Ten thousand meters above the ground.
Kariel tightened his grip, fumbling along the edge of the building for a secure hold.
The cold, rough surface hurt his fingers and palms. But he was long accustomed to it.
Friction was an integral part of climbing, just as the swing of a blade inevitably stained one's hands with blood.
Fierce wind.
The higher it got, the stronger it became. As if gently admonishing, it tried to make Kariel retreat.
Kariel did not respond. He merely exhaled a puff of steam and glanced down.
From this height, a thin layer of clouds already hid Quintus. The hive city seemed spectral and sinister, its neon lights refracting and scattering into rainbow spots in Kariel's eyes.
Only the howl of the wind and a strange echo from within the giant spire reached his ears – Kariel knew that some mechanisms were humming there.
The Shadow's memory held much, including the strict security at the junction of the Upper Hive and the Underhive, as well as the exact location of these machines. This spire belonged to House Scryvok, and the Shadow couldn't not know it.
A pathetic, artificially created being, whose flesh was covered with metal, and whose senses and mind were distorted.
A slave who never had a life of his own, considered a valuable but replaceable tool.
A sharp knife in the hands of a monster, stained with blood through dirty methods.
"No," Kariel whispered. "After tonight, it will all end."
He continued his ascent, moving lightly and nimbly.
His strength and endurance had never been so great. The meager nutrients in the food bricks had never made his body so strong.
Now, a slight effort was enough for him to leap three or four meters up. Even the fierce wind could no longer hinder him.
It was incredible.
Kariel knew – this was a side effect of that power. He had removed the shackles, and it pulsed triumphantly in his body.
The increased power and endurance were probably only part of its price.
But in old fairy tales, luck and wealth granted without reason usually came from the devil. The more you receive, the more you lose in the end.
After climbing another three hundred meters, he reached a small circular platform. Twelve huge machines, humming, worked around its perimeter. They regulated the temperature and purified the air.
Kariel had seen many such platforms. But only this one deserved his stop.
Standing on the edge, he took off his cloak and threw it down. It quickly disappeared into the sparse clouds, leaving no trace.
Looking into the void, Kariel paused for a moment, then chuckled softly and shook his head.
"I will avenge you too."
He muttered this to himself and rolled up his right sleeve, fully exposing the House Loxars tattoo, which seemed to be dripping blood.
A destroyed noble house on Nostramo – what does it mean? Once a family loses power, few remember its name.
However, few remember the workers of the Underhive during their lifetime.
What irony.
Kariel closed his eyes and froze for a moment, breathing deeply. When he opened them again, an icy blue light had completely driven out the darkness from his eye sockets.
And then he passed through the wall as if he were a true ghost.
…
A spear pierced the man's chest, pinning him to a huge boulder. His face was devoid of any expression. The stone beneath him was soaked with blood. Light from the heavens fell upon him, illuminating his figure, while darkness gathered around, and countless hungry eyes waited in it.
Mantas Scryvok looked at the scene and shook his head slightly.
"My ancestors' artistic taste is beyond criticism," he muttered. "The one who painted this should have been executed, and the painting itself immediately destroyed, not kept until our days."
Having said that, he paused and glanced at the dark corner of the study.
Mantas Scryvok was silent for a moment, then gave a crooked smile.
Before, the Shadow always answered him during these short pauses. This is how this little habit was born.
He shook his head and slowly returned to his desk.
Several documents lay on the table. Intricate flourishes of calligraphic handwriting intertwined on the parchment, and bright red ink quietly dried on the pale skin.
Having lain here for some time, they had already set and did not spread from the slightest touch, turning the letters into an illegible mess.
Mantas Scryvok picked up the first document. For several minutes, he checked what he had written, then put it back with an absent look.
The deal with the "Knocking Teeth" was concluded. Now, House Scryvok in Quintus only had to deal with three noble families.
And in twelve hours, the Great Purge would begin, ahead of schedule.
The forces of these three houses were no match for the might of House Scryvok. They faced only one outcome: to suffer heavy losses in Quintus and be disgracefully eliminated from the game.
At this thought, Mantas sneered coldly. He was already looking forward to the opening of the noble council in half a month.
