Готовый перевод Его не звали, но он приперся / They never called, yet he is here: Глава 24

Chapter 24

A fairy tale speaking fast, but it is not a quick thing to do a job. Especially if this case turned out to be the elimination of an obscure, but directly reeking of all sorts of chthonic creepiness cult, nesting very close to the top of the city's elite. There is something to sweat over, something to twist out the contents of the stomach, and there are plenty of things to arrange beautiful and spectacular exterminatus, a lot of.

Believe me, for I have spent the last three weeks gathering information about the cult, and I can hardly keep myself from acting rashly. With equal frequency, ten times a day I wanted to flee the city in terror, or, on the contrary, to rush into battle, ignoring all the possible consequences. In any case, I looked very sleep-deprived and discontented, for I had to work in the laboratory and the shop, even though most of the trading was done by Grandfather and his little helper. I just told them that I had found an interesting theory that I was testing right now. And the fact that I'm either asleep or absent upstairs, it doesn't matter. As long as you keep your mouth shut, everything else remains the same.

If the old man suspected something bad, he did not comment, and from his dreams and clairvoyant clues I was sure that he would not be the first to run to the guards, and the children would explain the need not to talk to them. They understood the latter even without him. I've already told you that they are a clever couple, for their age.

I was concentrating entirely on uncovering the fun-loving circle of no-fun interests that had stretched its tentacles very far into the guts of this city. Joking aside, I now realize how dangerous these fellows are, and not just in combat. I must digress here and briefly recount what I know so that you can get a sense of the stench of the shit in which the whole Kraj and its people are caught up.

The base of the cult consisted almost entirely of members of the criminal and mercantile apparatus, even though the biggest shots belonged to the administrative apparatus or the few "upper-class and noble," of which there were very few here and without any cults. Most of those who cooperated with the cult appeared to be untainted at all, or almost untainted by their strange magic. So, smudges and traces of nastiness, but their dreams were either almost peaceful, or there were only distant features of what had devoured and digested poor Dajua in less than a miserable month.

In fact, in nine cases out of ten, the cult recruited not with black crap, but with trivial money, threats, bribes, and favors. They didn't consider it a cult, either. It was more like another gang that was corrupting the shadowy traffic in the Kraj. Those who knew a little more considered them a kind of private club for the very, very best, where ordinary guys from the street are not allowed. All kinds of forbidden entertainment, smoking mixtures, illicit perversions, and other trappings of a secret society.

That's how most of the noble fell into their net. First just drinking and talking, then girls and orgies, then the orgies become bloody, and then you serve the cult without even realizing when it went wrong. Where exactly and at what stage the shitty parasite, which all the "full-fledged" members of this society carry within them without exception, was planted, I never understood, but, I suppose, somewhere near the beginning.

Separately, I would like to point out that my theory about meat puppets being simply controlled did not work out - they are still independent thinking beings, even though their thinking is very peculiar. And their obedience to their new masters is also beyond belief. I've seen a lot of shit, including the sacrifice of their loved ones, followed by the obligatory meal of their still agonizing bodies. Yes, yes, these guys are really into sex and cannibalism - you could say that those are their two main themes.

Being a mere observer, not intervening even when these creatures in human form began to do outright guro, was a surprisingly difficult task. Fortunately, I was still aware that by rushing into battle without being prepared for it, I risked saving one batch of victims, only to kill many more. It also helped that my clairvoyance was silent, not trying to feed me information about those who were killed or tortured, so that they remained extras to me, mere strangers who were just unlucky.

Only sometimes, watching another life and Status go out, I felt strangely bitter. Not the overpowering guilt I felt for the lives I hadn't saved, no. Rather, the realization that the world had given me some shit again.

I've been communicating with Ygra exclusively through dreams, which isn't a good thing, either - I'd like to get a little more training in the woods, accumulate a few more levels, get some more upgrades, distribute at least some free ability points at last... There's a lot to do, but I've put it off for the sake of destroying the city's rotten scum as soon as possible.

