And it came as promised. Carlil thought.

Standing at the top of a minaret, he looked down below.

Quintus always smells unbearably bad after the rain, and the rotten stench of acid rain is far from the limit.

The puddles on the pavement produce a more complex chemical smell after a short stop, and every detail inside the quintus pushes this smell to the top.

In a sense, rain falls can also represent a certain side of Nostramo – whenever you feel like that's the worst it can show you, it always gives you a piece of the worst.

It's as if the world is conscious, deliberately mocking you in this way.

However, for Carlil, what really made him unbearable at the moment was not the complicated and bad smell, but a kind of chaos that ordinary people could not detect.

The latter is even more unbearable than the former.

He looked silently at another block three hundred meters away, where gunfire was already ringing out.

The purge has come as promised, and the families that promised a place in the nest are gone, but the gangs clearly have no intention of abandoning this glorious tradition. Tonight's gunfire was louder than every night before, and the whole city was in a frenzy.

A thought arose in Carlil's mind.

They need it.

Shaking his head slightly, he leaped down the spire and down a dark alley.

He didn't need to look to know what was on the street beyond the alley - patrolling gang members were patrolling their territory with guns in hand. Few of them remained sane, and the smell of hallucinogens filled the air.

Carlil slowly came to the mouth of the alley, and he stepped over a sinkhole, clinging to the wall, and it was silent. His breathing was barely noticeable, and his tall body was completely hidden in the darkness. No one noticed his arrival.

But...... He wants them to be aware.

So he came out of the darkness.

Several pale faces spotted him, their dark eyes full of dullness - a direct and naked danger signal suddenly appeared in their minds, filled with drugs and primal impulses such as violence.

Their brains began to scream, roaring in an attempt to get them away. But they don't have a chance anymore.

"Good evening." Carlil said.

His voice was soft, but loud enough for everyone on patrol to hear. There were forty-seven of them, and they all heard his voice.

The next thing to do, it's very simple.

Charge forward, grab the weapon, bend it, and throw it out, killing a person trying to escape.

Continuing to lunge forward, he twisted two skulls, carefully kicked and crooked the spine of one of them, and then stomped on his throat to save him from pain.

Backwards, elbow strikes, shattering two hearts. Duck your head to dodge the incoming bullets, jump up, and strike again. And the palm into a knife, slash horizontally, stab, slash......

Slaughter.

A minute later, Carlil was the only one standing.

It's not enough.

He turned his head, sighed, and rushed into the bottom of the spire where he had stood, in the most flamboyant way possible.

The walls became powder, and he rushed out of them.

The gangs who heard the movement and wanted to come out to support instinctively looked this way, but their eyesight only had time to catch a fleeting shadow. Then, before they could shoot, they heard a greeting.

"Good evening."

Gunfire erupted – followed by another three minutes of death.

Carlil stood in the middle of the mess and nodded thoughtfully. The terrible smell of burnt metal mixed with synthetic chemicals rushed into his nostrils, but the smell of blood, too strong, overwhelmed everything.

The first gang ...... Solved.

How many more?

A number came to mind, and Carlil laughed - purges usually lasted three or four days, and one night was not enough for Quintus' gang to solve what they wanted to solve.

However, for Carlil, one night was enough.

He lowered his head and glanced at his blood-stained hands.

Killing to stop killing is not the answer, he couldn't be clearer about it.

The first thing to do in order for Nostramo to change completely is to establish an order that is still understandable. At least it can't be worse than it is now, and to do that will take decades of hard work.

It's always a hundred times harder to build than to destroy.

But he doesn't have time now.

In a sense, the huge ship that stayed in the orbit of Nostramo at this moment changed everything. Carlil couldn't see for good or bad for the time being, but one thing was clear to him.

In any case, it can't be worse than now.

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

"The tiger enters the flock."

Roger Dorn shook his head: "With this speed, this efficiency, is he planning to clean up this nest all night?" ”

"Maybe it is."

Ferus Manus nodded noncommittally. "He's cleared six gangs in the last fifteen minutes, and they simply can't stop it."

