The never-ending night took on a different kind of haze, punctuated by rains that fell vertically, hitting Nostramo's filthy buildings and smashing them to pieces.

The rain would not stop.

Karil crouched silently on the head of a giant gargoyle, gazing down at the Church of the Annunciation, the Spectre behind him, and the mere presence of the thing sent a cold shiver down Karil's spine.

The wraith was not hostile to him, and that natural sense of threat came from the differences between them.

Khalil was well aware of this - he'd known it since the moment he'd met the Spectre six months ago.

"How?"

A hissing voice sounded behind him, the Spectre's voice was softer than most when speaking Nostramo.

Karil did not answer.

"How's it going, Khalil?Are we going to make a move?"

The Spectre asked again, some urgency in his voice."He's in the middle of the church......And his men ......Never been better ......".

"He was never the target."Khalil finally spoke, his tone cold."A dog at best."

Other than that, he said no more.The apparition fell silent as he began to clear his mind, and with that unsettling silence, the apparition closed his eyes.

The next moment, countless visions swept over him.Disturbing, dark, violent......Terrible.They are a refraction of the future, a shattered mirror.

The Spectre was unmoved.

It was clear to him that only one of these visions could come true, the others were mere distractions, but he could rarely see into the future without interference.

It was one of his gifts.

He hadn't said anything to Caryl about it, and of course there was another thing - the Spectre had never seen Caryl in any of the visions he'd seen.

Not even once.

In the visions he could see, it was as if the man Karyl Lohal did not exist.

Karil did not mind the Spectre's silence; he had grown accustomed to this companion, who was more of a monster than he was; the Midnight Wanderer was more of a beast in human form than a man most of the time, and the beast's habits were already fully understood by him.

Kahlil knew that the Ghost liked silence on weekdays.

He just happened to like it when he was thinking.

Khalil looked at the woman in the white robe, his eyesight was good, allowing him to see the woman's dress clearly.

The white robe the woman wore had gold lines outlining the edges, and it was very different from the clothes worn by most of the lower class people of Nestor.Even some nobles, I'm afraid, are not qualified to wear such clothes.

And that metal prosthetic limb......

It was obvious that this was someone from the higher ups, but Razor didn't seem to grovel when talking to her.

Kalil just smiled calmly, what else could he say? He wasn't surprised.

The sound of the rumbling machine as it drove away was frightening, and the size even more so.The car took up most of the street, even running over two children crossing the street as it left.

However, no one cared about this incident, only a few hands reached out of the darkness and couldn't wait to drag the bloodied corpses inside.

Homeless people who had been thrown out of the factory because they were too sick to continue working......They need these two children.

People will always be hungry.

Behind him came a sharp sound, as if two pieces of sharp metal were rubbing against each other.

Khalil knew it was a monster grinding its teeth.

"There is no need," Karil said."Your anger is useless now, Spectre.She cannot die now, do you see the clothes she is wearing?"

"Noble......"The Spectre exhaled an icy blast of cold mist.

"Yes, noble."

Khalil grinned a broad, silent laugh and nodded.

He was supposed to be handsome, with a melancholy forehead and a high nose, but the way he looked when he laughed could completely destroy that handsomeness.

At that moment, as he crouched over the stone spirit, he was almost like a monster who wanted to devour people in the dark.

"I will pray in the church."

Khalil stood, the gargoyles at his feet wordlessly baring their teeth to the sky."You can go ahead and track the woman....But don't kill her."

He turned and tilted his head at the tall, silent specter, asking patiently, "Can it be done?"

"I make no promises......," the ghost rambled."I can't promise..."

In the face of his ambiguous statement, Khalil just laughed.

"As long as it doesn't kill them," he said quietly. "You know what I mean."

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

"Fuck!"

Razor kicked the priest's head away in indignation, sending it flying into the air, crashing into the pews not far away, and rolling away in a bone-crushing heap.

The interior of the church was like a slaughterhouse at that moment, and the strong smell of blood caused some of the bodies of the eleven people present to shake uncontrollably.

Don't get me wrong, they weren't afraid. How could they be afraid? They've done worse things with their own hands.

As for the reason......

A psychedelic made from human blood, popular in Nostramo, most gang members have injected it and become deeply addicted.

In addition to deepening the addiction, ordinary blood can also have an almost stimulant effect on the injector.

If you find this absurd, then you do not know much about Nostramo; there was no morality to be found here, and anything could happen as long as it was profitable.

Razor stood underneath the blood-stained idol, anger seething in his mind for an eternity - he had to work very hard to suppress his emotions most of the time.

But when he looked up and saw the words on the idol, his anger finally erupted.

"Who does he think he is?!"

Razor roared as he drew the pistol at his waist and fired repeatedly at the idol, smashing the blurry-looking god's head to pieces.He had no respect for this god at all; after all, Razor knew that gods didn't exist.

"And for my sins? Damn it! How noble does a madman who goes around killing people think he is?"

"I'm going to kill him, skin him, and pull out every last rib for carvings!"

Razor roared maniacally, his temples protruding and the veins in his forehead bulging - his rage was not only due to uncontrollable emotions, but also to a chemical he'd been smoking that had a long history and was a special treat for the upper class nobility.

It was also Razor's reward for working for one of them.

You see......In Nostramo, everyone can find a pastime.

