Готовый перевод Его не звали, но он приперся / They never called, yet he is here: Глава 27

Chapter 27

A note for the future, for one cretin with bouts of misplaced heroism: mixing different alchemicals and thinking that the subsequent intoxication is tolerable is a very bad idea. I cannot tell you how bad it is! Worse than mixing vodka and beer, drinking wine, and polishing off a couple of glasses of champagne! Stupider than buying a kebab at a station stall!
T.N.

It wasn't even that it was that dangerous to my health, because my condition was stable and did not threaten to worsen. It was just that I didn't feel well! I was sick with dryness, vomiting, upset stomach, and my face was sprinkled on the second day. If I'd had lower characteristics, I might have been killed, but I was only incapacitated for a few days. The longest fucking days of my life!

I remember the first night, when I first started to feel the effects, very vaguely. The only thing I remember most clearly was the beautiful moment when I briefly had glitches. Believe me, when you pour your heart out to a medieval toilet and it starts to answer you, you're probably hallucinating. Well, or there really was something living in there, intelligent enough to have a conversation with me about the principles of quantum indeterminacy.

On the second day, I almost didn't vomit rainbows anymore (literally, guys, quite literally), and the other side wasn't bursting. But my entire face was covered in nasty boils that threatened to linger on my face for at least another week. I had to push myself to get to my feet and brew some kind of booze that would bring these decorations down. Actually, I had a few vials of potions specifically against intoxication, but, alas, they were not cool enough for my situation. And the effect would have been comparable to what I was experiencing now- my body was purging itself in every way possible, without needing the help of outside influences.

I managed to make not even a potion, but rather some kind of therapeutic decoction, which tasted like herbal tea. It helped because my stomach finally began to accept food, and even the boils began to disappear. The latter, however, had to be smeared with an expensive healing potion based on Bigfoot blood. Shooting at sparrows with a cannon, and even with gold bricks, but I have no desire to walk around with such a face. Besides, I'm an alchemist. I make it myself, and I spend my treasures myself!

I was a bit unconscious of the appearance of the grandfather, to whom I lied something about "the experiment gone wrong and generally do not touch me, I'm resting". I gave him some potions from the supplies for further trade, and then I went to bed. I slept well, though surreal glitches tried to creep into my dreams. Fortunately, it was in my dreams that I could chase my glitches with a chainsaw, heroically forcing them to surrender. My reserve was replenished, but I needed to rest my magic after my adventures, so I limited myself to checking Ygra. I didn't even try to edit her dreams, just made sure that my ward hadn't been eaten by someone, and I looked at the events of the past few days.

She hadn't.

But a lot of people trying to eat it went to the swamp ogre who took another level for dinner. Thirty-sixth level is very, very cool. There aren't many creatures in the forests around the Edge that are comparable to it in class right now. However, goblinoids have been playing cat and mouse with her for a week now, trying to corner and nail the unknown enemy. So far her skills are sufficient to evade ambushes and even, at times, to beat out the farthest groups of encroachers. But her hide had already been burned a few times, which was understandably unsettling.

I don't want some legendary creature summoned after her. I wish I had the strength to give the "get the hell out of there and take a break" order. But in the next few days, I'll have to get the Greenskin out of danger. I don't like the number of enemies about to rip her head off.

On the third day, I felt pretty good. I mean, I still had a nasty weakness in my entire body, a runny nose (an allergic reaction), and my magic skills were working pretty hard, but that was all that was left. Another day or two and I could dance like a goat again. It would be a good time to sort out the rewards of my crazy night.

Three levels that gave me another fifteen stats was a very nice gift. Considering how hard it is to earn experience at my current level, that's a pretty good reward for one night of events. Obviously, I would have liked a dozen at once, or at least a full five, but I'm happy with what I got. Especially since it's not the only reinforcement I've received.

Walking through enemy lines: The ability to move quickly is quite common. But only a few manage to reach the level that you have reached. Fighting a whole group of equally strong opponents in a confined space with no room to maneuver? Crazy! Do that twice in one day? That's idiotic! Not getting a single scratch in these fights, dodging all attacks, only to reappear in reality a split second later and strike from a seemingly impossible position? Talent! Accept a well-deserved reward. Bonus: +10 to Dexterity.

A cool title for a cool deed, what else can I say? And don't let anybody say anything about my "idiocy" that made me go into battle against the goddamn mutants in one go. I had a clever tactic, and I stuck to it! That's the way I did it, not the other way around. And the reward, when you think about it, is very good - almost two levels.
T.N.

Add the bonus for closing the shadow steps to the ten I got, and my dexterity was again higher than the energy I was carefully developing. One hundred and thirty-five fucking points! I want so much to add the fifteen points to this stat now, to get the long-awaited bonus! I can hardly give up on the idea, literally stepping on my own throat.

