"Please continue, nun." Chupani Moran said.

He sat in a crimson armchair with a curtain of light flickering in front of him, and a woman in a linen robe was frowning in the curtain.

She looked stern and old-fashioned, her hair was shaved clean, and her jaw was so square that it was doubtful that she had undergone adjustment surgery. A dark black national religion symbol was engraved on her forehead, and there seemed to be some kind of inexplicable connection with those dark brown eyes, forming a sense of intimidation that made people dare not look at each other.

"I don't have much more to say." The nun in the light curtain shook her head solemnly. "That's all I can tell you."

"Why? He's just a lowly pastor. Chupani asked disapprehantly.

The nun's face suddenly darkened, and she seemed to be very dissatisfied with this sentence.

"I advise you not to use the words low or high to describe a devout person, and the Reverend Horst is a well-known pious and ascetic."

In his 24 years as pastor, he has received invitations for promotion or transfer almost every year, but he has declined them all, except for the unsolicited application 11 years ago. He could have studied at the Pluto Monastery, but he would rather spread the glory of the God-Emperor to other more ignorant worlds."

Chupani Moran nodded, giving an apologetic smile. At the same time, he raised his right hand slightly, and gestured to one of the servants who was standing behind the light curtain, and the latter immediately left.

"I'm sorry, nun, I didn't know he was such a pious man. As a sign of my apologies, I'll be on Monday—"

"—I don't have to." The nun interrupted stiffly.

Chupani kept smiling and nodded slowly.

"You've donated so much to us in recent years, and I understand what you're doing, Chupani."

"It is for the sake of your mother and I that I tolerate you using our influence, and I have recently heard some rumors about the charity you opened. Until this matter is resolved, we will not accept any donations from the Moran family. ”

The curtain of light dissipated, but the smile on Chupani's face did not disappear. He slowly got up from his armchair and began pacing back and forth in his study.

The heavy carpet perfectly absorbed the sound of his footsteps, his white ankles looming under his robes, and the glow of the blazing fire in the nearby fireplace reflected on his skin a pearlescent white.

He slowly walked over to a full-length mirror trimmed with gold rim, and began to examine his face in the mirror, looking intoxicated, until a knock sounded behind him.

"Come in." Chupani Moran said softly.

The servant who had left earlier walked slowly behind him, but he was not alone. He was also holding a child in a white uniform, still looking dazed, unresponsive to what was happening at the moment.

Chupani looked at the girl in the mirror, and after a few seconds, the smile on his face grew slightly.

"That's it." He said slowly. "In addition, I have instructed that the ration for the next month should be increased."

"Understood, sir." The servant bowed his head in response, and let go of the hand holding the girl.

He immediately turned away, not even forgetting to close the door thoughtfully. In the study, the fireplace crackled, and the silver candlestick on the desk reflected the firelight, stretching Chupani Moran's shadow very long on the wall.

He stood there with a smile and stretched out his slender right hand to caress the face of the girl in the mirror, his expression slightly more intoxicated.

He turned and waved affectionately to the child.

"Come here, kid, let me take a good look at you." He called in a very soft voice, and the girl slowly responded to his request.

She seemed to be sluggish, or she simply couldn't think fully. She stiffened over to Chupani, who chuckled and crouched down and put his hands on her cheeks.

"What's your name, kid? How long have you been here at our charity home? Before you leave tonight, did your dear dean tell you where you are going? ”

The girl did not answer, she had long since lost the ability to speak, but her lips opened slightly. Chupani waited patiently for a few seconds, only to get a large cloud of saliva sliding down his lips.

The current ruler of the Moran family narrowed his eyes and stretched out his right hand with a little displeasure, grabbing the ball of saliva before it hit the ground. Immediately after, he raised his right hand and placed his wet palm over the girl's face.

His slender fingers were slightly open, encompassing the girl's entire face, and his nails were embedded in her flesh. The blood flowed slowly, but the girl was neither noisy nor noisy, still standing in place, without the slightest hint of resistance.