The ogre herself, however, did not grieve, merrily killing an ever-increasing number of green-skinned and other monsters to zero. It wasn't working, of course, but she was trying hard. At the same time, she stayed out of trouble, retreating whenever she suspected she had a serious opponent who could rival her in a direct fight. She had only been furred a couple of times - a giant bear, strengthened by some kind of spirit that had possessed him, and a very lucky lightning strike from a shaman who would not die alone. But those scratches healed even faster than she could start her meal.

Much more dangerous was the encounter between the swamp ogres and their forest kin. Fortunately, the average monsters of the rare grade could not seriously compete with the far more advanced and dangerous Ygra, who even outnumbered them in level. And not only in level - the height, weight, and arm length of the forest ogres were inferior to the swamp ogres, although this did not coincide with Ygra's because of her new appearance. She was too much like them... graceful.

If there hadn't been four of them at once, there would have been no danger at all, but there was nothing she could do about it. All the more so if the huntress thought she was strong enough for this battle, she was sure of victory. She twisted the first (literally!) head off the ambush, pushed the headless carcass into the second, charged the third in the forehead with her severed head, dodged a blow from the fourth, and ripped his throat open with her bare hands. The last one would have recovered (the regeneration of ordinary ogres is considerably inferior to that of Ygra, but not that much), but not in time - he lost his head, too.

What followed was a rather long game of fetching, during which the ogres were regularly injured, but not enough to destroy them, and the monsters themselves could not catch an opponent too nimble for them. Actually, Ygra herself would have preferred in another situation to kill one, even at the cost of wounds, and then wait for recovery and finish off the last one, but here she managed almost for the first time in combat to use the granted abilities. I must say that they really were very useful.

The one who was getting the hardest hit was finally slowed down by the paralytic pheromones in his blood and skin, literally shutting down his main punching arm, allowing him to be knocked to the ground first with a well-placed log, and then break through his skull with an instant attack.

The last one she simply dodged, not even trying to attack. In a short time, the almost beastly (even Ygra is an intellectual next to it) mind fell out of combat mode, and then the pheromones that hit the head and the enchanting body did their job. The creature didn't seem to start pouncing on the ogre at all for the kill. Then the monster was so full of it that it was, here, just a guess, about to wonk. A guess, because as soon as it stopped, Ygra slid behind the unresisting fellow and, folding its arms in a boat, tore out its still-beating heart, which it ate immediately.

The latter is some kind of tribal custom regarding the defeated enemy, and the whole foursome was perceived by her as kinsmen, even if from another tribe, and in general some kind of flawed.

Well, at least someone had it easy and simple, without a lot of sleepless nights, the agony of conscience, and trying to brew a week's supply of goods in two hours, and then have time to take a nap.

If you think I have no other way of solving the problem than to put up a lone battle against an entire organization, then you think very poorly of me. In the course of my observations, I have noticed that the gang, the pinnacle of which is the cultists, has its own enemies and detractors. As among the administrative apparatus, dissatisfied with a couple of very tasty orders and contracts, stolen from under their noses, and among the criminals, who are the new and very dangerous competitor did not like. And then there is the adventurer guild, among which there are almost no cultists (although there are enough of the fatted teams and loners).

The small number of affected adventurers can be explained very simply - they have regular and very detailed inspections there. But the adventurous fellows who wander into uncharted lands often bring with them... stuff. I suppose I should at least make contact with them in terms of exchanging information. I should talk to a few of the authorities, too, and give them tips and pointers.

Of course I'm not going to go to them and show them what I know - that would be stupid and shortsighted. But sneaking into their house, waking them up with a polite stab of the dagger in their throat, and then handing over the notes I had accumulated and asking them to look around a bit might do the trick.

The same Burgomaster is on the list of priority targets for informing, but there is already a problem of communication with officials. For me, as a Hero, it is better to stay away from these guys. My main problem was not the inability to inform anyone, but rather the lack of evidence.

The Cultists were thoughtful guys and killed relatively little. And those who were killed... Most of them were either slaves (the slave market wasn't big here, but it was there), or some lowlifes that no one would look for. Those whose disappearance could not be staged quietly were passed off as suicides or faked accidents, or even simply staged a rivalry war (the latter was especially applicable in the illegal sphere, where such a war really goes on).