The reason is the same as last time - I have enough dexterity now, even with a small reserve, and the main striking power is still shadow-based magic attacks. Which require high reserve and concentration, not extreme dexterity. I can handle those who I don't want to waste reserve on without a hundred and fifty points of dexterity, but against those who I can't penetrate with shadows, high speed won't save me.

And that's where the real fucking joke comes in! Because I don't have enough stats to get the energy bonus. Six fucking stats short! One hundred and twenty-nine I have now, fifteen more in reserve, and one hundred and forty-four as a result. It's an epic injustice, but there's nothing I can do about it. I'll put in the extra points as soon as I'm back on my feet.

The second title I received that night did not add any stats, but it was no less interesting and useful in the long run. I'd had time to appreciate the benefits of the Soul of the Mocker, and the new title was very similar, and in some ways even cooler. Or vice versa, infinitely worse.

The Giver of Fear: There are beings in this universe who know no fear or doubt. Trying to confuse them is as foolish as scooping out the sea, or wrenching ropes from the sand. But you have succeeded! In some unknowable way, you can find and pull out long-forgotten memories and open old wounds. Bonus: You intuitively sense your interlocutor's fears, doubts, and worries, as well as ways to hurt them, +5 to your provocation and clairvoyance skills.

By the way, this is the first title I've seen that gives a bonus not for stats, but skills. I'd rather have clairvoyance alone, than useless, and in some places even dangerous to my ass, provocation. Yes, yes! It's the skill that brings me problems, not my verbal diarrhea, just like that!

In all seriousness, the gift of the title looks pretty cringe. If Soul of the Mocker was dangerous and hurtful, then the new acquisition... There was something about him that reeked of something wrong and unwanted. And that wasn't surprising, considering how I'd felt when I'd talked to the cultists. What I had become for a few seconds, what looked out of me, what spoke from my mouth - it really could scare even those who ought not to be afraid of anything.

And me, too, if think about it.

A separate reason to be "proud" is the fact that provocation has reached the rank of a great master. My most useless skill. A great, fuck it, a master. I don't even know what to think about it and how to react.

To be honest, I sincerely hoped that by the time I recover from my "exploits," the good people of the regular guards and the adventurers' guild would have scorched the cult and built a casino with blackjack and poetesses on its ruins. The hope remained purely a hope, for the cultists proved to be quite a handful, managing to escape the blow, though not entirely, but with as little loss as possible.

Still, I was pretty bad when I left Bale with the corpse of his mutant sidekick, but I didn't leave a note with a list of addresses. I don't know how I should have done it, but it would have made more sense. But that's the way it turned out.

Let all the important people understand that some very unpleasant shit is ripe (and matured) in the Krai. But that's all they knew. Something was told by Gray's survivors, who had managed not to die during the night's fight with the cult. Something the guards themselves had managed to figure out, having searched the remains of the ritual center, which was disguised as an ordinary pawn shop. And the corpses of the guards that I had left at the pawnshop were also suggestive, forcing them to think more actively.

But most of the information was not reported to the locals, which is why they failed... not a disaster, and not even a failure. Rather, in merchant terms, they were shortchanged - too much had escaped their notice, despite the best efforts of motivated guards.

They uncovered several lairs, declassified a fair share of mutants, especially those in a public role. But the very heart of the cult had come out of the blow, though not without losses to themselves. The human losses, however, were far greater. At first, the mood of the hunters had been in the style of "go fuck them," but after the first dead bodies, when the mutants had to be pelted with bodies, the mood changed to "God save me". The magistrate had to shove their pride deep down and use the elite guard units, at the same time paying contracts to the toughest of the adventurers.

It helped, for the losses were drastically reduced, but not entirely gone. And then the boys did their investigation, and it was easy to come up with a mysterious club of kinky lovers. It would have been strange if they had not found it - all the strings that finally began to be looked for, rather than ignored, led there. The noise of the storming of that place even reached my apartment, but it ended in a puff of smoke.

These fagots escaped!

They took everything they could out of there, left a bunch of traps and the most untransportable and useless creatures, and stupidly fucked off in an unknown direction, hiding somewhere in the catacombs beneath the city! I can bet you all my teeth that it wasn't easy for the creature to move to a new location. I'm also sure the enemy never left the city - it just couldn't survive the long journey. Nevertheless, they had the strength and means to escape.

I could have interfered with them if I had had the strength for another confrontation. But I didn't have the strength left, and the cultists proved themselves to be very good at escaping into the unknown.

