Acid rain pours down, and Enric Barbatos swears to Terra that it's the most psychedelic cityscape he's ever seen in his life.

Neon lights cut through thick dark purple clouds, eerie minarets cascading into the distance, frantically shouted and terrifying cries beneath their feet. These two sounds mingled with the sound of gunfire, making the world treacherous and crazy, like the bell before the imminent destruction.

He let out a grunt from his throat.

"What's the instructions?" A man asked behind him. "Company Commander Enric?"

Enric didn't need to look back to find out who it was - the company's former master of swordsmanship, Richtenar. Frankly, however, Enric doesn't really want to meet him right now, let alone talk to him.

Richter was a serious, persistent, old-fashioned and serious man. He didn't resemble most of the members of the Eighth Legion, but the reason Enric didn't want to meet him wasn't because of his serious nature, but because he didn't want to speak at all.

But he had to answer.

"It's fine." Enric said in the communication channel. "Just thinking."

"I see."

Richter replied simply, and fell silent.

He's always been like that—when he's not fighting or involving scenes where he needs to speak, he's able to whisper a lot like a soldier of the Eighth Legion.

Staring down at the hellish scene below, Enric couldn't help but ask himself.

What kind of world is this? He thought. Why did man fall to this point without any reason?

After a brief orbital descent, the 20,000 men of the Eighth Legion scattered to begin their 'feast'. They are no strangers to it, and it is better to say that it is what they have been doing all along, as well as scattered skirmishes like this.

However, Nostramo is different.

Nostramo was different from all the battles they had fought before, and all the sins they had experienced were different.

"I thought I knew how to spell the word sin."

Enric smirked mockingly, and without warning, leaped off the spire where it roost.

Raindrops swept through his eyepieces, visual readings swept in rows, and behind him there was the sound of the hunting wind, which was Richter's voice. He'll be with Enric tonight.

But how?

The hive, called Quintus, was in a frenzy, and his brothers were shuttling between the upper and lower hives, and the cursing and whispering in the communication channels never stopped.

The once taciturn soldiers of the Eighth Legion began to describe the scenes they had seen in their communication channels—hellish scenes.

Fragmented corpses.

A nobleman who was carried away by the potion and smeared with fat powder and danced among the naked dead.

Hanging limbs wrapped in black cloth in the butcher's shop.

The people outside the corpse incineration plant don't look like ghosts, not like ghosts, and the gangs of ghouls

And the children, the children who were used as soldiers.

Enric landed calmly on the top of a building. Beneath the helmet, his expression was indescribable.

"Richter, what do you think?" He asked succinctly. "In your opinion, how do we move within this nest called Quintus?"

"Eleven discrete squads are already clearing the nest, my company commander."

Richter stubbornly addressed Enric as a company commander, and after landing, his right hand rested on the hilt of the power sword at his waist.

The Eighth Legion did not like to use guns very much when it came to infiltrating operations.

"Yes - so what? Give me more advice, Richter. ”

"I'm not your lieutenant anymore."

So says the old-fashioned man. "So I can't give you any more advice unless you're willing to be reinstated."

"That's tomorrow, and the original will tell us what to do at tomorrow's meeting – so stop being a clinger, Richter."

Enric crouched down, his gloomy blue armor fading into the night.

There are some crazy people running around in the streets, running from one alley to another. They roared a hissing phrase, brandished guns or knives in their hands, and smeared their faces with blood.

Staring at them, Enric caught a unifying character—the men had carved it into his forehead, so deeply that it was from where the blood began to spread throughout his face.

"Those words."

Richter seemed to be able to read his heart, and the Gothic whispered softly in the night. "My company commander. Have you noticed? ”

"Of course I noticed."

Enric stood up calmly, power armor humming. He turned to the other side of the building and watched as a madman ran into an alley.

"A cult?" Richter asked softly.

"Not necessarily. But I have reservations. Adbeeman of the Third Company said that he had encountered a spectacle in another hive, and I shielded him without listening to his detailed description. But I don't think it's going to be much better than other people's narratives. It's a hell star, Richter. Does the cult also have a place to survive here? ”

"People always need faith."

"People?"

Enric laughed, his voice hoarse from the exuberance of the rage, and rustled in the voice channel: "You call these things human? ”

"Judging by physical appearance alone. Yes. Richter said noncommittally, and then jumped off the building.

He already knew what his company commander wanted to do, and this tacit understanding didn't even need to be communicated in words.

Enric followed, and they landed silently at the mouth of the gloomy alley.

