in the darkness, and undisguised terror could be heard in their voice. "The avenging spirit!"
"He is surely trembling," Kariel thought. This thought evoked a smirk from him.
"Yes, I have come."
"And you..."
In the dark and gloomy corridor, a quiet laugh rang out.
Killing for Kariel was a ridiculously simple matter. He did it with ease, naturally, more simply than he breathed. It had become almost an instinct.
For him, killing was akin to solving a simple arithmetic problem. Does one need paper and a pen to add one plus one?
Of course not.
But that did not mean he liked it.
He did not kill for the sake of killing.
Five minutes later, Kariel decapitated the last person in this long corridor.
He stopped, looked over the floor strewn with corpses and pieces of flesh, and took several deep breaths. Tasting the air saturated with blood, he began to wait.
Feeling a vibration at the far end of the corridor, Kariel jumped without hesitation and, plunging a blade into the ceiling, hung from it for a moment.
Gunshots thundered: automatics, shotguns, machine guns—someone was even firing laser weapons. He involuntarily squinted and licked his lips.
Half a minute later, when the deadly leaden rain ceased, he jumped down to the floor again.
The sound of his landing was barely audible, but he was noticed nonetheless. It couldn't be helped; he could not be as silent as the Haunter, and the bandits were very sensitive.
In fact, Kariel considered that for a bunch of madmen constantly hooked on psychotropics and other drug-induced hallucinations, they were far too vigilant.
Realizing he was still alive, someone with a roar hurled a homemade grenade at him. Kariel kicked it back with a smile, doing it as naturally as if he were kicking a ball.
The bandits had presented him with a gift, and Kariel, considering himself a polite person, answered them with a powerful explosion and flame—and, of course, the chaos that followed.
This sudden explosion relieved Kariel of a dozen minor problems that would otherwise have had to be solved with a blade and violence, but he did not consider it luck.
Too loud.
"Well... a mistake," he thought, rapidly leaving the scene.
There was nothing to argue about. His work was such that it always threw up surprises at the most inopportune moment.
You never know what these bandits will pull out to unleash a barrage of fire upon you.
A homemade grenade was not even the most dangerous option. It was certainly better than a grenade launcher capable of bringing down an entire building.
Taking a deep breath, Kariel tensed his leg muscles, preparing to leave.
He could not linger if he did not want to arrange for himself the same carnival that the Haunter had experienced.
Half a second later, the icy blue light flared in Kariel's eyes again.
Then he easily jumped out of the window and, upon landing, bent his knees. His muscles bulged, and in just a few jumps he was on the roof of a tall building hundreds of meters away.
The wind whistled in his ears; the icy cold almost robbed his skin of sensitivity, but he did not dare close his eyes.
The landscapes of Quintus flashed by, and only when they finally vanished did he allow himself to smile.
Feeling the ground beneath his feet, he realized he had landed.
Taking another deep, somewhat tired breath, Kariel slowly lowered himself to the floor, leaning against the wall. His back ached unpleasantly, and he needed something to lean on to soothe the pain.
On the roof, more than ten air purifiers worked quietly. They were in excellent condition; obviously, they had been recently serviced. The residents of this building must have had connections with aristocrats, otherwise they would not have received such benefits.
Noting this to himself, Kariel focused on his condition. Но every time he did so, pain inevitably overwhelmed him.
It was always like that.
Listening to himself, Kariel felt his leg muscles ache excruciatingly, and his bones groan from the tension.
Obviously, after such a battle and superhuman running, his body was protesting.
In other words, his physical state was failing him.
But it didn't matter.
The rain had stopped.
Kariel shook his head and decided to resort again to his most hated sense of humor to tell himself a joke and somehow lift his rotten mood.
"Look at things more simply," he muttered. "At least you returned those two motorcycles, didn't you? One must be polite and honest. One good turn deserves another."
Having told this joke, Kariel waited for three minutes.
He did not laugh. He never could laugh.
"My sense of humor truly is terrible. I hate joking," Kariel thought.
He sighed and sank into reflection. At the same time, he continuously took deep breaths.
"The Great Cleansing will begin soon," he thought.