The feelings were strange. On the one hand, my participation had taken a huge toll on the enemy - half the mutants had been multiplied by zero, most of the tainted fighters had been destroyed, and the uninitiated fighters had either been killed completely or scattered, having deserted. On the other hand, the creature itself has never been found, and I still know next to nothing about it. And the clairvoyance-weakening curtain still hides the essence of the strange beast from me.

The keyword has to be considered "weakening". Now, after more loosening of the barrier and after increasing my clairvoyance, I am picking up much more than I could see at the beginning of my investigation. And I'm not going to back down.

Not after all the work

I still don't even think about fighting the creature and all the remnants of the cult in direct combat, but I certainly won't miss the opportunity to set them against all those who are interested in the destruction of this nice organization without my involvement. And there are many, many of them now.

I finally deployed the stats, investing them, as planned, in energy. It annoying to need to take two more levels at least, but the cheats did not deliver. Otherwise, I would have prescribed myself infinite life and invulnerability. What kind of Marty Sue I am without the ability to pierce the sky with a drill? Or is that from a different story? In any case, right now I need to walk around the city and clear my head. After a long bout of withdrawal and poisoning by my alchemy, that would do me just fine.

The city was nervous - rumors of monsters nesting inside the walls had successfully seeped into the populace, filled with a lot of false details, and swelled to truly cosmic proportions. So everyone around me was suspicious of everyone else, which was not conducive to normal human communication. Even about me, rumors among neighbors start, they said, he came here, and sits like an owl, making evil plans! Indeed - a dark creature, filthy abomination! We should have him, ugh!

Fortunately, my persona attracted far less gossip than old Phmek, who had recently refused to donate or sell good wine on credit to his neighbors. For the sake of fighting evil, that's for sure! For every fool knows that monsters do not touch those who stink of expensive wine! That is why rich people drink it, to scare away the Evil One.

I'm not kidding - this man was even brought in to the guards as an enemy agent! The guards laughed, of course, but they didn't forget to sample the wine. I don't know if it really scares the creatures away. Strange things in the minds of men. At least clairvoyance has become much easier to control lately, so as not to torment me with headaches.

I was checked by the guards, too, by the way, if it could even be considered a check. It was a funny situation, though I realize now that I could have gotten into a lot more trouble if things had gone differently. But there was nothing dangerous - they came, asked questions, ate the same story about a failed experiment, and left, limiting themselves to a superficial inspection of the laboratory and the warehouse. Although if they had checked some compounds, I would have been in trouble. If they had found a cut and burned black cloak and a cute mask, I would have had to bury them there. Sometimes it's a good thing when guards slack from the work.

Fortunately, their sensor, with a sentinel class, couldn't penetrate the stolen shadow, seeing only the twelfth level designation and the marking "Limited Dangerous". And it's a good thing it was the only one he saw, for the shadow, I stole from his fellow sentinel. It would have been strange if he'd noticed I had, as an alchemist, such a class. A little suspicious, yes.

And in general, as I understood from careful questioning, mutants were not defined by sensory skills in almost any way (not surprising if they even managed to cheat the Gaze sometimes), and therefore the guards are not too vicious with the scanners. Thief classes and other criminals suffer more here than possible cultists.

What they didn't tell me, and what I found out for myself, was that the cultists had a great dislike for divine power. It didn't kill them, or even weaken them, no, but it stripped away their disguises. That's why there was a tired-looking priest among the guards who checked me out, whose face had the words "You're fucking me up" written all over it. I did not even have time to strain, because he just stroked me a lazy glance, muttered something under his breath (not a prayer, but a simple grumble), and then fled with the others. It's a good thing he didn't go into the latrine, or he might have sensed something.

I did not get a chance to go for a walk; everyone was at home, and there were hardly any people even at the market. I returned home empty-handed and without the pies that I so desperately wanted. I had to start alchemy, but it brought neither success nor peace of mind - no new ingredients, not enough inspiration to spend the remaining Bigfoot material, and I was bored.

I made a standard "trash" set for sale, and so gave it up.

I went downstairs to have a little chat with the grandfather, but the conversation didn't go very well, either. No, the old man himself didn't mind talking, but his speech was too slurred. But I did hear about how the three of them had survived the massacre that had taken place in the streets. Nothing out of the ordinary just locked themselves in their hovel and sat there till morning.

I heard the latest rumors from the kids, including some true ones (thanks again to clairvoyance). I told them a couple of children's scary stories, making them gnash their teeth and ask for more. The grandfather, by the way, listened very carefully - he's a storyteller, after all.

I made the hard decision to keep doing nothing for at least a couple more days. Either I'm a lazy ass or I was starting to relax after that night.

Anyway, there was a bed waiting for me.

It was about time I got Yggra out of the dangerous area of the forest. For the last day and a half she'd had no choice but to run and hide - the shamans had summoned some very dangerous creatures. They were nothing like the deceased Bigfoot, but they could easily overwhelm a poor ogre with their numbers. And with the support of a crowd of green-skinned meat, even more so.