Cover your asses from all directions, you freaks!

But any tricky ass defense can be pierced by a fairly sharp crossbow bolt. And the role of the bolt belongs to beloved, incomparable, and humble me. Especially humble.

I had long ago realized that the bodies of the most "advanced" members of the cult were lumps of flesh. I could see that when I watched the old clerk with worms crawling under his skin, so it wasn't a revelation. It would only help me to determine the involvement of certain individuals in such an unpleasant organization, and it would be easier for me many times over.

As I mentioned before, the number of cultists is relatively small. About two hundred of them were completely devoured by the black abomination, digested by it, and regurgitated back as something else. A similar number were infected by the filth, but still far from complete digestion. These had already revealed some information about their employers, but not to the fullest extent. And another five hundred or so were mere power bulls and controlled allies who had either been bought for gold or taken by the gills with dirt or all of these together. They had no idea what the cult was or what it was all about.

A significant number, but far from fatal, when you consider that the guard alone has three thousand blades (what did you expect, being so close to the wilderness?), it is also worth adding the regularly swelling (and thinning) ranks of adventurers, permanent teams of mercenaries and security guards and other armed men.

Yes, the gang was the strongest criminal organization in the city, and they were rapidly taking over the competition, but they weren't all-powerful. The biggest of the nocturnal organizations, backed by the mayor himself, and holding most of the smuggling in their gloves, for instance, didn't worry much. Yes, they had fewer men, but they could harness a great many of their allied blades. Just give them a signal!

That's why the Cultists didn't touch the smugglers directly, preferring to send agents to them, gradually seizing control without direct conflict. The others, on the contrary, preferred to crush and slaughter, and at the same time to gain prestige. The few temples were ignored by them, which made me regret the absence of a cleric in the party.

As about the absence of a party at all.

But back to the point of mutations.

So, the stronger the influence on the individual, the weirder he is. Literally. The very best are left with nothing but skin, under which it is not clear what is hiding, but certainly nothing good. But even the "rank and file" fighters have something to brag about in the circus of freaks, as I have long since become sure.

Take for example their fighters, the Bulls. Their backs were too wide, showing serious scoliosis and twisted muscles, the very sight of which made me nauseous. I had the chance to watch a few of them get dressed up, and I didn't need any vomiting after that. That's why they all walk around with their clothes closed.

Another guy, plowing for a big trade guild, had an upside-down body. It was as if someone had taken his head, turned it a hundred and eighty degrees, and left it there. Where there used to be a face, there was now the back of his head. He also has joints that bend both ways, which allows him to walk properly without arousing suspicion. He never takes off his scarf in public, so that no one could see Adam's apple on the back of his head, and his clothes are extremely closed to hide the shape of his torso.

How about the old fence who has another pair of hands on his belly. Really hands - baby hands, small and fragile, hiding in the fat folds on his belly. I don't know what purpose they are for, if not for beauty, but it must be convenient to scratch your balls with them. Or to conjure some kind of spell, for Gaze showed the cellar in which this individual traded, literally filled with black crap up to his knees. And it wasn't just a drip of filth, but a full-fledged resident enchantment, albeit of an incomprehensible nature, like everything else associated with that filth.

I also remember a couple of twin girls who were turned into Siamese twins by their kind parents, under the guidance of kindly cultists. Now they change every day - one walks in their arms, hiding under the hem of a dress, and the other. And the result is a surprisingly peculiar girl. Like a playing card from a deck - stitched at waist level. A separate topic worth considering is how they manage to regularly show both daughters in public, only one at a time. So far, the girls have not gone any further than a suspicion of a quarrel. And there is no quarrel there - they were eating the guts of that tramp in a very friendly way, without the slightest negativity toward each other.

Solshay's assistant, on the other hand, was almost unaffected, except for the strange calloused growths along his spine, but his problem was different. He needed teeth, and regularly.Every day he needed to "take a pill" in the form of someone else's teeth. I don't know what would happen otherwise, but obviously nothing good. I even wondered how exactly these teeth were delivered to him and from whom they were taken beforehand.