Chupani smiled at her, and suddenly waved his hand vigorously, and with some kind of tearing sound, he pounced excitedly, and the girl fell to the ground, staring at a glittering chandelier, twitching twice from time to time, and her pupils were already dilated.

For her, tonight is over, and so is her life. However, for Chupani Moran, tonight is still a long one, and he still has plenty of time to taste more delicious flavors

At least, that's what he thought before the screams rang out of his window.

He was too young to know that there was something other than monsters watching in the dark.

——

Tujea was already familiar with killing, and although he didn't kill many people, if a person walked the border between darkness and light for a long time, then he must have seen many things that ordinary people could not imagine.

The same is true of Tujea, who has seen many indescribable ways to die, and if he had to pick out the most horrific one, he would probably choose the AX-I-32 neurotoxin, the victim of which will turn into a pool of melted blood in a matter of minutes.

This weapon was clearly not very practical for the Assassins who really needed to assassinate in public, and as a result, it fell behind in the race for the standard weapons in one of the worlds.

Its creator couldn't understand this, so he went crazy and poured the toxin into the water circulation system of the lower nest.

By the time Tujea found him, he had already committed suicide, so the case had to be hastily closed. On the way back to report to the chief, he had nightmares for months on end, as he saw people screaming and melting in the streets.

In those dreams, he could only watch them die forever, drowning in blood little by little, he had seen such a terrible hellscape, he thought that he would not be swayed by any ordinary killing scenes, he was wrong.

Because what Astarte, who called himself Zel, did was not killing, but slaughtering.

He didn't use a gun, he didn't use a knife, he just kept shuttling in the dark. Tujea couldn't even see his shadow, and could only tell which direction his collaborators were in by screaming incessantly, and then chased after him to see a corpse.

Trained soldiers with heavy firepower, automatic turrets, and heavy armor lay motionless in their own blood, and the only thing Tujea could do was run past them with his gun in hand, chasing the next scream.

He had completely put aside thinking about it and turned himself into a pure running machine. Wherever there was screaming, it was where he was going.

Confused about the status quo? It doesn't matter, just run over it.

I don't understand what the hell this Zell wants to do? No problem, just run.

Can't imagine the consequences of breaking into a nobleman's territory in the middle of the night and going on a killing spree? It's okay, the worst outcome is death

Panting, Tujea climbed a flight of stairs and clinged to the white walls to a small square with sculptures and fountains.

He'd finally caught up with it, and the battle here wasn't over yet—or rather, it was nearing the end. Zell had already taken the last Moran family guard still standing.

The man struggled, and the fully covered helmet with night vision activated glowed white. In the last moments before he died, he finally saw the true face of the monster who had killed them with great speed.

And this does not bring about semi-decomposition, but rather evokes deeper fear. A few seconds later, his head was thrown to the ground by Zell with his head crooked, and Tujea hurriedly opened his mouth to save him, fearing that he would leave in an instant.

"What the hell are we doing?"

"Curse." Zell said.

He stood still, flicking his hands gently so that the blood could escape from the sharp armor. Tujea stared at the bladed ten fingers, falling into an awkward silence.

He didn't know how to answer Zel's words, curse? Of course he knew that there was something wrong with the family, but at least he had to pay attention to some evidence, right?

He didn't ask the question, but his eyes already revealed his true thoughts. Zell chuckled, and like a gust of wind, it blew past him, and disappeared in place, leaving only a slightly cold word.

"Some things don't leave a trace, investigator. In other words, sometimes, you have to trust your instincts a little more. ”

But what if your instincts are wrong? You can't just rely on gut instinct! Tujea shouted in the direction he had left.

"I can't be wrong." Zell said. "It's the dead who are speaking to me, not my intuition"

Another scream rang out again, and Tujea finally cursed in indignation, turned around, and began to climb another staircase. He really couldn't understand why the Moran family had designed so many staircases in their domain.

Above him, the moonlight pierced through the ecological dome and silently landed beside him, bringing with it four other tall black shadows. They stood at the top of the Moran family's 'mountain', coldly looking down on all the blood below.

"Find him." One of the shadows said hoarsely. "Let him repent."

(End of chapter)

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