That's why Ygra took the idea of retreating very positively. In fact, she only stayed in the area where the goblinoid forces were based because I told her not to go anywhere. It wasn't that she didn't like the constant twenty-four-seven hunting, but she preferred not to let it turn into a real war. And she was at war, with all the proper tricks: ambushes, traps, and squads of elite orc special forces and monsters sent personally for her hide.

The idea of going to the other side of the Kraj and following the road to the city met with the weary woman's approval. Even she found it hard to live at this pace, and even a lot of food was not going to save or help her. It was true that she had to be instructed once more not to hunt for the little men walking toward the Kraj.

Successful.

I woke up contented, but sad - the day of rest promised to myself had passed. It was time to return to the unfinished mission of the young inquisitor and arrange an exterminatus.

Exterminatus?

Kostik, that's a marvelous idea!

It took all day to prepare and "buy" (money left, so I bought it and don't care!) some of the lacking reagents, but I did not regret the time and money spent. I've made napalm analogs before, including even flame-retardant compositions, but those were sporadic cases that came about by accident.

And now I have nearly four liters of super-hazardous magical fuel, poured into glass bottles (it was a shame to use the big test tubes for bombs, and the clay pots were too fragile and airtight) and ready to use. Of course, I had to do a lot of work with essentialism to maximize the magical effect, but now I do not doubt that even intangible entities, let alone fleshy mutants, will burn in this flame.

It may turn out to be a useless trick that I never use, but, hell, show me a man who never once dreamed of throwing a real Molotov cocktail as a child? If there are any, I haven't met any of them among my childhood friends. We were crazy when we were kids, we were crazy!

Now put on your cape and mask and crawl to do good, inflict justice, and cause happiness! This town can't be helped by a Batman, but a forum troll like me can.

Stop.

First I go to the tailor's shop to steal myself a new cape because this one was already falling apart. I leave the money at the cash register, as usual, though it may seem foolish to someone. I don't have many principles, but one of them tells me not to do immoral shit where I can't do it without losing effectiveness. For example, don't steal where there is more than enough money to buy quietly and peacefully.

The cloak was inexpensive but sturdy and stylish. And it's obvious to a fool that I would have wanted the mantle of a legendary archmage, with a hell of a lot of enhancement for the wearer, but, unfortunately, they didn't sell them in a regular store. They must have been taken, the bastards. These legendary artifacts sell out fast, like hotcakes.

Amazingly, I actually managed to find trouble on my head, even though I had only been looking for a few hours! It's a little funny, to tell you the truth. The thing is, in three weeks of surveillance I managed to find quite a lot of cult cells and lairs. Most of them were easily located by the city authorities, and then cleaned out, but there were some untouched assets left.

This distant warehouse was a sparsely visited place, where the cult workers occasionally brought sundries. Black-stained reagents and equipment, artifacts and amulets of some kind, incomprehensible crates resembling deformed coffins, all were occasionally dragged here. Not much and not often, but only in the absence of other alternatives and the congestion of the standard routes.

When the cult tried to squeeze out, everyone who knew of the place either did not surrender, or they were not captured, or they managed to escape on their own. Officially, no one associated the place with the cult, and the black net that covered the building, resembling a mixture of guts and cobwebs, helped hide the contents even from the few and not very high-ranking priests. That's why no one has uncovered the place yet, though I doubt it will be off the radar of detectives for long.

Even though officially the building could not be linked to the cultists, sooner or later the discrepancies in the papers would be noticed, or they would realize that the building belonged (through an intermediary) to one of the noblemen suspected of being black. But this is something they have yet to get their hands on, and they will not get their hands on, lugging the gold and other valuables that were in the power of the cult into their pockets. Not everything they owned was tainted with blackness. Though I still wouldn't appropriate even triple-checked things. And that's not even paranoia, but real common sense.

Returning to the original topic, there are now fifteen warped and fifteen tainted people piled up right here in this long, nearly empty room. And in the company of a squad of adventurers, if I understand the situation correctly. Well, you know, the night, the dark hall, the sinister pentagram, the impure adventurers who flatter themselves with gold and promises, the mysterious ritual, the main ingredient of which was those same adventurers - banality.

Two of the five had already turned into a pile of rotting meat and bones, and two more were waiting for their fate, watching the last one being butchered like a lamb at this very moment. Strange magic kept all the emanations inside the warehouse in check, not letting out a sound or a magical flash. The same magic held the adventurers motionless, preventing them from even moving their eyes.