Then he would legally demand compensation, and if they refused…
No, no "ifs."
He burst out laughing.
They would be forced to agree. They would have no other choice.
"But my children…"
The Painted Count closed his eyes and sighed in his expensive and comfortable chair.
There were seventeen of them at first. After twenty years, three remained.
Now – zero.
Zero.
This number could mean a start from scratch, or it could mean the complete loss of everything.
Now Mantas Scryvok leaned towards the latter.
Deep wrinkles formed between his eyebrows. This matter must be investigated to the end, the killer – executed in front of everyone, and the one behind it… must pay a terrible price.
He opened his eyes impassively, interrupting his thoughts, and stood up, intending to leave the study and rest. The night promised to be long, and he wasn't going to wait any longer.
After all, the Shadow knows no defeat.
Approaching the study door, he pushed it open. The daily-lubricated hinges worked flawlessly. The gilded door yielded easily to his hand, meeting no resistance.
Servants could only touch its surface with their foreheads and wait for the built-in mechanism to open it automatically. But Mantas Scryvok preferred to do it manually – personal involvement in everything was one of his distinguishing features.
He walked out into the long corridor and slowly walked along it, as if strolling.
The lights turned on by themselves, a soft yellow light creating a cozy atmosphere. Even the stern faces of the ancestors in the portraits seemed softer. Mantas imagined they were looking at him with pride.
This made him smile.
"Yes, you should be proud of me."
"In my lifetime, House Scryvok will become the sole ruling house on Nostramo. All others will bow their heads."
"Ancestors, you will applaud me."
This thought banished even the bitterness of losing the children he had raised so long and diligently. With a smile, he walked down the corridor, but around the next turn, he was splashed with hot blood.
Mantas Scryvok's right hand trembled.
"What's happening?"
"Oh, good evening," a quiet voice came from the darkness, with a hint of sincere apology. "I didn't mean to splash your clothes, you're just not timely. I just finished with the last sentry in the shelter."
"However, you are surprisingly distrustful. So many traps, mechanisms, and security systems in your own spire."
"You…" Mantas Scryvok began in rage and astonishment, but was immediately interrupted.
"Sh-sh-sh."
An icy, blood-covered hand emerged from the darkness and with great force gripped Mantas's jaw. The middle and index fingers rested on specific points on his cheeks.
Then the hand pressed slightly.
With a loud click, Mantas Scryvok felt a sharp pain.
His jaw hung loose. His muscles desperately tried to hold it, resisting gravity, but his nerves burned like fire.
Mantas's body shuddered. He instinctively wanted to scream, but in the next second, a blade plunged into his throat.
The blade came out, but was followed by a stream of icy air that turned his mouth into a mess and froze the blood ready to gush from the wound.
Blood froze into columns with myriad tiny ice needles, continuing to torment its owner's body.
Mantas Scryvok collapsed to his knees. He was not one of those who, like the "Knocking Teeth," sought pleasure in pain, and his pain threshold was not high. He could no longer stand.
"Sh-sh-sh," the same voice said softly. "It's too late, everyone is asleep. Quietly, okay?"
Mantas, trembling, raised his head. Rage made him overcome the pain.
He had to see the face of this insolent scoundrel.
At the same time, he frantically searched for a way out of the situation.
This skilled killer, obviously from another house, was just like the Shadow of House Scryvok – one of the trump cards each family had.
Moreover, he demonstrated knowledge of the estate's internal workings and a strange sense of humor. The latter was easily explained – simply mentally unhealthy. The Shadow also had her peculiarities. Probably all "Shadows" do.
But how to explain the former? And why did the attack happen on the very day the Shadow left?
No, not that. How did he bypass the spire's multi-layered security system?
"I didn't hear a single shot. Did all the robot sentries fail? And the built-in alarm system? Why was it silent?!"
"Could it be… a traitor? Conspired with other houses to strike precisely now? Is it the 'Knocking Teeth'? Quite likely, they could have guessed I would strike…"
"Don't think, Count," a voice came from the darkness. The speaker squatted down so Mantas could see his face better.
It was a pale face.
Sad eyes, a high nose. He smiled gently, looking very calm.
"You won't guess until I tell you the truth myself. And all your assumptions are irrelevant right now. However, if they help you distract yourself from the pain, I don't mind."
Mantas opened his mouth, and only fragments of sounds, like gasps, escaped his throat. Blood oozed from the corner of his lips.
"No, I'm not a hired killer. Killing you is not my main goal."
Kariel patiently explained, squatting next to the kneeling Count. His posture was relaxed, as if it were a conversation between old friends.
If one ignored their situation and surroundings, one could indeed think they were friends.
After all, Mantas Scryvok answered Kariel's question with only a few gasps.
"You see, Count, you nobles have your own view of the world."
"You've turned everything into a simple exchange of benefits. Although many of you prefer fleeting carnal pleasures, profit remains the main thing. I like the idea of ruling the world by rules, but your rules…"
Kariel sighed softly.
He extended his right hand, grabbed Mantas by the chin, and dragged him to the other end of the corridor.
The pain returned. Mantas desperately beat against the icy, almost dead hand, but it was all in vain.
He couldn't even bite off his fingers – his jaw was now just a source of torment.
Moving with a staggering gait, the stranger demonstrated an amazing knowledge of the place, as if he had lived there for decades.
At the same time, he didn't forget to finish his thought:
"...your rules are so disgusting that even I, a person who shouldn't have been involved, can no longer stand it. Do you understand that feeling, Count?"
Kariel shook his head, waved his hand, and threw the almighty Count of House Scryvok into one of the rooms.
The door was already open. The Count, spinning, flew inside, knocking over tables and chairs.
He lay on the floor, writhing in pain. His head spun, his thoughts were confused.
He had reached his position through his intellect, sending thirty-two of his brothers and sisters into deadly traps. He disliked violence, considering it crude…
Therefore, now, although he wanted to get up and fight back, his body did not obey.
Kariel paid him no attention, wiped his bloody hands on his clothes, and closed the door.
Then he pulled up a chair, sat down opposite Mantas Scryvok, and, tilting his head, began to wait patiently.
"How simple," Kariel thought. "Remove the shackles, cast aside the rules, and can you make the head that poisons the entire hive writhe in pain so easily?"
He couldn't help but smile.
Yes, killing was indeed simple.
Humans naturally know how to use violence, let alone someone like him. Violence is the fastest way to achieve a goal. But what then?
Mantas Scryvok, trembling, got up, interrupting Kariel's thoughts.
He looked at Kariel, then pulled up a chair himself and sat down. At the same time, his gaze slid to Kariel's right wrist, which he had deliberately left exposed.
He squinted.
Kariel noticed this.
Mantas Scryvok took a deep breath and slowly raised his hands, intending to reset his dislocated jaw.
At that moment, the hand with the tattoo on his wrist reached out to him and, with icy coldness, touched his cheek.
"The wound and pain are gone."
The Painted Count's cheek twitched.
"Surprised?" Kariel asked.
"Partly," Mantas Scryvok replied quietly.
"By my strength or my personality?"
"Both…"
The Painted Count shook his head, a look of thoughtfulness flashing across his face.
At that moment, he relaxed strangely and leaned back in his chair. This change in posture caused Kariel to give a silent smile.
He had a rough idea of what the Painted Count was thinking.
"You are alive after all, Kariel Loxars," Mantas Scryvok said quietly.
Kariel did not answer. He knew Mantas still had much to say.
He was willing to show a little respect to the dying.
"You came to find out the truth about those events, didn't you?"
Mantas Scryvok slowly began to speak.
"Yes, your house fell because of that traitor. Given that he is already dead, I assume someone has already told you everything?"
Kariel remained silent.
Mantas, without batting an eye, skipped this moment and continued, though he frantically tried to find an answer to this question in his mind.
"Your father, Guy Loxars, begged us to spare you in exchange for the location of your family's treasures. This ruthless executioner, in the last moment of his life, demanded that a path be left for his son. We agreed."
Looking into Kariel's eyes, Mantas paused, intending to catch any reaction from him at this time.
