It was a dark and stormy night.
Unlike most Backborn, Niliav was used to such weather. Having left the Endless City all these years ago, he was one of the many people who joined Boveta when the town was created.
Out of all the advantages the city of Level 650 had, the presence of a circadian cycle was one of the most overlooked. Yet, to Niliav, it was one of the most important.
After all, few paid attention to crime when it was shrouded in darkness.
Perhaps it was human nature that made them so eager to stay home after dusk, but Niliav knew very well this wasn't restricted to citizens.
At night, even the lawmakers felt like different people. More eager to do business. More open to tweak the law.
More open to monetary compensation.
In this domain, Niliav was a master, perhaps the most well-known in the Bovetan crime scene. While the heavy influence of the M.E.G. and the Eyes made questionable business difficult in the Main 12, here, in such a young city, the administration almost felt like it begged for it.
Why wouldn't they? Without the restraints of the so-called morality major groups put on wanderers, economic development suddenly became far easier. As a matter of fact, Boveta being six times the size of Base Alpha in only a few years proved the efficiency of such politics.
Of course, Boveta's newfound wealth was merely a side consequence of his activities. Much like any drug baron, Niliav sought personal enrichment. And in this field, he was a clear winner.
Why would he care if Snatcher Powder became a global health issue in the Backrooms, when he was gazing at the storm striking the rest of the town from his mansion? Fame, wealth, power, even the fitting nickname of the Snatcher Baron—all that he ever wanted was at his reach now.
A fitting, ironic name for someone overseeing such activities.
Wasn't his comfort worth the exploitation of the shabby masses? Wasn't Boveta's treasure worth having some desperate wanderers die of overdose?
Thunder cut Niliav from his thoughts. The storm was gaining in intensity. The baron groaned, moving to his large patio door to close the curtains.
Suddenly, before he even managed to grab the delicate silk, he heard a shattering sound behind him.
Turning back, Niliav noticed his glass of wine had fallen onto the floor, the liquor now tainting the elegant carpet he had imported from the Terror Hotel.
Niliav groaned again, cursing the heavy storm for messing with his fragile belongings.
As he started heading back to the table, however, another shattering sound cut his movement. Expecting yet another glass to have fallen from the shelf near the window, the baron turned again.
Immediately, he froze, now glancing at the patio door completely shattered, the curtains floating ominously as the rain started penetrating the living room.
Niliav cursed again, yet this time, an ominous thought started to form in his mind.
Was someone here trying to scare him off?
Of course, he had many enemies at this point. The few politicians he hadn't bribed, some B.N.T.G. investigators, and even vengeful clients who knew the source of their newfound struggle. Yet, none of these people could have realistically slid past the guard at the entrance, let alone gone unnoticed near the building and shattered the window.
Starting to worry, Niliav rushed to the phone, hoping security would be able to clear things out. He dialed the number one time, then another.
But no response came.
Putting the phone away, the baron started to feel watched, as if a thousand unnoticeable vengeful eyes all around him glanced at his situation, taunting him.
The gaze felt deeper and deeper with every minute. Niliav felt the presence scanning every part of himself. He felt it uncover his vision, his methods, and his feats.
It felt disgusted, almost revolted.
Despite the cold, stormy night outside, the air all around the baron felt hotter than ever, personifying a boiling rage from an era long gone.
It wasn't the cloaked justice. It felt familiar yet incorporeal, as if the seeking was the fruit of an event rather than a being.
Niliav still couldn't see the eyes, but he felt them more and more with each passing minute. It wasn't a singular force, let alone a divine judgment. It was something else. Something rotten, rancid, a presence born from pure, unfathomable hatred.
The baron kept turning around, desperately trying to define the presence.
Until he saw them.
Ghostly, deformed humanoid shapes, all displaying fury on their faces. Their skin looked melted, almost fusing with their torn togas, coming from an era long gone. Niliav attempted to scream, but no sound exited his mouth.
Slowly, the revenants swarmed all around him, getting closer and closer. The baron pleaded, but the figure didn't flinch, keeping their morbid march going.
As soon as one of the creatures touched him, Niliav let out a final scream, the cold grasp immediately burning his flesh. The ghosts all seized him before slowly going into the ground, bringing the wretched soul alongside him.
. . .
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