I was also pleased with a few elite and not-so-elite whores (I will never go to brothels at this rate again, for I will shit myself with fear!). These too had almost no external mutations, or even none at all, without any almost. It's logical - if they're going to be twisted, there's no way they're going to be able to do their job. I was able to see one of them, though, when she started brushing her teeth.

The second set.

Below.

Bitch.

I got phantom pains from such a spectacle! Whatever the source of their transformations was, it was sick in the head, even if it had no head at all. What a fucking mess it's a world and its inhabitants!

I did not understand what the other erotic workers were rewarded with, although they left no less black marks than their disfigured colleagues. Maybe it was something with their internal organs, or the need to eat human flesh, like the pills. My imagination immediately drew pictures of exactly what kind of human waste a whore could feed on, without anyone noticing. Then it drew a picture with the second set of biters, and I started having phantom pains again.

One of the most memorable was a teenager, fat as a boar, who was dragged into the cult by his parents, who had already been recruited earlier if we are to believe the comparative analysis with the help of clairvoyance. Whose past was first covered by the veil, the first to be devoured - it's simple. But getting back to the fat kid... Anyway, he's hollow. Like a bottle or, given his size, a can. It looks huge, but in fact, it's just leather and a light bone frame. Inside this peculiar container, cultists often carry all sorts of contraband and other nonsense. And if there's no contraband, he keeps heads in there. Ordinary bird heads with slimy wings made of human skin.

And they are flying.

They fly out.

A whole swarm, a semi-intelligent, and predatory pack.

Fucking hell. The creator of the beautiful Alurei has a sick head and imagination, and he is absolutely, hopelessly fucked up!

My first target was a certain noble and highly promiscuous widow who lived in a wealthy neighborhood and a well-protected estate, which was furnished with high-class furniture and generally impressed her numerous lovers. Some of them were business partners of the cult, under whom the lady was placed unobtrusively (so as not to arouse suspicion). Some were used solely for pleasure. And some of them she simply killed, literally fucking them to death.

The latter died happy, though by the end they were in pain, not pleasure. And many of those who left her wards alive carried so much black stuff on them that I did not doubt that they would be devoured.

I had a very reasonable idea that something that would change the organisms and consciousness of the cultists would have a limited charge. Otherwise, there would have been a classic zombie apocalypse, provoked by a crowd of creatures that could continuously increase their power. But they did not, increasing their power very gradually and playing cooperative games with ordinary, unaltered humans. Also, a funny fact that I should have noticed sooner, the changelings never left the Kraj. They never left, as if something were keeping them here.

It's a very ambiguous detail, and it's a pretty big change in the way I think about cults. Simple logic and occasional clairvoyance told me that any normal cult would first try to expand its influence beyond a single location. So that the destruction of this particular cell would not be able to zero out the entire organization. But they weren't going anywhere.

The same logic suggested the obvious answer to my question: there was something in the Krai that not only kept the cult here, but also ensured their existence and the use of their mutations and, apparently, the amplifications bestowed by those mutations. So half of my plans were either unnecessary or would not work in the way I wanted them to.

It's hard to be a lone detective if you don't have clairvoyance.

It was scary to break into the house of a beautiful and very lonely lady. First of all, the house itself was one solid black spot, and this blackness was structured into some kind of protection. The sphere of shadows felt the entire left wing of the building (where the sleeping quarters, the private office, and some secret room where she "drank" her victims were located) as one big void.

I was also worried about the subject I was observing, for I had witnessed more than once that the altered ones exhibited uncharacteristically high combat capabilities, placing them well above their current levels. I couldn't even be sure of those levels, because even my Gaze didn't penetrate their disguises!

And I didn't want to be punctured by a mosquito proboscis crawling out of the back of someone's head and watch it suck my guts out, I didn't want to be vomited up with ink-black acid, and I didn't want to die at all. I'm fast, but I'm very fucking light, and a sudden fatal blow could kill me on the spot. There was no way I could react before the time, taking advantage of my premonitions, which made things quite unpleasant.
T.N.
A hedgehog walks through the woods and says to himself: "I am the strongest! I am the bravest! I am the toughest! I am the most..."
But then a bear runs into him and kicks him! The hedgehog flew away thirty meters, rolled on the ground, stood up, shook himself off, and said sadly, sighing: "But very light..."