The loud sound was almost silent by the several cushions in the fall, and the frenzied rain curtain and the shattering echoes not far away helped them to eliminate the sound to some extent.

In the darkness, they stood silently, watching their prey approach from another alleyway.

The latter was shirtless, his naked body was very thin, and his arms were full of needle holes left by the injection.

He had a miserable white face, his dark eyes fluttering wildly, and the blood on his forehead made the color of his face messy and abstract, like the painting of a mad man.

Without much words, Enric reached out and grabbed him.

The latter was frightened at first, and then, after catching a glimpse of Eric's tall body with the help of the little light that remained, he actually calmed down again.

The cultist began to cry and laugh, and the dagger in his hand was pressed against his forehead to deepen the line of inscription, and blood flowed out, but his hand became heavier and heavier each time, and did not stop at all.

Richter stepped forward and pinched his throat, ending his pathetic life. Enric placed the corpse by the wall, then crouched down, staring at the bloody mess of his forehead, remembering the alien lines of writing.

"Cult."

Richter said.

"And most of them worship an image of death, which may be very similar in height to us, otherwise he would not have been so calm when he saw her."

"You're still as fond of guessing as ever."

"What is to be done with just a reasonable possible speculation about the company commander based on the available facts? Track down this cult? In my experience, the cults within these nests always lead to some great darkness. ”

"You don't have as much experience as I do."

Enric shook his head, carefully observing every detail of the corpse. But he did not forget to continue his dialogue with Richter. "It stands to reason that there shouldn't be only one kind of cult here."

“.”

"It's not a small nest, Richter. To be honest, I really don't understand why the world is the way it is. ”

"In the past, we have witnessed a depravity that is traceable, even if the slave catchers who borrowed merchant ships as cover were only for money. But what about Nostramo? ”

"There's no trace of madness here, it seems to have been there since ancient times. But it's not like we haven't seen the creations of technology, have we? Even the ubiquitous air filters are unattainable on some planets."

With a slight sigh, Enric sighed.

"Why should they be depraved when they could have become better?"

“.”

Richter did not answer.

Enric frowned slowly.

Richter's reticence is time-split, and now is not the time for him to be silent.

What's the situation?

Enric breathed calmly, but his right hand resting on his knee began to move backwards little by little. He had a blaster at his waist that was firmly stuck in the belt of his armament and could not be moved unless he reached for it.

Enric's movements stopped.

He hadn't touched the gun - he'd done it a million times, and he couldn't be more familiar with his gun, but

He didn't touch his gun.

No, there is nothing there.

What his fingers were touching at the moment was dazed air, not a solid grip.

"Vengeful Spirit."

A voice rang out in the gloomy alley, a little thoughtful. Then came the sound of the blaster's magazine being unloaded, which Enric was so familiar that he couldn't mishear it.

He stiffened to his feet, turned his head slowly, and saw a giant more than twice his height staring at him with his head down.

Richter leaned against the wall behind him, silent and silent, his right hand still resting on the hilt of his sword, but not withdrawn. That posture was quite embarrassing, and through the power armor, people could intuitively feel his emotions at the moment.

"Lord Lohars."

Enric bowed his head in greeting.

"Why are you here?"

"In a sense, this hell is my home – so why can't I be here?"

"You're going to this dinner too?"

"I was invited, wasn't I? You were there when I was invited, Enric. ”

Carlil chuckled and handed the blaster back to Enric, "I'm sorry, but it was a shame to take your weapon. I don't want to hear the loud sound of this firearm in Quintus tonight. ”

Enric struggled to reach for his gun, and with a click, he reloaded the magazine and put it back on the belt around his waist.

"So, vengeful spirits?" He asked. "What does that mean? Can you reveal a little bit about that? ”

"That line." Carlil lifted his chin. "The words he himself carved on his forehead are in the Nostramo language, called Vengeful Spirit."

"Vengeful Spirit?" Enric repeated. "A cult?"

"If you look at it by strict standards, yes, a cult. However, this cult was not established for a short time, not even two weeks. ”

"They worship this vengeful ghost?" Enric asked, his tone a little solemn.

"Yes. They saw it as an omnipotent, ubiquitous incarnate of killing, a tall ghost that only haunted the darkness, and it was interesting that they didn't understand the word revenge in front of the ghost's name. ”

Carlil chuckled, "They don't know who their revenge is. Isn't that interesting? ”

I have no idea what the criteria for this to be interesting are, sir. Enric's stomach sneered.

But that doubt returns.

Who exactly is Carlil Lohals?

"Are you familiar with Nostramo?"

"What, you want me to show you around?"

"If you say that, you're right."

"Take the honorific title away, and I will promise you." Carlil chuckled, his expression relaxed, but his tone calm. "I don't really like people talking to me with honorifics."

"Karil Lohals?"

"Carlil, or Lohals. Calling your full name is a bit too dignified, isn't it, Enrique Barbatos? ”

The tall giant chuckled, leaped to his feet in the next moment, and disappeared into the alley. His voice sounded above them: "Come along, Enric, Richter. I will keep my promise. ”

The former commander of the Eighth Company of the Eighth Regiment looked at his adjutant and silently began to climb.

They can't jump that high.

——

Frankly, if you ask, Enric will be straightforward.

But now no one asks.

So, he just thought it was a little ridiculous - a giant of such power lived in such a dilapidated mansion?

With his back to them, Carriel spoke, his tone still calm and unable to hear much.

"How? The first stop on the tour of Quintus. ”

"Where is this, Carlil?" Enric paused for a moment, ended his words, and swallowed the honorific title that was about to blurt out later.

His actions made the giant smile, and the emotion of approval was obvious, but for some reason Enric felt a strange emotion cross his heart.

He grabbed it in anger and threw it to the other side.

"It's a shelter—or rather, a dilapidated house that I made with my own hands from the scraps I picked up. Well, although I think it's a house, one of the last few visitors insisted that my craftsmanship was very poor. ”

He laughed again. And at this moment, neither Enric nor Richter understood whether Carlil was joking or not.

But the giant did not explain.

"See that door?" Carlil asked softly.

Of course they saw it – how could they not see it? The door was so conspicuous that it stood out abruptly and strangely alongside the tattered tin sheets and wooden planks.

Seemingly, you're not as bad as you say, Carlile. The door looks very sturdy. ”

Enric heard his lieutenant, his former lieutenant, say this. Richter's tone was calm, but, out of familiarity with him, Enric could fully hear the stagnant feeling of not knowing what to say.

"Really?" Carlil asked thoughtfully. "Thank you for the compliment, Richter. But this door is not my work. I don't have the skills to make such a door. ”

He stepped forward and wiped the surface of the gate with his hand. On the door panel, which had been blackened by the muddy acid rain, a black fist clenched in the white paint suddenly appeared.

“.”

If it weren't for the helmet, Enric would have wanted to rub his eyes now.

What did he see?

"Is that the logo of the former Seventh Legion, now the Imperial Fist, Lord Carlil?"

Richter asked very quickly, blurting out and adding back the honorific title. But Carlil didn't bother this time. He turned and nodded calmly. "Yes."

"The Fists of the Empire have been to Nostramo before us?"

The sword master of the Eighth Company slowly clenched the hilt of his sword at his waist. "My lord, can we get an explanation?"

"They haven't come, their original body has been." Carlil replied briefly.

After a moment of silence, Enric took a deep breath of filtered air, and Richter's body began to sway.

How could they not hear the hint behind this statement?

And Carlil continued.

"The Emperor and several of his sons have been here before you. Why, you don't know? Didn't anyone inform you about this? ”

"No, Carlil." Enric said bitterly. "We don't know anything about anything other than the original gene has been found."

"Hmm"

Carlil chuckled and shook his head, "This is more than I expected. ”

He went to the side of the building without paying much attention, his back to them. Taking advantage of this opportunity, Richter quickly stepped forward and began to take a closer look at the sturdy door.

Enric wanted to join him, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Carlil turning.

Richter, there is nothing to observe at that door. It's just a door. Carlil said with a laugh. You don't have to look so closely."

The sword fighting master of the Eighth Legion stiffened his back sharply.

"I've only been interested in architecture and design lately."

Using the crepe high gothic grammar, he began to utter a long list of things that sounded like a headache for Enric.

"I think this door is really a rare treasure, made by a primordial person, so I really can't press the pursuit of beauty in my heart, please forgive me for offending this door."

Richter has certainly had some interest in architecture and design lately." Enric said bitterly that he had been stuck in his speech so many times tonight that he couldn't believe it.

But, in any case, proper cover-up is necessary, otherwise, the scene will be too embarrassing.

Carlil smiled, shook his head, didn't say anything, and skimmed the topic lightly. Richter glanced gratefully at his company commander, but Enrique's face under his helmet was bitter.

However, Carlil didn't let the bitterness last long.

"I have something I want to ask you." He spoke calmly. "Mind talking to me, Enrique, Richter?"

35,000, 90,000 words and 30 more, which means that there are still 55,000 words left to be returned.

There's still a chapter later, don't wait, I'm really slow to change.

(End of chapter)