The cultists did not resemble those who were desperate and resigned to death, seeking only to sell their lives at a higher price. Rather, they behaved as if they had some cunning plan, albeit one that was amended by fanaticism and inadequacy. Perhaps it was worth it to stop them. Just out of a desire to make mischief, nothing more.

It was too late to save the now-processed man in his thirties, all covered in lewd tattoos - some of his flesh was already drained from his bones, and the black slime was sprouting in him, eager to consume everything he was as quickly as possible. With the measured chant of the warped and blackly tarnished men gathered in a circle, this death looked even more ghastly.

"In the crowd of despicable every day." The hoarse voice of the naked cultist, apparently in charge of the good company, rang out.

The sweet granny, reminiscent of the prim old ladies in ladies' novels, clearly had some sort of magical class. This was evidenced by whole rivers of blackness, twisted by her will into nauseating patterns. She seemed to speak not only with her mouth on her head, but also with the two mouths on her hunched back.

"A shadow will be the punishment of the unfaithful we say." At the new line of the strange verse, the flesh of the desperately trembling man began to blacken even faster.

Barely holding my lunch in my stomach, I realize that the slurry produced from the victim's body will go into mutagen to turn another cultist. After the death of quite a few of the retinue, the creature can re-fill the empty vacancies. It is still sure that a simple ritual to convert would not be enough, otherwise, there would be more mutants. Yes, and, given the number of those killed, there would be a lot of victims to recycle.

Rebuilding the army?

Or prepare it for another task that could turn the tables and save the day?

And I'm also disturbed by the mention of shadows in the context of this ritual. Of course, I already understand that there is some connection between the energy of shadows and the black abomination, and a mutual "dislike" for each other, but it's still disturbing. I doubt I want to know the answer to this question, but who knows?

"And the flesh will melt like ice." The throaty chanting of the other cultists grew louder and louder, reaching a crescendo, with only a skeleton and a heart still beating in a cage of ribs left of the victim.

Well.

This satanic feast must end before they really summon Cthulhu for a late supper. The two remaining victims are dragged to the farthest corner so as not to disturb the ritual. So the center is fully open, and I have plenty of ownerless fuel capable of burning even the ghost of a dead mother-in-law. Only first we have to...

On a hunch, I steal the shadow of the cultist performing the ritual and pull it over myself in disgust, trying to leave as much of a gap between myself and her as possible. Even though there is no blackness on the shadow, I don't want to take her form, even if it's just a guise. The voice alone is enough for me.

At the moment when the old hag should have finished her quatrain and pulled the heart out of the victim's chest, which would be the basis of someone's communion (shut up, clairvoyance!), her own voice comes from above, saying the exact opposite of what should be said in such a situation.

"Guys, buy a flamethrower!"

It would have been very stupid trolling, dangerous for me because the stares of the cultists went straight to where I'd spoken my auteur's vision of their poetic splendor. But I wasn't there anymore, and their eyes only caught the silhouettes of four glass bottles flying down.

If they had been ready to fight, they probably would have just caught, or at least knocked those shells aside. But the boys (and girls) didn't even have time to realize that they had a new spectator, and then it was too late.

I'll be honest, I almost shit myself when, instead of the hot flames that covered the cultists with a blanket, I got a real pillar of flame that licked up the ceiling of the ill-fated warehouse. The cultists had played a cruel joke on themselves when they set up protection around the ritual ground. If they hadn't, it would have burned the prisoners and the whole warehouse. No, the fire would have been less hot and dense, of course, but it would have been enough for the immobilized losers.

And here they trapped themselves and the raging fire in a small circle, where the only path for the fire was the proverbial "up". The pillar of fire, which instantly burned through the roof, was visible from anywhere in the nighttime Kraj. And I should add a little less concentrated essence because it was too hot.

So hot!

No one got out of the cauldron I'd created. Maybe if it hadn't been for the barrier, the toughest ones would have crawled out, but they didn't. Pure frag, easy kill, no luck, just skill, and all that shit. But the prisoners were lucky, there's no other way to say it - they'll live a little longer and keep their souls untouched.

Then they'll be executed anyway, but my clairvoyance tells me that a hanging won't be enough for these freaks. I would have killed them on the spot, if it weren't for the need to leave some witnesses. And they'll never get out of it, the adventurers themselves will kill them so they don't disgrace their business. Just because there are enough outright criminal elements among them does not mean that they will cover them officially. Rather, they will take them for their own trial and hang them for show.

The clairvoyance spoke of this with absolute clarity. What it didn't tell me was the sudden intuition that flared up, telling me that if I didn't do something soon, I would die young. I wouldn't have had time to react, to be honest, but I was saved by one of those complete bastards, which earned himself my personal forgiveness.

Postmortem, yes.