Once every twenty years, almost like a cruel law of nature. The aristocrats will extract a profit from this. In fact, it doesn't matter if there will be a Great Cleansing or not; they are always the winners.
This cruel event was more like an entertainment... and what is there to say? On Nostramo, this was not something out of the ordinary. At least it was much more normal than sewing living people into mattresses.
In the first case, there was at least a benefit, but in the second... if Kariel had not seen it with his own eyes, he would have considered it the delirium of a madman.
Kariel smirked.
In Quintus, there were almost seven hundred gangs, and he could not kill them all. Even if he killed until his very death, it would be impossible. As long as the oppression of the aristocrats exists, more and more poor workers will abandon their human essence.
This world has already changed, changed beyond recognition. How could he alone return everything to its original state?
He couldn't even create a decent organization to recruit assistants. The mindset of Nostramo's residents was completely distorted; in this world, there was no place for kindness...
"But killing will not stop killing, Kariel."
"Yes, I know."
Kariel closed his eyes, completely discarded extraneous thoughts, and began to sink deep into his consciousness, digging deeper and deeper. In a place like Nostramo, building plans was very difficult, but he had to try.
The gang whose leaders the Haunter had all killed was called the "Sons of Unity."
A stupid name.
Like all the other gangs, these people always sought to imitate the aristocrats.
Giving themselves such strange and pretentious names was part of this imitation. They thought that in this way they could one day enter the ranks of the aristocracy. Only a few understood that gangs are merely the chain hounds of the aristocrats.
"Sons of Unity"... Kariel began to search for this name in his memory. He should not have had these memories. But it didn't matter, did it?
Soon he found the answer.
One of the leaders of the "Sons of Unity" had recently joined the "Chattering Teeth."
Excellent.
The "Chattering Teeth" and House Skraivok...
Two ancient aristocratic lineages. Now their attention is surely turned toward Quintus. What luck. I wonder if I will be honored to meet these noble gentlemen?
Kariel smirked coldly.
House Skraivok lost one inquisitor. Although they might have hundreds of others like him, the death of even one of them was still no trifle...
House Skraivok, like all the other high aristocrats, was very similar to others, with the exception of one detail that made them special.
They attached immense importance to "rules" and "honor."
Ironic, isn't it?
But it was true.
Those who served them could receive much. For complete loyalty, these people could receive almost everything they wanted until their death.
This meant that House Skraivok would certainly try to find the inquisitor's killer.
As for the "Chattering Teeth"... they were a pack of madmen who adored bloody feasts and thrills. They, too, would not miss such a wonderful opportunity to descend into the Underhive for a hunt under a plausible pretext.
Kariel opened his eyes and smiled.
He already knew what to do. If the "Chattering Teeth" and House Skraivok were going to arrange a dinner party in Quintus, then he had already preceded the organizers and received an invitation ticket.
Rising again, Kariel, leaning on the cold wall, exhaled a long, trembling sigh.
The pain still did not allow him to stand straight. After a short rest, a new, even stronger and unceasing wave of pain rushed in. It was always like that. This power was terrible, but at the same time very useful.
He had not picked up that broken chair at the dump for nothing.
Firstly, no one needed it, and it could be taken. Secondly... he really did need a chair.
On Nostramo there was no day, only eternal night. Standing on the edge of the building and looking at the landscape sprawling below, Kariel reflected.
All the cities on this planet are rotten. From the very beginning, they were built of distorted materials. He was just an ordinary man; he could not change them or these people.
He also knew that shifting all responsibility onto the Haunter was extremely selfish, but what choice did he have?
"Only now did I realize that that phrase was true."
Kariel smirked and muttered under his breath:
"Free will does not exist unless you put a bullet in your forehead, inhale gas, or jump from a pier..."
...
+He once again refused.+
+Truly, my Lord?+
+Yes. It seems he is greatly mistaken about me.+
+You cannot demand that someone on the other end of the galaxy simply accept your challenge, my Lord.+
+Perhaps. But I will try a few more times. Konrad Curze's fate is now in his hands.+
+Then good luck to you, Lord. By the way, I remember you said yesterday that the word 'fate' is utterly absurd.+
"Yes, my friend."
The giant in gold armor opened his eyes and said, "But sometimes it truly exists."