It was dark, as usual, and the rain was never-ending, as usual. It rained often in Nostramo, but there was no thunder or lightning, just a manic curtain of rain pouring down.

In Nostramo, the rain is just that, not natural, but sewage dumped from the upper nest by the nobles.

Between the cascading spires, countless heaters wait patiently.

They are not sentient, but they have been programmed to be, and all their lives they have waited for these rains, waiting for them to turn into condensed clouds, and at the end of their lives these rains would rise again, little by little, in a different form.

At the end of their lives, these rains would rise again, little by little, in a different form, passing through ancient machines, quietly transported between rumbling pipes, and finally transformed into warm air for the nobles, so that they could dance around the magnificent court in just human skin, without losing their poise.

That was the best way to describe the ecology of Nostramo: all the benefits belonged to the nobles, and the people in the lower nest deserved nothing more than to have their skin burned by the acid rain, to be haunted by the stench, and finally to be turned into rotting corpses in the gutter.

Khalil remained crouched on the massive gargoyle, cloaked so that the acid rain could not harm him; the stench was still acrid, but it was bearable.

He looked down, the chaos that met his eyes causing a cold smile to spread across his pale face.

It was no surprise to him that the Spectre had made the same mistake as every fledgling hunter - he had focused on the enemies in front of him and forgotten to pay attention to those still lurking in the darkness.

Neglect is always enemy number one.

Hunters may come and go in the darkness, but that doesn't mean the darkness embraces them. In fact, the darkness might turn into a monster and devour their flesh and blood.

Kalil stood up, his cloak blowing lightly in the wind; he had no intention of stepping in to help, just watching with cold eyes.

As he said, this was a solo hunt for the Spectre alone.

But...

He laughed coldly and shook his head, a deep cold blue light flickering in his eyes.

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

Escape.

On his hands and knees, he climbed onto the roof of one house after another, leaping from brick to brick, damp from the rain.

Sometimes little screams of nervous, frightened voices came from the bricks and mortar beneath him, but more often it was bullets that greeted him.

Occasionally he would fall, land in a puddle of garbage or dirty mud, then crawl out in a heap and keep running.

He never stopped for a moment.

But it didn't help, the pursuers behind him had been chasing him for most of the night, and for the moment it seemed they still had no intention of stopping.

They were in hot pursuit, relying on some sort of two-wheeled, fast-moving carrier to keep chasing him through the streets.The Spectre didn't know its name and didn't really care.He had more pressing matters to attend to at the moment.

The sound of gunfire was loud in the rain, and it never stopped.

Bullets whizzed by, grazing his scalp several times.

From the street beneath his feet came harsh shouts, mingled with the roar of engines, that, by the time they reached the Spectre's eardrums through the rain, no longer sounded like human voices.

The ghost didn't understand.

He didn't understand why they were so obsessed, or why they were so crazy, or how in the world they had such good eyesight while they were constantly high.

But......

Karyl wasn't wrong, the ghost thought.

He really should have kept quiet.

He killed the woman, but there's more to come. Karil told him to wipe out the whole gang, so he walked out the door of that room and started killing his way through the eerie three-story building.

It went so well that no one even noticed him.He took the warmth of life with him like a breeze blowing through a hallway.But he forgot one thing.

He forgot to close the window.

The torrential rain whistled in, and the gusts of wind blew against the window, causing it to slam against the wall, gradually soaking the floor with the sour-smelling rain, mixing with the blood as it seeped under the carpet and finally seeping through the floor and landing on someone's head.

It was here that things began to go wrong.

The moment the alarms and roars pierced the night, the Spectre realized that something was about to happen, his hunch had always been right, and he decided to leave immediately, but it was too late.

He was still being spotted.

At first, it was just a few scattered pursuers, but within minutes, there were more than three dozen.

Half an hour later, the number was in the triple digits. For the moment, the Spectre figured there were at least four gangs chasing him.

They didn't even know what the hell was going on, but they enjoyed using violence.

It's an acquired right, the opposite of being oppressed, the end of suffering.

They enter it contentedly, running wild through the darkness of the night, roaring with excitement for the flesh and blood of someone they have never met, all the while driving to extinction all the innocents they see along the way.