Their conversations echoed through the room, with two giants standing to the left and right of a long table, holographic projections casting a blue light on the room. A red dot is rapidly moving within the nest of eerie spires and stacked buildings.

"Did you persuade him?" Dorn asked after a moment of silence.

"I just said I could help." Ferus replied calmly.

That's all, but he refused. I guess he thinks that the new order brought about by power is not so different from the existing one in this nest, at least the workers can't tell the difference, they just think that we are another institution that rules by violence. ”

"In a way......" Dorne shook his head. We are. ”

"But what he's doing now is no different from using violence to destroy everything."

Ferus couldn't help but sigh, and in front of him was a delicate pitch-black box, made of wood, with detailed carvings on the surface.

"He's from Nostramo."

Roger Dorn clasped his hands together and carefully observed the movement of the red dot on the holographic projection. "It's a small difference that can change a lot of things," he said. ”

"He created an image."

Ferus frowned: "An image of fear, a vengeful ghost - act in the darkness to avenge those who have died in vain...... When Conrad told me about it, I thought he was telling some kind of ancient legend, but I didn't expect it to be true. ”

"So what?" Dorne asked, staring at his brother as he asked the question.

"So, what can an image change?" Ferus replied slowly.

"Is it possible that an image can awaken those who are numb? Conrad had talked about the flames, but I had no idea how the flames were going to keep burning in a world of heavy rain. ”

"Promethium."

“...... What? ”

Dorne nodded calmly and slowly at his brother, his chin raised so convincingly, "Promethium flames." ”

Ferrus's expression finally became a little strange, and he took a deep breath, "Is this a joke, Rogge?" ”

"I'm not kidding."

"But the flame I just described doesn't exist in the real world, it's not a real flame, it's a spirit or a will to rebel or something like that — you can't contradict me with promethium."

"I can."

"I can't."

"I've already refuted it."

Roger Dorn said seriously. "Promethium flames do burn in the rain – and why do you assume that the kind of flame he ignites can't burn in the rainstorm of Nostramo?"

"Because ......"

Ferus was stunned - yes, why?

He lowered his head, thought for a moment, and then agreed with his brother's words, "Maybe you're right, Rogge. ”

"Nope."

Roger Dorn shook his head at this moment, his reaction made Ferus frown, a little confused.

"I don't know if I'm right, I'm just making a hypothesis, Ferus."

"Hypothetical?"

"Yes, whether he will succeed or not, we can't have an answer. The complexity of Nostramo is also a rarity for us in our lives. ”

"Actually, you and I both know how a world that feeds on people and even forms a culture should be dealt with under normal circumstances. If it weren't for Conrad's obvious desire to renovate this place......"

He stopped, and Ferus nodded silently.

"Anyway—"

Dorn propped his hands on the table and stared at the holographic projection. "—let's talk about something else, it's always strange to talk about a one-and-a-half-year-old trying to transform a world like this."

"He's not without helpers."

"His helpers are far more pessimistic than him." Dorne said with a blank face. "And his helpers who are about to arrive...... Their thoughts are probably not very positive. ”

"Conrad is their genetic proto."

"It's not like I've been refuted by my adjutant."

Dorne shook his head. "Everyone has their own ideas, and it would be sad to have any idea of what is right or wrong just because of obedience to the father of genes."

"That's true—but are you alluding to the possibility that the Eighth Legion might launch a purge directly against all of Nostramo, Rogge?"

"I'm not alluding, that's what I think...... And as soon as they arrive, we're leaving. ”

Dorne's expression became a little serious, he frowned, and his eyes under his short gray and white hair narrowed slightly: "Do you think a one-and-a-half-year-old child can resist his criminal sons?" ”

Ferus was silent for a moment, then chuckled.

"Don't worry, Rogge."

Met Dorne's puzzled eyes, Ferus let the smile on his face that should have been fleeting linger for a little longer.

"Conrad is very perceptive—Fogan would agree with me on that," he said. And, even if it happens, it is impossible for Karil Lohals to remain indifferent. ”

"That's what I'm worried about." Roger Dorn said with a blank face.