A wild look behind me made me react reflexively before my gut started screaming. That's why only two of the three black pins aimed at people's hearts hit. The prisoners died instantly, and I tilted my body abruptly to the side before turning on my heels to face a very unpleasant foe.

Unpleasant.

Foe, yes.

Completely naked, with her perfect milky-white skin, her marvelous shape, and her model height, she was painfully reminiscent of the deceased Llani, at least in her unnatural beauty. I also couldn't sense her. In fact, it was as if there was nothing in front of me. No shadows, no clairvoyance, no trivial hearing could sense anything where she stood.

Behind me, the corpses of two hapless prisoners, struck by incomprehensible pins, are rapidly rotting, and I have such a slight suspicion that I am about to be beaten painfully. Perhaps even kicked!

The first thing she does, however, is the attack in a completely different way than she should have. In an instant, her skin seemed to disappear from her body, leaving only bare muscles covered in a dense ligature of incomprehensible symbols and inscriptions that gave me a real headache just looking at them. The image was split a moment later as if I saw the same creepy fear*beast in one version, and the embodiment of love and tenderness, which even the most callous heart could not resist. This was no longer an illusion or a delusion, but direct manipulation of memory and perception. If I hadn't reflexively turned on the Gaze the moment it began to change, even my heroic defenses would have been pierced. I'm sure of it.

Now I didn't freeze in admiration and throw myself into her arms, but only struck sharply with three shadow lashes and an ampule of acid concentrate at once. Great attack, especially since she couldn't have expected it, couldn't have recognized it - the masterful level of the Deathstroke allows, among other things, for an instant attack from any position. But she started dodging before I'd even finished my attack, the moment the blow was aimed but not yet released.

She was a fucking clairvoyant!

And at the same time, the bitch - hate - scum remained invisible to me! Maybe, or rather guaranteed, her level of sense was weaker than mine, but it was completely neutralized by the fact that I did not see her at all! Somehow I was dissatisfied with the idea of fighting her, and further events only further cooled my fervor.

She dodged the vial in a graceful but completely unnatural twist as if she cared nothing for the bones in her body. Two of the three whips managed to hit her only on the edge, instantly crumbling on contact with the symbols on her skin, though more likely on her flesh, on the meat itself. The last whip was caught on an instant black prong in her palm, which she immediately threw at me, forcing me to go on the defensive and lose the momentum.

The last shadowy lash scattered in droplets of night, and I tilted my body back a little, trying to step into her blind spot. I was saved by the high value in my combat skills - just by thinking logically, I realized that something was about to happen, and I stepped into the shadow a second before. She anticipated my evasive maneuver, simply pointing me in the right direction with a pin throw.

It wasn't a teleport, thank boobs, but rather a warrior dash, or even a real blink. Quickly, very quickly, but I managed to step into the Shadow myself. The increased speed of the ghostly form was enough to dodge the impact of another pin, which I didn't want to touch even when I was in the Shadow.

Step out of the shadows, and strike the dagger blade with a straight line, both successful and unsuccessful. Successful because she didn't dodge, not so much simply because the result of the strike was a proud nothing. The signs covering her were infused with so much nastiness that the shadows were simply disembodied. They still wanted to do maximum damage to the bearer of the blackness, almost helping me attack, but I just didn't have time to concentrate enough strength for one attack. And she just ignored the weak blows.

Another step, after which I attack from the side, but she manages to react, putting another pin under my blade, forcing me to break the distance. And then I was nearly knocked out of my hands by a powerful kick to the spot where I went to roll over. If not for the reaction, it would have smashed my head like a watermelon. She foresaw me again, bitch!

But before that, my strikes went through!

Luring me into a trap? Hardly - it was the perfect moment to catch me on the way out of The Shadow. Just put the pin in the right direction, and I'd be hooked myself.

The shadow!

She can't foresee me while I'm in the Shadow!

It's already playable, albeit with some difficulty. Her speed was only a little faster than mine, not enough to completely dominate the fight. But equality was quickly becoming elusive, given her foresight and my lack of it. I think I was beginning to feel sorry for the guys who had to fight me: intuits are really uncomfortable opponents!

The next minute passed for me in constant steps, from which I tried to get the bitch. To no avail - she wielded her own body at an incredible level. Combat skills at the rank of grandmaster minimum, and a damnable foresight, too, made her a real monster... pun, however.

My reserve wasn't going down very fast, which was a cause for timid optimism, for her armor had a limit, too. I couldn't see it, but the way she was trying to keep my shadows away from her made it clear that she couldn't scatter the attacks indefinitely. The main thing was to hit harder and more often, or, better yet, to change tactics to something more suitable.

At the next step, I break the distance and now try to reach her with shadow nets and distance attacks. It's a bad idea - she's still anticipating my attacks. At close range she doesn't have time to react to me just falling out of the Shadow, then she has enough to react against me now. And I'm wasting energy too quickly in this mode, and I'll be tired before she is.