The few fights in which the cultists were involved (and which I was able to watch) ended extremely quickly, violently, and bloodily. Not once did these guys suffer any serious casualties. What about casualties! Not once did I see any of the mutated black hosts even seriously injured!

I'd stay away from this lady, but I need to see her house and her ritual hall, even if I have to do it in a suit of pure shadows. Too few answers, too many questions... Oh, who am I kidding!

This bitch just pisses me, these cultists, and my forced game of stealth spy and stealth trooper! If I don't scratch my daggers against someone (or something), I'll just go crazy. And this particular bitch just happens to be very well located: away from most other altered and simple cultists. She has no guards, either, which is strange even by the standards of ordinary rich people, let alone cultists.

Even with my clairvoyance turned off, she's no match for me on her own. The creature, honed in seduction and information siphoning, can't stand up to a fighter like me. And her high position in her cult would allow me to try to interrogate her. I sincerely doubt that I'll be able to get anything out of her, but "trying is not torture, comrade Beriya."
T.N.https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lavrentiy_Beria

And so, Kostik, take your hands in your feet and quickly crawl into other people's negligees. Or boudoirs? What's the word they use in such cases?

Three layers of protection.

The paranoia of the lady is great! As a fellow paranoiac, I approve wholeheartedly, but I resent it as the lady's alleged assassin. The first layer was rather symbolic, aimed at illuminating the usual guests. Not even protection, but a contrived doorbell. Like a supermarket doorbell that reacts to the arrival of customers, nothing more.

The second layer was the normal protection, which reeked of sky-blue and made my hair stand on end. Touching such a strand would cause a powerful electric shock, if not lightning from the heavens. Good, good protection, superior in many ways to that of the magistrate. The area of the house is smaller, so the spells are more concentrated. But the effect, of course, is astonishing in its bloodthirstiness. Is this even an alarm system, or an anti-assault defense system?

The third layer was the black crap, and the way this tier of defense works, I won't judge. Luckily for me, the base of all the structures was concentrated around the most important rooms, like the ritual hall, leaving the other areas very little. It was the unimportant area that I penetrated.

It was a kind of vestibule, a place where the lady would put on the finishing touches of her makeup in front of the mirror, just a few seconds before she left for her business. It was also where she would take off her makeup before she got undressed and went to the bathroom. Well, if she came back alone, which was rare.

There wasn't much protection, and there wasn't much blackness, either, the consequence of the fact that all sorts of bigwigs come here quite often. What if they sense something? Even the ubiquitous spots were rarer, except near the mirror, but that was a detail.

When I got here, I didn't search the house, but just sat down in the cleanest corner and waited for the target to return from another party. If all went according to plan, she would come alone. And then I would grab her by the gills!

She did return alone, leaving the servants at the door (her house was cleaned by the altered men who came once a week), and began to flaunt herself in front of the mirror. There was a reason to show off, for she was really a gorgeous woman! If I hadn't had Gaze, if I hadn't known the background, I might have tried to hit on her.

By the way, about the hitting on!

The mere thought of using the Ring on this or any other black-stricken woman broke through all the anti-black-vision barriers, making my asshole shrink to a nanometer diameter. And it was as if a red sign had popped up in my head at that moment, with the blood-red DON'T written on it in huge letters. I preferred not to think about this option anymore.

I walked slowly around the lady's, trying not to get too close. I'm wrapped in shadows right now, and the two lamps that provide the intimate semi-darkness of the night house can't provide enough light to reduce my disguise. I am ready to retreat into the Shadows at any moment, dodging an attack. I am also ready to attack in different ways.

But I do a somewhat different thing.

I walked over to one of the bookcases, where (judging by my still-working clairvoyance) gifts from enthusiastic admirers were stacked. I picked up a collection of perfectly clean black hair combs. At last, my clairvoyance, which had some sense of purpose, began to feed me information about the jewelry.

About how they were created by grinding the comb itself out of the bone of an exotic monster. How the stones for the inlay were cut. About how this miracle was given to this wretch and how delighted the giver was at the unearthly beauty of his mistress. And also about how these combs are very strong and sharp, which can even cut your fingers if you're too careless.

A second to breathe in.

Mrs. Llani is still wiping her face with a handkerchief soaked in a special potion that removes the weathered skin (today's party was held outdoors and the weather turned bad at the end).

Literally out of nowhere, a pair of expensive jewelry appears in her throat and the back of her head, guaranteed to kill anyone. For a brief moment she is on her feet, staring in disbelief in the mirror, and then she falls backwards, dropping the cosmetic bottle.

The whole life is on the breath out.

I don't hesitate for a moment, immediately stepping into the Shadow and emerging at my starting position in the clearest corner of the room. The target seemed to be securely eliminated, but I couldn't see its appearance in my Gaze, only the same illusion I'd seen before. Only now it pulsates and ripples, as if ready to release what it's hiding at any moment.

In the sphere of shadows, her body is motionless.

Perception also sees an ordinary corpse.

But there is something else, too. For example, there is too little blood, which in the half-light does not look like blood, but oil, pouring into the long pile of the carpet in the hallway. She may be face down, but I can see that there is too little blood. And it's not blood at all, no matter how she pretends, because it smells different.

No copper-iron taste of blood in the air, just the heavy and sweet smell of moldy remains. I could only praise myself for drinking the full set of antidotes, for a normal person, even a killer, would have been vomiting.

She lies there, ready to attack, but pretending to be dead.

I stand in the corner, ready to jump into action at any moment, but I pretend I'm not here anymore.

It's just a question of who's got the nerve first as if we were playing poker. Only we both play all-in.

The bet is life.

And it will be won by whoever is worthy.

In other words, me.

Simply because she is the one waiting to save her distorted life, and I am merely gathering information. I could kill her right now by ripping her body apart with shadows, but I prefer to wait a while, to watch her thrash around.

What could possibly go wrong?

The creature's nerves (or what do they have instead of nerves?) failed, which was to be expected. What I hadn't expected was that it would attack itself, instead of trying to make a run for the exit or jump out of a window.

And how she attacked!

All attacks attack!

Her rib cage swelled up, like in a Disney cartoon when Tom tried to blow out the fire with one exhalation. And she even exhaled, as if she were trying to blow something out. Except that the air was blown out of her mouth, and the projectiles were quite tangible, hitting like bullets! I realized, with some trepidation, that these projectiles were... teeth.

The teeth were just normal human teeth, and there were more than the standard thirty-two. Did the woman think she was a shark? And where was she hiding the extra jaws? In there, too? I asked myself these questions as I changed positions and came back to reality from The Shadow.

Yes! I had to duck, even though I wasn't in the most exposed spot. Simply because one broad exhalation was enough to cover the entire observable area with this mixture of a shotgun and a bio-based machine gun. Even the ceiling had a few holes in the whitewash. At least the walls were made of good stone, so she avoided any accidental casualties from passersby in the night. And she obviously didn't want to have to explain to possible "saviors" why she wasn't dying from a few extra holes in her throat and head.

Which healed very fast!

The black-soaked combs fell to the ground, one of which-the one sticking out of the throat - were crumpled, and the wounds they left behind hissed with black foam and dissolved on the skin like a sizzling pill in a glass of water. It was quite a sight, and it made me feel rather queasy.

When she looked around for the murderer who had fallen out of disguise, all the lady did was sigh heavily, so that her tight dress (wet and black with "blood") became tantalizingly tight around her form.

"Gone, bastard." Melodically, but still gurgling from her damaged larynx, the cultist said. "The master would not be pleased."

There's not much panic, and there's not much worry, either. If I recall everything I know about these types at all, she's not even worried about the assassination attempt, but about the fact that now her identity as Llani Omires, who simply could not survive such an attack, has to be dismissed. And that means that the customer will obviously begin to suspect unnecessary things if she continues her actions as if the assassination had never happened.

