Limping, Karyl reached a door, then opened it in the usual way, the creaky sound making him frown.

In reality, to say that this thing was a door would be a bit biased.

Doors are supposed to be strong, and this one....If Karyl hadn't nailed some boards to it, it wouldn't have held together, not even to keep out the wind.

He stepped inside, and a foul stench permeated the darkened room.

Khalil's brow furrowed as he opened his mouth and spoke into the empty room, "I remember telling you to air it out, didn't I?"

"It's raining." A soft, hissing voice suddenly sounded in the unoccupied room.

The Nostramo language was like that, soft and gentle, hissing like a psalm, but the people who spoke it were mostly murderers.

"Rain?"

Khalil repeated, raising his eyebrows, a kind of contempt on his pale face."Is that your reason for not opening the window?"

"Yes."

In the darkness, a tall shadow slowly rose to his feet, poking his head out of the darkness, the neon light reflected from the doorway illuminating the pale face.

Khalil snorted and tiredly removed his cloak, tossing it at his feet along with two knives before pulling up a chair and sitting down in front of the door.

The cold wind of the early morning hours of Nostramo blew through him and he bowed his head, blood dripping down his right leg and filling the soles of his feet.

"You're hurt," said the shadow, which was so large it was frightening.

"Yeah, I'm hurt."Khalil shrugged."Because the bastard has post-implanted reinforced machinery in both of his hands..."

Shadow came to him and examined the wound.

"You need healing..." hissed Shadow, "He broke the bone in your right leg."

"I know."

Kalil said tiredly, adjusting his sitting position so he could lean back in the crappy chair he'd picked up.It wasn't a good position for his injured leg, but it was more comfortable.

"So why don't you treat it?" asked Shadow patiently."If you can't do it yourself, I can help you."

Slowly, a pale, slender arm emerged from the darkness.The tips of the nails glistened, making them look as dangerous as blades.

And Karil knew they were far more dangerous than blades.

"Respectfully," he said calmly.

The arm retracted, the movement swift, a somewhat amusing contrast to the slowness of the outstretched arm.

"Then you may amputate."

The Shadow said."I haven't broken any bones yet; I've only been shot at.Bullets that sink into flesh are really hard to deal with, I have to dig them out one by one.A laser gun is easier instead......It just burns flesh and blood.".

As he spoke, his voice suddenly changed from a hissing sound to a dreamy lilt."......Also, bullets sink into flesh and it hurts.".

"Of course bullets hurt when they hit."

Khalil laughed, unable to stop the absurdity of the creature's momentary naivete.

It was ridiculous, he thought, amazing how naive a monster that could cut a man in half with a wave of its hand could be.

"Do you hurt too?" asked Shadow.

Kahlil looked at him like he was an idiot before he let out a loud laugh, "Even you are in pain, and why should I be? I'm just a mortal, Spectre, and I'm not like you."

The Shadow was silent for a long time, clearly having a different opinion.

Then he stepped out of the darkness, his ragged clothing barely forming the shape of a robe, his long dirty hair falling behind his head, and traces of blood on his pale skin.

Tattered clothes, a dirty appearance, extremely tall, pale skin, and all black pupils in his eyes - the combination of almost monstrous features made him look as horrifying as a ghost in a story.

An ordinary person could tell just by looking at him that he did not belong to the normal world.

In fact, an ordinary person shouldn't think that he was human.

The ghost frowned and asked, "What's the difference? We're all monsters."

"I'm only a monster some of the time."

"You killed one hundred and seventy-two people last month, every day and every night."

"Who taught you that phrase?"

"You did."

"......"

Khalil sighed, having to give in to the oversized man he called Spectre.

"Listen, Spectre, I am a monster for a reason, and I kill in this city because..."

"Justice?"The Spectre interrupted impatiently, eagerness in his eyes as he inquired.

"No," Khalil replied coldly. "Justice doesn't exist, Spectre. Justice is the biggest lie in the world."

The ghost nodded in disappointment and pointed at Khalil's right leg again.This time, there was no way for Khalil to ignore it.

Karil raised his right hand, and the pupils of his eyes, which were as dark as those of all Nostramoans, suddenly lit up with blue light.

The temperature plummeted, and deep, cold frost condensed on the legs of the chair, the apparition staring at them, tracing the direction of the spreading frost to Karil's legs.

The blood, the wounds, the grotesque shapes created by the twisted tops of the bones on the skin......In that moment, they all disappeared..

"Whew......"

Karil let out a deep, deep sigh, his eyes returning to normal for the moment, dark to the point of being bottomless, and there was peace in them.

The spirit looked at him, not speaking for a moment, and the silence lasted for a while before he spoke again, "You shouldn't rely on this power too much.

"I'll keep using it if it helps with what we're trying to do."