There is no need to follow.

It was like a carnival, and he wasn't one of the participants, he was just the prize of the carnival, so he started running.

Every human learns to walk and then learns to run, and of course he was no exception, he had learned to run a long time ago, without a teacher.

It was just that in the past, his superhuman strength had never allowed him to feel the fatigue of running.

Now the Spectre felt it.

His breathing became labored, his heart beating so fast that it was almost difficult to keep his body balanced between movements.

Rain fell from the sky, soaking his clothes and leaving winding lines on his pale skin.

Many of them even scratched the corners of his eyes and dripped down his chin.They would have caused searing pain to a normal human, but the Spectre felt nothing but warmth.

But he didn't want that.He didn't want to be warmed by them.

Running, the apparition involuntarily let out a low growl.

For the first second of the voice's appearance, he even made the mistake of thinking it was some monster roaring at him in the dark.

The next second he realized it was his own voice.

-- And then came the pain.

Sweeping down his back, it hurt like hell, so much that he could barely fight it, couldn't breathe, couldn't keep his mind calm.

Unable to keep his balance, his hands danced in the rain, and then he fell heavily onto a patch of asphalt.

I'm bleeding, the Spectre thought painfully.

He would not deny the harsh truth that blood was somehow indistinguishable from life, but he was powerless to stop her from leaving.

In a trance, the apparition actually heard their voices.

"Farewell, farewell, farewell. O foolish child, we are leaving you and the darkness will embrace you. Welcome it."

No. Don't go. Please.

Once again, the Spectre let out a muffled growl from his throat.

This was not the first time he had been hit by a bullet.

Back in the past, when the Spectre was still living off rats in one of the mines, the owner of the mine had shot him with an inferior weapon.

Seconds after the pellet had touched his flesh and blood and caused him pain, the Spectre, who couldn't even speak at the time, realized that he was being shot at.

He didn't even need to think about it; the event leapt from his mind, and then came more cold words - the type of weapon that had shot him, the caliber of the bullet, what he was supposed to do after being wounded.......

This time was no exception.

He slumped down on the cold roof, a few raw words popping into his head, one of which was something he desperately needed right now, but the Spectre didn't care, he just wanted to get up and keep walking.

That was the biggest mistake he had made tonight.

I must leave.

I must...... stay away from the darkness.

His thoughts were confused, and it was only after he felt a tugging sensation and a pain in his back so strong that it seemed as if even his flesh and blood were being torn apart, that the ghost snapped out of it.

And realized something.

The thing buried deep in the flesh and blood of his back was not a bullet.

"Got it!"

No.NO.I can't--

The Spectre's eyes widened and he let out a mournful growl, the pain clouding a blood-red mist before his eyes, and to make matters worse, something was pulling him down.

What was down there?

He doesn't know.

Was it the floor?Or a garbage can in a dirty alley?Or maybe it was the hundreds of gang members armed with guns waiting for him?

He didn't have time to think as he began to fall.The apparition landed heavily on the ground.He quickly got up and climbed back up the wall on his hands and knees, panicking and trying to escape.

"You can't get away!" someone laughed harshly. "Come and taste this, you bastard!"

The harsh sound of an engine came to life the next moment, and the pulling sensation struck again.

The Spectre growled as he was pulled away from the wall again, and out of the corner of his eye he saw three of the bipedal carriers that had been chasing him.

The pull he felt came from them.

"Kill it!"

Someone shouted violently from the dark alleyway entrance, "Skin it, hang it, and let it bleed to death!

"I want his head, I want his head!"

"Shoot it! Shoot it to break its legs! Let's see if it can still walk!"

"Might as well roast it, I want meat!"

Must go.

I must......Get out of here, out of the darkness.

Those two thoughts were the only ones floating around in a confused mind.The Spectre roared and flailed his arms, trying to keep the monsters away from him, but it didn't work.His hands glided through the air, his sharp nails piercing the walls and failing to touch any flesh or blood.

"It's still moving!" someone shouted.

"Then paint it!"

A sharp pain came, and then his consciousness faded into darkness.

The Spectre watched in despair.