"But when did he leave?" Her pensive conversation with herself did not prevent her from throwing off her stained dress, exposing her perfect body, which made even me, who knew about her nature, have a brain twitch. "And why these particular combs? Matthias, Mathias, are these your hints? Don't let anyone get me! Oh, boy. Where did you find the murderer who escaped from me? Hmm... Or didn't escap..."

I immediately reinforced that last suspicion with a second pair of honestly stolen combs, piercing the listening bitch's heart and liver. This time the karmic retribution was instantaneous - the spit of black filth decorated the corner from which I attacked, at the same second that my attack punched new holes in her body.

The result, by the way, was exactly the same: she pulled the projectiles out of the wounds that had begun to heal without even paying attention to them, and her attack simply spread as a black blot on the snow-white (but with holes from the "bullets") wall.

"Hmm. That's how..." It's like she wasn't upset about the miss. "You're not bad. I'm sure you're a man. A strong, skilled, dangerous man. We don't have to fight at all, just talk. Talk to me and I'm sure we can find a pleasant way to compromise. Come on, show yourself, my hero, come out into the light."

In one corner of the hall, a human silhouette had just begun to emerge, as if staggering with vertigo, and she was already attacking. With a tremendous speed that made her naked body begin to deform, she lunged forward, attacking as she went, her fingers transformed into stingers, ready to inject whatever she wished into the body.

But the blow pierced the void.

Just an ordinary shadow, nothing more.

To her credit, Llani reacted instantly. Without even trying to slow down, she pushed herself off the wall in an elegant somersault and then tried to slip fish-like into the depths of the house. Where there were active defenses and ways to counteract an incomprehensible opponent who was not only highly stealthy but also resistant to mental attacks.

I didn't underestimate her this time, attacking her at full force. I didn't even know what the fuck she could do when she got to the ritual hall. Halfway through, she was intercepted by black ribbons of shadows that burst from beneath her feet. As soon as she fell, the ribbons expanded into a full-fledged silhouette that hugged the victim tightly, preventing her from making a single move.

Llani's whole body melted, losing its human shape. It was as if all of her bones were gone, allowing her to escape the shadow's clinging grip. Only to have the shadowy stakes that fell from the ceiling pierce each limb, rendering it immobile and scorching the blackened flesh that oozed.

The shadows behaved strangely because their evil power dissolved the blackness too slowly and reluctantly, but at the same time, it was as if they were throwing themselves into battle, demanding a smaller investment of energy. It was as if the shadow energy itself hated the nastiness as much as I did. And, I must say, the filth reciprocated the shadows.

Now the lady was really afraid. Her eyes were not so calm as before, but only pain, misery, and fanatical determination. That was the last thing I liked, I must say. She might as well have launched a kamikaze attack, sacrificing herself to kill me. That would be very much in tune with the situation. However, it turned out to be far worse than anything I'd ever imagined.

Rather than start talking or threatening, she called out.

I realize now that I reacted like God himself, but when I remember how close I came to death (at best a huge problem), a shiver ran through my body! It was really very close, one step from the end.

The call was inaudible but very loud and clear. It was meant to rise over the city and inform her Master of what had happened here and of the new enemy, which was far more dangerous than the fools they had met before. Even the clairvoyance worked, perhaps because the call was also a peculiar form of clairvoyance, albeit strangely twisted. The call spoke of something that came to her that lived in the shadows.

I would think later about the connection between the Shadow and this stuff, and about why these two types of energy were so in conflict with each other. All that would come later, for at that moment I acted, not only ahead of the call, but even ahead of my thought. My nearly full reserve spilled out almost to the bottom in one painful spasm, leaving me nearly empty. In return, every shadow, every shadow in the whole leper-foreign house became me, and I became it.

It wasn't just shadow control, but something much deeper. It was as if I'd jumped over my head for a second. There was something of shadow control in my action, elements of shadow theft, and some trace of footsteps. It was as if I had stolen the shadow from an entire building, curled it around one single room, and then dragged that entire room into Shadow. Not dropped it, but made the whole room step into it.