"It's dangerous."

"How do you know?"

"I......"The Spectre did not answer.

He didn't know how to explain it to Karil - the Spectre was born to know many things, as if by instinct, and he even knew a word for the gift.

Born to know.

"As dangerous as anything else in this city?"Khalil didn't care for the ghost's hesitation.He rose to his feet and asked.

He walked out of the room with a strong, athletic stride, giving no indication that half a minute earlier he had been a man so injured that he might have to have a limb amputated.

Outside, the room was empty, with a cold wind blowing through it.

This was the roof of a towering building, where Karil had built a small offending structure by hand a year and a half ago, which the security officers in charge of inspections hadn't noticed, whether they existed or not was another matter.

And just like that, he had a little shelter.

And six months ago, the Phantom came, or rather, the Midnight Spectre.

A name that had only circulated in Quintus on a small scale, nowhere near 'Vengeful Fierce Spirit'. After all, the Vengeful Fierce Spirit had really been killing in the city for a year and a half.

Every day, every night.

"There are gangs and twisted monsters everywhere. The nobles in the upper echelons of the Nestorian capital just sit comfortably in their lavish chairs and receive tax money from these dogs they raise.

"And the workers who sleep in the shantytowns, the poor people, they have only two choices: one, to die in the factories, poor and destitute, facing beatings and oppression from time to time, not even able to feed themselves; two, to join a gang and oppress others."

Khalil turned his head with a grin, "Which do you think most people would choose?"

The Spectre didn't answer, still standing in the doorway of the room, not stepping out, the darkness behind him unmistakably thick.

"There's no doubt they'll choose the second one.And those who didn't choose it doesn't mean they don't want to, they just can't.Bullying others requires a fit body, or at least a young one.Otherwise the gangs won't even want you......".

Caryl spoke no more; he was suddenly in deep thought.

A terrible fire, more heart-burning and bone-chilling than poison, began to burn and spread across the pale young face, forcing him to clench his teeth and knit his brows.

The apparition did not disturb him.

It was a long time before the Spectre rejoined the conversation.

In a low, hissing voice, he asked, "Can killing solve everything?"

"It can't," Khalil replied without hesitation.

"Killing can only lead to more killing.I remove a corrupt official, there will be twenty chipping away at his position.I kill a gang leader, there will be forty or more gangs coming for his territory."

"So can we find another way?"

"We can't, Spectre," Karil said, then paused.

He turned his head, his black hair blowing gently in the dirty Nostramo wind."......Not now.".

"Let me know when you find it," the ghost said seriously, "Nostramo is sick, I can see it, and I want to make it better."

Once again Kalil laughed mockingly at his naivety, only this time he nodded after laughing.

"Good," Karyl Lohals said.

He didn't even ask why, just as he had never asked the Midnight Spectre why he had so much power.

It was just that Caryl Lohals didn't know who he was making a promise to at this point.

-----------------

The priest of the Church of Silence was dead.

It was six o'clock in the morning in the lightless world of Quintus' Nesting Capital when the news broke and began to circulate.

And most people didn't really care; for one thing, they didn't know who the priest in the Church of Rest really was; for another, there was practically no difference between early morning and night on Nostramo.

Nostramo was a star of eternal night, the reason for which is no longer known, perhaps to the nobles of the upper classes, but how many would care?

Most people didn't even care about the alternation of day and night, so how could they care about the death of a priest? They don't even know who he really is.

Well, Razor cares.

And Razor knew who the priest really was.

Razor - a lowly gang leader on Nostramo, and like all gang leaders, he does as he pleases with everyone in his territory.

There are no laws or enforcers on Nostramo, only gangs that serve the upper nobility, maintain false order, and collect taxes....Instead of the nobility, the gangs divide and rule every part of Nostramo.

And on top of that, they will kill for no reason and commit even deeper atrocities......All of these acts were really nothing more than a way for Razor and his gang to establish their prestige.

Just as wild animals must constantly mark their territory with body scent, gangs kill civilians to ensure their dominance - and no one cares how many of them actually die in the process.

In Nostramo, that's what all gang members do.

But Razor, known for his brutality, now had a headache.

"How did she die?"

Razor asked as he stood outside the church.Across from him, at an angle, stood a woman in a white robe and mask.Her right hand was made of metal and looked delicate.

"It's been cut," the woman said, sounding thoughtful.

"Or rather, dismembered....Everything in his stomach was taken out and organized into separate sections with great skill.The man also pulled out half of his spine and hung it under the idol."

Razor whimpered a curse as the woman shook her head, took off her mask, threw it to the ground, and said one last thing, "By the way, there are a few more words on the idol, written in blood, and it looks like they're reserved for you."

"Me?"

Razor's eyes widened, and after a moment he stormed into the church in a huff.