I wait until she just passes through the shadowy silhouette that tried to swaddle her, and then I go back into close combat. I try to cross, for now, she breaks the distance and throws a whole handful of pins at me. I realized too late that it wasn't a shot at random to buy time, but a very deliberate move.

Forcing me out of my step out right in front of her.

Another activation of the signs covering it, which moved like worms, rushing to perform the function, showed me another miracle of magical science. And to put it simply, I was immediate, fucking, paralyzed!

It was not an influence on the mind, but rather on the body, or rather on the nervous system. And if it had been only paralysis, I would have pulled myself out with the shadows, but she had thought of that, too! All the shadows in the warehouse no longer obeyed me. I couldn't get them to move, and, more importantly, I couldn't get another step away. Even the runaway didn't work, which nearly drove me into hysterics, overwhelmed by the heroic title alone.

It was as if I'd been placed in a sphere where shadows had become mere shadows, simple and unthreatening. It felt really hard, especially against the backdrop of the cultist slowly and carefully approaching me. Keeping the skill clearly required an enormous amount of concentration from her, which was why she was treading so slowly. From the strain, a black slurry began to drip from underneath each mark that covered her flesh. It was like steam coming out of an overheated kettle, only more disgusting.

Think, Kostik.

Think, or you'll be eaten.

All the available skills don't work...

No, not all!

Still haven't checked a couple yet!

Attempting to steal a shadow yielded nothing at all - there was so much grease inside the bitch that she didn't even have a shadow. Literally no shadow! I only noticed it now, though I should have from the beginning!

Well, it would be useless for me to just take her form anyway. What do you say in case I summon the Shadow for myself? The skill was activated at the moment when she was already reaching for my mask. Located in the farthest corner of the room, the Shadow was very small, pathetic, and nearly disintegrated from the bright flash of magical flame that had nearly burned it a minute earlier. But, most importantly, it was there.

My will is bound it in chains.

My will brought it into this world.

My will made it fall into the shadows beneath my feet.

And the presence of the native Shadow-dweller was able to overcome the strange magic of the cultist, and I used the evacuation myself, stepping out of the shadows five hundred meters from the warehouse. A few droplets of black sludge were rapidly evaporating on my mask, which I burned out with special pleasure. And in my soul, the wild, unspeakable anger of a man who had just been scared shitpants and was now ready to destroy all witnesses to his disgrace was burning within me.

I shifted into shadowy form and rushed forward, not even thinking that it might be a bad idea. I didn't need to breathe while I was in this place, but for some reason it felt like I had a chest full of icy cold, chilling me to the core. I was angry now, which meant that someone would have to pay for it.

She hadn't gone far, and she'd only made it to the roof of the warehouse. Either she was looking for me, or, more likely, she was looking for the best escape route, for many interested parties were already rushing in. The illumination I had set up was supposed to attract anyone who would, ha-ha, want to be attracted.

This time I don't create shadow blades, just as I don't create shadow whips. Instead, I infuse the daggers and step out of step so close to her that it might seem as if I were hugging her. Two strips of sharp steel can't kill her, even if they were infused to the brim with shadow. There is too much of that abomination in her body, too dense and bubbling. But even what the enraged hit man was able to demonstrate was enough to leave two long bloody furrows on her body, right through her back.

It may not be the most serious wound, but it will prevent her signs from activating into the right forms... For fuck's sake! She's regenerating, and she's regenerating with her tattoo! What the fuck is this monster?

I barely dodged the sharp swing she made - it's a good thing she didn't try to hug me - while knocking the thrown pin aside again. It was as if she'd gotten the hang of my fighting style, and now her attacks were even quicker and clearer. But why "as if"? I'm sure she is!

Breath.

The clairvoyance was beating against an invisible wall, making my headache uncomfortably. The cultist's blows are getting more and more precise, and my movements are starting to blur. The constant shadow steps help add unpredictability to my attacks, which evens our chances somewhat, but the damn bitch is finding it easier and easier to keep up with my attacks. My loss is becoming more obvious with each second.

I should retreat, but I'm desperate not to let her win, and I'm not willing to let the Сult know more about me. She tried once more to use her ultimate ability, but this time I was no longer caught. Apparently, to use it, the victim had to stand still for at least a moment, exactly in front of the target of her cast. Face to face. But I didn't stand still for a moment, blinking like a bad picture on a television, but still holding back the creature.

And in an instant, three things happen at once. You can't even tell which one is more important, to be honest, because all three could be considered turning points for our battle.