"And this path was to throw a seven-year-old child with two daggers of House Loxars into the Underhive?" Kariel asked with a smirk.
"You couldn't have asked for more," Mantas replied calmly.
"For the murder of a Count, you should all have died. Even the traitor's name was erased. After that, he became an unknown Father in the Underhive, far from the life of a noble."
"But still better than the life of an Underhive dweller."
Kariel shook his head with a smile.
"You don't know something, Count. That traitor you forced was quite influential even in the Underhive. Frankly, he remained a noble, just lived in the slums."
"Inevitably…" Mantas Scryvok frowned.
He did not receive the expected reaction.
This meant that all his assumptions about Kariel Loxars had to be re-examined. He had not come for profit, at least, so far, this last of the Loxars had not shown any desire to regain his name and status.
But most importantly… Kariel Loxars had survived.
This meant that one of the houses involved in that conspiracy had secretly protected and raised him.
It also meant that in their eyes, Mantas Scryvok was undoubtedly a source of hatred.
Which, in general, was true.
It was Mantas who planned the fall of House Loxars.
But why was Kariel Loxars so calm now? He could even smile so easily… Mantas saw that this smile was not feigned.
He involuntarily swallowed saliva with a bloody aftertaste. The initiative in the conversation had subtly shifted to the other again.
"You must be wondering?" Kariel asked quietly.
"But, as I said, Count, until I speak, you will never know the truth."
"You seem very confident, last of the Loxars," Mantas said grimly.
"Hmm… actually, I'm not confident," Kariel said. "I just know what I have to do."
"And what do you have to do?"
Kariel smiled faintly and stood up. Silver flashed on his wrist. He raised his hand, and two blades, spinning, landed in his palms in a reverse grip.
Then he turned and threw them. The blades pierced the air with great force, emitting a dangerous whistle. The thick wall was instantly breached, and immediately a clicking sound of a working mechanism was heard.
Then another wall suddenly turned, revealing a huge black machine.
Mantas Scryvok's face changed sharply.
The nobles of Nostramo had many ways of communication. They could send envoys, letters, or use communication systems for convenient, but not too dignified, instant messaging.
But among all these methods, there was one that was used only in emergencies.
"You see, Count, I know a lot. I know how you indulge in debauchery, how you kill each other… and this is, without a doubt, the most interesting part of everything I know."
Kariel burst out laughing, and his laughter echoed through the room.
"What are you going to do?" Mantas asked, leaning forward and gripping the armrests.
For the first time, he felt that he was losing control of the situation; even when he was being dragged down the corridor, he hadn't felt this. A terrible anxiety began to grow in his heart, devouring him from within.
"What do you think?" Kariel asked back. "What do you think I'm going to do? You were so confident just now, Count? You thought this last of the Loxars came for revenge?"
"Isn't that so?!"
"No, Count. You are not worth such effort and sacrifice."
Kariel turned and slowly walked towards the machine.
"The last of the Loxars has been dead for a long time, Count. Before you now stands only a ghost."
"What are you going to do, Kariel Loxars?!"
The ghost stopped, turned, and smiled softly. An icy blue light flashed in his eyes.
He answered quietly, but in a language completely different from Nostramian, and his words sounded weighty and clear:
"I will light a fire, Count. I will burn you, you damned creatures. I've had enough."
…
On a cold night in the Upper Hive of Nostramo, a voice suddenly rang out.
It came from afar, hissing in the night through ancient mechanisms. It swept through the luxurious and dark palaces of the nobles, through the dark and bloody dungeons, through the vaults filled with gold and jewels…
And reached the ears of every noble.
At that moment, whether they were sleeping in their beds or, clad in human skin, slowly twirling in a dance to quiet music, they all heard this soft voice.
"Ladies and gentlemen aristocrats."
"Lords of the Evernight Court."
"Good evening."
"Remember my voice and prepare. You can run, resist, hide… however you want. But tonight, I will put an end to everything."
"And, of course, the last thing…"
A quiet laugh echoed in their ears, swirling, carrying with it an inexplicable cold and madness, growing louder, like thunder.
"Remember, I'm coming for you."
***
Read the story months before public release — early chapters are on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Granulan