Memories of a Psychopath
In all his days after his ascension, thousands of years of service to the Emperor, and even long after, Kulstov had always hated the many suns he saw. In Nostramo, the sky was mercifully dark all year round. The people were used to it, and in the midnight streets of the great city, criminals seethed like a swarm of rats. The Night Haunter had struck back with godlike power and seemingly magical technology, but some had always slipped through the gaps. Among those degenerate few, Kulstov, a killer since the age of ten, had stalked the streets.
Kulstov didn’t know what had happened to him, but he knew that something was broken from a very young age. When another child had stolen his favorite toy, he strangled her in a strangely impassive way, watching the girl’s face and lips turn blue in the cool night air.
Nostramo was filled to the bursting, both with criminals and their victims and the homeless unfortunates that littered the streets, and by the time he was a year ol