There I was, missing the blow with the woman's hand, barely managing to dampen the inertia of the blow. Instead of breaking my rib cage and squeezing my lungs through my mouth, I was simply thrown off, dropping my back painfully against the wooden wall of some outbuilding located right on top of the warehouse roof.

Here the cultist is forced to evade the lightning that fell straight from the sky, directed by a mage dressed in a blue robe, hovering right in the air. A few more people are trying to multiply the "beauty" by zero, indulging in all sorts of indulgence in splitting her into several parts. I seem to have been honored with the presence of several members of the elite wing of the adventurers' guild.

In addition to the magician, three other people are dancing with the girl. A big two-meter tall man with a completely bald head and a beard that puts any biker to shame. He had no weapons, but his fists, and he, shone with a dark silvery light, and his blows were delivered with mind-blowing force. I'm sure if the creature was hit with a pounding fist it would be in trouble. The second was a middle-aged man who looked more like a schoolteacher than an assassin. He was armed with a saber and a small wrist shield with sharp edges. The third was a fiery fellow, the youngest in their company. Though slightly pointed ears indicated that he might be the oldest as well. The two brass knuckles only complemented the flaming attacks, but the flames were the mainstay.

All three of them are above the thirtieth level. All three move as a single organism, simultaneously allowing the mage, still hovering in the air, to attack as well. All three don't stand a chance against the creature. It is stupidly too defensive, and its attacks are too dangerous. They could have fought back if they had chosen a defensive strategy, but they didn't.

Below, the guards and guilders, who knew of the unscrupulous adventurers in their ranks, were already gathering forces, determined to catch the enemy on the ropes. The adventurers themselves knew that their superiors knew, and so were able to escape from supervision and disappear with their ends. But my appearance and the "spotting" of the ritual place allowed the attacking group, already ready to strike.

And the cultists knew all about everyone and were even planning to lure the enemy out themselves. That's why the carnage started downstairs, as the Cultists came up through the underground communications to the massacre on an industrial scale.

Of course, I messed up their plans by disrupting the first stage of some large-scale ritual and burning the ritualists themselves to the ground, but that was the tenth thing. After all, it wasn't exactly the ritual they'd bet on in the first place.

And my clairvoyance also kicked in, as if my efforts and the slap I had received had allowed me to unleash my inner reserves. I still couldn't see very much, but now I could see, realize, feel, my opponent.

She is like a spider in a spider's web, where each thread serves as a way of perceiving reality. You touch a thread, and it becomes aware of your intentions as if you had rung the doorbell, carefully alerting it to your visit. These threads are invisible and intangible. They don't exist anywhere at all, if you think about it, except in my imagination, but that doesn't matter at all.

That's not what's important.

These games can be played in two, you bitch!

The intelligent-looking swordsman lies a broken pile of bones, falling off the roof and only by some miracle not getting the finishing blow. The boy with elf blood is desperately trying to burn the contagion out of his pinned arm, but whether the blackness or his flame will run out first is not at all clear. I can't see the wizard, but the sphere suggests that his body broke through the roof, throwing him inside the ill-fated warehouse.

And the big guy tries his best to fight the obsession, while the skinless creature pulls his arms toward him, clearly intending to kiss him with a hug. And there is no resistance, only reflexive twitching of the muscles with his brain completely shut down.

Stepping into the Shadow.

And then... I don't quite know what I'm doing myself. It's as if my mind is touching one of the threads that don't exist, creating its own lies at the same time. I see the mutant turn around sharply, ready to put up a block and immediately attack, but my foot hits her right in the face with a heavy boot, hurtling just above the prearranged block. It was as if the mutant had tried to reflect the blow seen in the disfigured and crooked mirror.

The exhausted thug falls immediately, barely having time to put his hands up to keep his face from crashing into the roof. There's no exaggeration in hell down there. And I'm standing in front of the cultist, still staring at me indifferently. I smiled wickedly beneath my mask.

The night had just begun.

* * *

13 pages. Lucky Number.

I had to spend some bonuses to make the MC survive the fight with the cult's first blade, and then I had to spend a little extra to unlock a new skill closely related to clairvoyance.

As for the crits. The luckiest bastards today are cultists. I have too much luck with all kinds of cultists - there was a similar situation in L&M as well. However, the main purpose of the "last" battle, as it were, remains hidden and spoiler.

I can only tell you all that guessing will be difficult, for the truth is far from the usual standard.

I'll also note the appearance of a level 34 monk described in PapaVol's omake, as well as (perhaps in the frame) his negligent apprentice with a bag of acid bombs. It was their group was involved in cleaning up what they could not get out of the "club". And yes, the acid grenade situation really happened.

The climax of the battle and the final determination of who wins the Battle for the Kraj will be in the next chapter.

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http://notabenoid.org/book/80370/522603

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP