Spectre of the Sinner - Zetro Translation

Poorly illuminated near-decrepit buildings messily lined the degraded winding pathways, reminiscent of a medieval version of the infamous pre-war favelas. The snaking, decayed cobblestone paths were littered with unholy messes of refuse that the city’s officials have long given up on addressing with any meaningful measures, creating what could be dubbed a humanitarian disaster in the making.

Inhabiting such sorry sights were the downtrodden dwellers, whose existence was reflective of the nature of their dwellings: a life abundance of misery, violence, addiction, and uncertainty. Laborious gentlemen meticulously worked over the drunken drinkers of cheap taverns, making sure that they were clean of anything of valuables before leaving them deep in slumber in an undressed state. Occasionally a bar brawl between hot-headed intoxicated chaps would erupt, creating a lively party of carnage where the aggressively lucky one prevailed over their opponent in a rule-less scuffle. Mixing in between were the scenes of spouses spiritedly engaging in contests of cruelty, trying to outdo each other in how much abuse of both the physical and emotional variety can hurl into each other, leaving the children in a reluctant referee role. Further contributing a musical note to the severely out-of-tune musical were the epics of gang wars where armed men danced in a blood ritual dedicated to the almighty [High Patriarch of War], bathing the sacrificial altar with the blood and corpses of slain men.

“Bém-vindo ao Complexo,” a nostalgic sigh quietly escaped from my mouth as I sneaked my way through the chaotic scenes, “ước gì lôi được thằng Tau theo cùng hỉ? Chắc hắn sẽ vui mừng đến phát khóc đây, hahaha.”

At this point, some of you may have the same question to throw at me. Please rest easy, for this I already have the answer in his hand: as a member of the [Shadow Guild], albeit from over 200 years ago, navigating my way to a base under the [Guild’s] jurisdiction was a piece of cake for me. Things may have changed for better or worse, yet certain things would still stay the same no matter what, and right now I was relying on that to make my way toward my objective without using the little [Burevestnik].

The destination for tonight’s work soon appeared in my peripheral vision, forcing me to terminate my one-sided attempt at alleviating the boredom. At first glance, the target building looked barely different from the surrounding structures, making casual observers likely to miss it entirely. Yet the surrounding atmosphere was different: a kind of unusual chokingly stillness enveloped the property, one that drove away the weak-willed from approaching closer. The façade was the first clue to discerning its otherness: despite looking as decayed as the neighboring estates, the building’s wall showed traces of regular maintenance that was cleverly disguised as molds and cracks, thus masking it from the prying eyes. The next thing to notice was that the windows were slammed shut and heavily barricaded, hardly letting any sunlight reach the interior during the day, again, perfect for hiding away the occupants and contents from the outside world. Meanwhile, the wooden entrance looked somewhat battered with rough fixing patches could be seen, indicating that it had suffered quite a bit due to the nature of visiting guests.

“Now then, what should I do next,” I pondered over my potential options as I looked at the four seemingly sleeping vagrants suspiciously scattered at either end of this particular section of the alleyway, “I’m not into any unnecessary bloodshed, yet there’s a chance that things would go pear-shaped as soon as I disabled my camouflage. Tough choices, isn’t it?”

Then as if answering my worries, a hooded figure walked in from the other side of the pathway. Even with the hood obscuring their face, I could sense their wariness toward the laying vagabonds as they proceeded toward the sorry-looking door. Being the opportunist I was, I sneaked toward the gray-robed stranger as they handed their cross-shaped pendant through a hidden trap door.

As I closed my steps toward the grey mantle-wearing figure, a somewhat familiar perfume lightly wafted in the air. As I racked my brain trying to recall whose fragrance was, a recognizable murmuring leaked from the stranger, alerting me to their true identity. Good thing that my efforts in cultivating the required skill during the last 200 years odd on [Earth] weren’t in vain.

After a short while of tense waiting, the battered-looking door was open, revealing an intimidating-looking uncle in his mid-40s. I know the damn irony here, so please keep that to yourself, folks.

Sporting a chiseled gash near his chin, he cautiously scanned the surrounding before handing back the pendant to the lady.

“Welcome to the [Shadow], Miss [Dreamspeaker],” the uncle welcomed the hooded lady and this hidden uninvited guest in.

As we progressed further inside, it seemed that the ground floor was sparsely decorated with appropriately looking furniture befitting the image of a household located in the slum or, in other words, a ruse to deceive the eyes of the novices. Besides the door-guarding uncle, a couple of presences were quietly enjoying a game of cards, whose position got mapped by my mental map. After all, one cannot be so reckless when in the wolves’ den, lest being dogpiled on and mauled to death.

At the tail end of what looked like the kitchen, the hooded lady in front of me stopped her steps and started to scan across the floor, clearly searching for something. Using the pendant as a minesweeper tool of sorts, she carefully searched the Southwestern corner of the space, using the faint flickering of a candle at the entrance to guide her steps while muttering a prayer-like chant, except for the fact that it was conducted in a cant-like language.

Soon, a spot on the wooden floor started to faintly glow in a skull-like pattern, opening a hole that was large enough to comfortably fit a human adult. My unwitting lady companion gulped at the surreal sight, and after a moment of deliberation, she stepped down the stairs, prompting me to silently follow suit. Just before the hole closed on its own, I applied the first of many zoning talismans to prevent any unwanted traffic.

As we touched down the last stairstep, what welcomed our presence was the scenery that was practically lifted straight out of a fantasy noir work. First-time arrivals would be jarred by the cozy, well-equipped tavern-like space, which sharply contrasted against the dreary and decayed feeling of the building that housed this establishment. The air was thick with the warm smell of colitas, smoke, and alcohol. Occupying the multitude of high-quality furniture were the members of the [Guild], whose figures were seen either enjoying a drink of their liquor of choice, stoning on a whiff of cannabis, quietly shuffling cards, or conversing about their latest exploits and newest information in a hushed tone. At the other end of the space lay the well-stocked bar stand, where clients either got served their favorite booze or received details about their upcoming contracts from a handful of gorgeous lady bartenders.

Sensing there was no need to hide her face anymore, the lady with the callsign [Dreamspeaker] undid her hood, revealing her lustrous braided purple hair, attracting the gaze of the patrons of both sexes. The full body-length grey robe couldn’t diminish her lady charm, for her naturally salacious sashay captivated the looks of every soul present in the pub. As much as I loved to enjoy the spectacle, especially her spicy hip-swaying, the tedious task of sealing off this space took priority.

After sneakily applying the zoning talismans, I headed toward the counter, aiming for the bartending brunette beauty, who was chatting with the grey-robed lady. Silently apologizing to both of them in advance for what I was about to unleash, I unsheathed the knife and prepared the bunch of rusted pendants.