But at what cost?

"I am not noble, Razor....But I have come for your sins."

A voice said this, and in the next second, the lights in the church went out - once upon a time, the lights in the church were controlled by the priest, and if he didn't nod his head, then no one could turn them on or off.

For now......He was dead.

A soft voice rang out in the darkness, filled with a sharp hissing sound.The words were melodious and romantic like poetry, but they sent shivers down the spines of those who heard them.

"Murder is the most common crime in Nostramo, my dear Mr. Razor.When the fire of anger rises in the heart, anyone can do this evil deed....But personally, I don't like it very much.".

"Killing fueled by anger is inefficient.I hate inefficiency."

Razor didn't answer the voice in the darkness as he glared and gripped his weapon, his anger vanishing without a trace.

The gang leader, who two minutes ago had been screaming about abusing someone, was surprisingly calm at the moment, as were the ten men he had brought with him; without even having to mobilize, they spontaneously formed a back-to-back formation.

"Well trained, Mr. Razor."

The voice continued, laughter evident.

"So, which noble's private army are you?Is someone planning to cleanse the forces at the bottom all over again?Ah, it's like a law of nature when it comes every twenty years......A law of nature that brings great benefits ......".

"Show yourself!"

Razor shouted into the darkness, "Now that you've guessed, there's no need to make an enemy of us.You can't afford the price!"

"The price......"

The voice in the darkness laughed softly, the sound echoing between the stone walls inside the Chapel of Rest, eventually becoming distorted and resembling the low growl of a monster.The temperature began to get colder and colder.

Cold sweat trickled down Razor's forehead as he wondered why he was so nervous.Could it be the darkness around him?But darkness was supposed to be what every Nostramo was most used to.

He was used to walking in the dark.

But there was no way to stop the trembling of the hand that held his rifle, and in the next instant, a small sound behind him stirred his frayed nerves.

Razor turned violently and fired with his companions in that direction.

The shots were loud.

"Wrong way, Mr. Razor."

A voice rang out over Razor's head, followed by warm breath, and his eyes widened as he raised his hand, ready to pull the trigger when a sharp pain in his wrist stopped him in his tracks.

Then came the sharp rattle of some kind of blade cutting through the air, followed by the dull sound of a blade cutting into flesh.

It was a sound the gang was all too familiar with.

Finally, there was Razor's scream, beginning the killing with the most horrible wail he had ever heard in his life.

The sound of gunfire was once again loud.

The gang members, realizing what was happening, began firing wildly at the ceiling, but came up empty.

They had been trained at the nobleman's mansion to know that in a situation like this, it was necessary to leave some of their men on guard, rather than pouring out ammunition all at once, which would allow the enemy to take advantage of the situation.

But they could not remember.

They just wanted to keep pulling the trigger.

The fear that came from the darkness, which had no reason or logic to it, completely destroyed their training. Fear destroyed the details under their memories, the will they thought was strong.

Fear crushed everything.

And so death came again.

Kahlil sprinted out from behind them, swinging the blade in his hand, but not at a breakneck pace, each cut precise and unerring.

The first stab pierced someone's cheek from behind, and the victim screamed in pain, trying in vain to break free; the blade took control of him as it passed through his flesh and blood.

Immediately, Khalil twisted his right wrist, and the tremendous force caused the second blade to burst through his jaw and out through the top of his head.

Blood spurted out as he narrowed his eyes and licked his lips in satisfaction.

"Back!"

Someone shouted in the darkness, but Kahlil would not give them another chance.

He never showed mercy, and he would not miss an opportunity.

Gently pulling the blade from the wound, he stepped back and with a sharp kick of his right leg, he kicked the lifeless body so hard that it flew through the air and crashed into the middle of the chaotic crowd, who instantly fell across the room.

A few of the lucky ones had already changed their bullets and cautiously pulled the triggers, flames erupting from the muzzles of their guns, illuminating the darkness and bringing a grinning monster into their field of vision.

Kahlil began to glide - his stride moving him lightly through the darkness, and he didn't even need to be distracted to easily dodge those fear-wrapped bullets.

It was too easy, too simple.

Killing......To him, the event was as natural as breathing.

He lunged forward, thrusting his right hand out, the blade arcing and drawing blood, then lunged forward again, forcing one man's head to bend with a kick.A crunching sound rang out, and Khalil let go with a laugh.

Pausing, he twisted his wrist, stabbing through the eye and back of the brainstem, then stirred.Drawing the blade, he stabbed the other man in the throat.Bending to avoid the cradle, he sliced the soft throat of his attacker with his backhand.

Throwing his left hand, he allowed the weapon to impale one man's chest, then immediately turned and used his free left hand to rip the cartilage and windpipe from the slashed throat.

"Ah......"

The monster smiled and stopped where it was, shaking its grip on the slimy flesh and blood and shaking its head, taking a deep breath as if it were quite comfortable.

"Three more to go."

He spoke softly, clearly counting the number of enemies, but not looking at the trembling gang members who had caught a whiff of foul-smelling urine mixed with the telltale scent of blood.

Moments later, another scream ripped through the church, and a low laughter echoed off the walls as they died.

Between the overstuffed pews, the head of the priest stared wordlessly into the darkness, watching indifferently.

The dead made no comment.