Not completely and not even half.

Only by a small speck.

But the soundless cry, the abominable message was intercepted.

And then all the power gathered in this house hit my barrier, and a snarling creature that looked nothing like an anthropomorphic, let alone a beautiful girl of the human tribe, took control of it. The sphere showed how the stream of black and massive oil that had accumulated from the remains of fucked-up lovers and other unfortunates had burst from the ritual hall and gone straight through the walls and ceilings, accompanied by two smaller streams that spilled out of the study and, for some reason, out of the bathroom. At the same time, the entire defense worked its way into the hallway, causing the shadows to hiss angrily, figuratively, and cling even tighter to their places.

My whole will become one with the shadows, preventing them from retreating, from backing away, from scattering under the relentless attack of a desperately rushing foe. The biggest problem was the sudden lightning, whose bright flashes shattered the stability of the barrier. The hardest of the blasts, delivered by the black currents that had finally arrived, I held on, with difficulty, but without too much pain. Even the new blood from my nose was avoided.

It seemed like I'd be forced to run for my life in a few seconds, but the fast rotting creature's reserves had run out sooner. One last gurgling wheeze and all was quiet.

The shadows returned to their original place, the house stopped falling into Shadow, the black puddles (now also material) stopped rushing to the aid of the dying woman (but I still wasn't going to touch them), and the noble mistress herself became another puddle of black rot and bile in which the remains of bones were still floating. If not for the layers of shadow barrier I had put on beforehand, including the respirator mask, I might have suffocated, for such a sharp rotting process turned the air into a toxic cocktail.

The attic collapsed with a resounding rumble, the result of broken load-bearing walls. And the rest of the building began to tilt badly, hinting at possible problems for those who would stay there longer than necessary.

And the fire was starting, though I don't know in my heart what could be burning here. And the source of the fire was the deceased's office! Though yes, that's exactly the logical thing - to hide everything in the fire if it goes wrong...

It's already goes, for both of us.

Sitting on the roof of a remote house, from which, however, I have a good view of the bustling guards, neighbors, and gawkers (among whom it is easy to recognize many "fellow cultists"), I realize that somewhere I went the wrong way.

No, I hadn't given up the idea of personally lynching the most odious of the guys in the cult, but I would have to be much more careful than I had just done. For example, don't get in the way and don't play games with them. Come, see, kill, and tear into little pieces so they don't regenerate! Otherwise, you'll get in trouble again, you idiot!

I disdainfully ignore the blinking of the System, ending with an analysis of my actions and mistakes. And I also clearly realize that, despite all my faults, I have also achieved a great deal. Suffice it to recall at least what I heard, felt, realized, exactly where the call of the dying creature was headed. And something told me that the cultists wouldn't be able to transfer the source of their powers abruptly. If they tried at all - the call hadn't reached them. That something came or was brought, to the Kraj a long time ago. And I'll do everything in my power to make sure it never leaves.

So now I have a working plan. It is as if my clairvoyance, apologizing for all the long days of downtime, itself completes the missing fragments, levels out the rough edges, and helps to finish the sequence of actions to the optimum.

And this plan is even different from the standard "go in there and kill everyone" plan for me.

Someone is in for some unpleasant surprises in the near future.

And believe me, not only me alone.

* * *

https://cs10.pikabu.ru/post_img/big/2019/07/09/6/1562660148164730927.jpg - An enthusiastic young man who gave a damsel combs. He was not in the frame, so he was alive.

The plot went in some incomprehensible way. At first, the MC could not stand it and went into battle early. Then quite unsuccessfully tried to capture a very strong cultist for interrogation (initially failed plan: -200 to all attempts to talk to the lady). Then there was the thing with the call and the partial uncovering of the source of the blackness (only partial and very superficial).

Now the next chapter will be a mixture of what this chapter and the next chapter were supposed to be.

It's also going to have an obscene amount of stats and sheets, but I think that's forgivable - it's been a while since I posted a status.

Good for everyone.

Внимание! Этот перевод, возможно, ещё не готов.
Его статус: идёт перевод

Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/80370/522315

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP