Готовый перевод Настучать в бубен / Hit the tambourine: Глава 20-14

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The next couple of days passed in a constant mixture of relaxed contemplation multiplied by recovery potions and not the least bit relaxed observation of what was going on in the city and how it had turned out for the city. Oddly enough, most of those who had escaped had returned just as quickly. The portal, almost burned down again, had brought in a whole zonder team of priesthoods to the city to search for dangerous shit, and Sylvia was in a constant state of readiness to go off at any moment. She had a shaky peace with the local priests through clenched teeth, but to the visiting inquisitors, she was a natural enemy and simply something that should not be. The only thing keeping her from immediate escape was the fact that then they would definitely throw a chase after her. Such a chase that she would not be able to escape unless she revealed all her tricks, showing her increased strength, unusual abilities, and everything else. And then she would be chased in such a way that it would be impossible to leave, and the first in the chase queue would be her undead and undead masters, from whom the promising almost-high had become the highest at once and had learned a whole bunch of dangerous tricks. Most of which she could only learn from them, and the rest, even they don't know.

There were interrogations, old squabbles, and the priests of Damokar were tired of swearing their words and oaths. Those who were not worth the oaths and the work of the priests were frankly harassed or interrogated by alchemists and mentalists. Malter managed to maneuver and not even lose too much, though she was forced to give up quite a lot, many of her services, promising to provide afterward, and at obscene discounts. Alas, they would not cover her for less, and the priest-visitors already knew of her, for she had previously confirmed her innocence by an oath on a Guardian relic. So it turned out Sylvia was taken by the ass and now they expected to make her their tool in Lady de Fell's hands within a year or three. Or, more likely, to make of her a very high-quality one-time or several-time tool, which could then be gotten rid of without any pity.

Sylvia was happy to trade future problems for current successes and time to develop. Given her recent battle, she'd gotten a full closed 'Deed', and hadn't had it cut or taken most of the reward. He understood the reason. The vampiress had fought the Blood Demon with dignity, and even with her superblade, she could have lost. She would have lost if the shaman hadn't intervened, if he hadn't created a bunch of envolts and thunderbolts for her, and if he hadn't supported her through the puppet, preventing the blood demon from clouding her mind and suppressing her aura's resistance. It was a fair battle, a fair victory, as fair a victory as either side could get, so it was no surprise that his puppet had gotten her reward. It was true that she hadn't accepted it yet, but that was only because she wanted advice and didn't have time to take a breath, let alone do any self-development.

Turning to the city and its losses, not many were lost, and the shaman sincerely feared that some of them would be partially on his conscience, especially the poorer neighborhoods, where there were too few defenses, and the dense background of corruption could easily lead to the priests being burned down rather than repaired. But no, the only ones who died in large numbers were the ones the demoness had originally lured, and they were mostly nightwalkers, and of the nastiest sort - not out of nobility or even because she was playing the role of good sister to him, just that those would be the last to be missed. Laghan had taken under her control not just anyone, but the rogues who operated not even in the poor part of the city, but literally within the suburbs and the territories close to the city. That is, she fished out and turned the local romantics of the big road into living wank-bombs.

Officially approved by Dantmark's nocturnal masters, they racketeered on the roads, collected dues from those who had to pay them, scouted for anything of interest to pass on the information further down the chain, and could kill or strip lone travellers or small groups. Peasants were particularly badly treated by them, and girls were spoiled on a regular basis. In fact, the demoness was probably fishing for such groups using the bait in the form of a peasant milf. Stepan didn't know for sure, but he could bet on it. It was these bastards that the creature made the basis of its ritual because their numbers were quite hard to count, and they themselves were out of town quite often and therefore didn't need to go to temples on a regular basis. Again, in this progressive world, such teams of road men worked literally in shifts, so no one was surprised that the moneyed men decided to go out on the town, even glad that they had calmed down since the last time and did not make a mess.

Of course, the ordinary civilians who fell under the shroud of the curse received some long-lasting consequences; some were killed by accidental spells or crushed by a collapsed house. A rising star of the pottery shop, who also, incidentally, came out of the peasants, for example, was smashed into mincemeat, identified only by the shoe on one of the torn-off feet. Another respected junior clerk was run over by a piece of a log in the back of the head as he was returning home from a love interest. No one would condemn him, even if he had a mistress at home; he could afford it, but, alas, he went not to his mistress, but to his male lover, which could already affect his career. It would be fine if he had a second or third son, but he was the first-born and had to leave offspring, and here gay fun - he would not be stoned for such a thing, he was a respected man, and the mores in this world are quite noticeably simpler than on Earth, but his career could stagnate, and they would start to judge. Also from the remembered episodes was some runaway convict, hiding in the city for six months and covering the brand on his forehead with an amulet with an illusion, which fell under an accidental blow and lost most of his face. He was identified by the piece with the branding.

There were simply wounded, there were traumatised, there were immersed in delusional visions and vicious dreams, but these, as for the intensity of the breakthrough, were not even minor problems, but the apotheosis of the concept of ‘shitting oneself with a slight fright’. Those who were richer were blessed with grace immediately and without delay; those who were poorer were isolated in fortified rooms, next to one or two small relics per barracks, to wait out the most severe withdrawal and then return to normal life. The mortality rate with this tactic is low, but it is easy to get health problems when the aura from the passive conflict of profanity with grace begins to fuck up. But who cares about those poor people, right?

"Should I go and help with the healing?" The shaman asked himself, trying to find a reason not to. "There are suitable spirits, and if not, it would not take long to summon them, with his new knowledge."

He couldn't come to a clear answer, and decided to think about it again when the weakness had passed, because no one was in a hurry to die, and the local priests weren't exactly scumbags, not when it came to demons. The poor who had fallen under the rain of filth, they tormented with fasting, mass prayers, demanded to offer those prayers regularly and not to succumb to the whisper of the warp, because no priests would be enough to sanctify every shoeless person with a personal prayer, they already made crazy discounts for the time after the breakthrough.

In addition to the inquisitors in the city ran just a sea of marine agents, who were interested in the identity of the mysterious demon fighter, who silently came and resolved all questions. They were looking for the shaman now almost officially and they were looking for the shaman, as it was difficult to miss the process, during which the demons first destroyed the crowd trying to contain their spirits, and then they were killed by one spirit, which was allotted to the body of the shaman in a persistent symbiosis. Yes, yes, Magister Miller, though he was thanked by Stepan personally for his help in the battle, being so close to the breakthrough, was able to quickly set up weave-watching, so he saw almost the entire battle, though in fragments and without the ability to capture the imprint of the aura. And even if he had been able to take it off, it wouldn't have helped, because the shaman had a Patchwork Echo, but it was still pleasant. It could have happened without the Autogoddess' intervention, but it was her intervention that guaranteed the absence of a “clear picture of the aura”, paradoxically not preventing him from recording the battle process itself.

Almost all negotiations and searches of this level took place behind closed doors, and the shaman couldn't know about them, nor could Sylvia, but since there had been no knock on the mansion door so far, there were no leads that would lead to him. He didn't risk sending the spirits to check out the herbal and non-magical shop where Gelda still worked. Not when the spirits were all over the place looking for the spirits and had started to press the three local craftsmen. Instead of a personal visit, he preferred to simply give orders to Lemira, who had checked the shop during her regular outing with a couple of de Fell's errand boys, looking for traces of whoever had assigned her the task. Gelda continued her work as if nothing had happened, but mentally, the shaman wished she had been caught doing something stupid and burned out on the job a little. Couldn't help, alas. That would be a deal breaker, after which the demoness, who knew a lot about him and his weaknesses, would dance for joy.

For a good part of these two days, while he was not busy resting, Stepan also worked on analyzing the aura changes of the Malter chicks. Each received twelve units of random characteristics, each got two elite properties, one of which was pervert, and one was random, but also, with a high probability, pervert. Another reason for vampires not to stick their heads out and constantly be careful, because such characteristic changes in the aura, and against the background of the invasion of demons of the vice of Lust... well, here is just a combo, after which they will burn the fire, on which they burn the vampire, additionally lighting a third fire on top of the previous two.

What made the task more difficult was that the four had no System, so he had to analyse their auras using only classical methods, rather than looking at the System's help. Fortunately, he had their puppets, and he knew exactly where to look, could sense with precision everything that the bloodsuckers themselves felt. The results were astounding, he would say, but the effect was lost amidst the examples of the system's power already available. Yes, cool, yes, unrealistic and inexplicable by methods of classical and not very magical practices, but he had already seen it, tried it, even tested it on himself. In every fucking sense he had experienced it. But it was still pleasant to realise that these deadly dangerous and incredibly seductive women, who had become even more deadly, even more incredible, even more dangerous and even more seductive, still belonged to him completely, with all their essence, to the very core.

He analysed Artemia first, assessing her attributes, their growth, and the new modifications to her aura, understanding little by little the basis of her enhancement. Most of the attributes went into Control and Sensitivity, a little into Constitution and Spirit, very little into Power and Resistance, which was a pretty good spread. Control and Sensitivity are the main tools of an artefactor, and she got both. As for the aura... It was easiest with the first of the modifications that had sprouted in her skin, especially around her palms and hands, with a peak on the pads of her fingers. With a single touch, Atemia could now induce paralysis, suppress the will, even make the victim move the way she needed to, though it would still be unnatural. And all this with a constant flow of pleasure, an orgasmic numbness that simply prevented the target from acting, from gathering the strength and pushing away the hand that touched her victim. Quick experiments on the volunteer Lemira and another maid, the same one turned into a repeater by the demoness, had shown some amusing results.

The moment the touch is made, Artemia's effect passes through the natural auric shields like water soaking into sand, creeping into the smallest crevice. It is very difficult to sense anything, only if you tune in beforehand, not if you are in a relaxed state. The first second and a half, when the effect is just taking hold, can still be decisive, but then... then it's too late. Lemira wriggled, moaned, screamed, begged me not to stop, and yelled that she was cumming-cum-cum-cum-cum-cum, but there was nothing she could do. Not to summon the scarlet drops, not to move into the inanimate phase, not to step back and break the distance - like a puppet with a puppeteer's hand shoved up its ass.

Artemia's second property was closer in functionality to Stepan's shroud, frozen between property and small knowledge. Too flexible to be just a property, too tied to the state of the aura to be minor knowledge. A modification, but not of the body, but of the spiritual state, even the aura, was only partially affected, in the very depths. What did this property do? It kept Artemia from paying proper attention. The eyes saw her, perception didn't malfunction either, but she was out of focus and perceived quite appropriately, as was everything she did. Working with the world of the spheres, like high witchcraft, but powered by blood, and fed and fueled by blood. The shaman was able to resist, though not at first attempt, but afterwards it became easier, especially due to his understanding of the mechanism of this disguise-not-disguise, which was too close to wild witchcraft practices for him not to pick up a counter-action.

Lemira, having switched to the inanimate phase and fully concentrated, also managed to overcome inattention, albeit with the shaman's hints and being ready in advance. Jaspera, who had come into the room by chance to pick up one of the spare communication amulets, because the first two were already dead, didn't notice anything. Artemia went behind her back, put her hands on her shoulders, and the inanimate financier began to cum, not understanding the reason for it or even the fact that she was cumming. The veil of rejection that covered Artemia also covered the traces of her actions, especially so close up, and made for a very comical situation. Jaspera realised that she felt good, but did not realise how this ‘good’ was manifested.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, oh, I'm not really, oh, I'm like, ay-ay, yeah, yeah, yeah!" The fully clothed woman tried to act normal, but she couldn't, and it was the veil that prevented her from realising she wasn't acting normal. "Ha-ah-ah. Ohh. ooh-ooh. I, um. I have to go, I'm sorry, I'm late as it is, I won't bother you all."

And she left, accompanied by mocking and amused looks, not even realising that something had happened to her. Right before she left, she gave Stepan a long, tongue-tied kiss. The latter was an order whispered in Artemia's ear, which at the expense of overloaded consciousness was perceived as her idea. After some more play with her new properties, the shaman allowed Artemia to try to influence herself. She almost made him cum in his trousers just by stroking his palm, drawing a spiral with the touch of a fingernail, but he learnt her trick, managed to gather his thoughts and started to block the link between their spiritual bodies, simultaneously switching to spiritual perception and becoming aware again of the bloodsucker who had embraced him. It was a lot of experience for a single exercise, and he could have set up a full training programme like he had with Sylvia, but he was in no hurry, wanting to check on the rest of the fledglings too.

Rowena was second in line, and it was much quicker to finish with her, for her systemic gifts turned out to be just as powerful, but more straightforward in their very nature. The characteristics were distributed, like Sylvia's, mostly evenly, even at the Source with Power, which were extremely difficult for bloodsuckers to develop on their own. The first of the properties modified first of all the body, and only then a little aura, working with sweat glands of the inanimate body, which, thanks to non-life, were mostly atrophied, because the heat dissipation of such a body is no longer necessary. The system of pheromone secretion worked in a pervert way, allowing, at the expense of minimal waste of blood reserve, to release a very wide range of aromas that could literally turn off brains or otherwise affect them.

From small and weak influences, which only slightly inflamed desires and increased trust and suggestibility, to ways to turn a living and breathing creature into an uncontrollable beast during the heat of the race in a couple of breaths. It would even work on vampires, if the concentration was right and the bloodsucker would draw air into itself on reflex - and they did, they liked to feel alive too much to stay in the inanimate phase all the time. A separate feature of this property was its imperceptibility for standard and not so standard protections, especially in soft mode, the ability to give out scents in doses, and intervals of a couple of days or even weeks, so that three different pheromones, mixed in the body, gave the desired effect only on the third meeting. And also this crap could be very persistent, settling on clothes, on surfaces, staying there for several days and slightly acting on the victim, who just sits in the office, where she met with the carrier of pheromones. A day, a second, a third, and on the fourth day, the victim will be blatantly hand-jobbing in the office instead of working.

She was a perfect tool, if not a poisoner, then a seductress, but the shaman had forbidden her to create long-lasting and persistent scents without his express permission. It was not enough to make herself dependent on Rowena-Reshka's presence as her lord and master. Experiments with this property showed that even though the odours themselves were imperceptible and standard scanning with amulets and spirits did not register their presence, but if one knew what orders to give to the spirits, they would find their target, even if it was a multi-component composition, but it was very difficult to deal with them and depended on the composition itself. And also saved the usual breathing filter, and ideally also the most primitive air armour, so that on the skin of small particles did not settle. After using this product, such a delicate and valuable tool quickly turned into a pumpkin, becoming useless in the seduction.

The test on Lemira had shown that an extreme concentration of passion-inducing and willpower-suppressing secretions could turn even a vampire who knew about the attack into jelly. Excited, even without any help from Stepan, purely from the realisation of how cool she was now, Rowena simply stripped off her underwear and shoved it in her older nestmate's face. Lemira took a single sceptical breath, and then breathed like a hunted horse, pushing air into herself with a longing, pressing the thin cloth against her face and shoving her other hand into herself almost to the wrist, which would have been traumatic, especially without training, if Lemira had been human. She came to herself after an hour and a half, almost continuously satisfied and recognising that if she had been a human being, the concentration would have made her heart fail, if not her heart fail, then she would have fucked herself to unconsciousness at best.

Having already understood the mechanics of pheromones, fully confident in his abilities, and also feeling like a total pervert, which Stepan the Namesake would have patted on his shoulder approvingly, he took one breath from the same source. He managed to intercept the spirit's control over his body in time, despite the fact that part of the effect clearly went through the aura, not only through the physical body, and then suppressed the influence of the poison and removed it from the body. Rowena pouted, almost sincerely, as she wanted the shaman to pounce on her, or to follow Lemira's lead and tell her to save him from death by dehydration. Well, not all dreams come true, he could have told her, but he didn't, checking and rechecking his aura for any remaining traces of influence or erotic poison particles deposited deep in the aura or on the vessel walls.

Rowena's second property was not smutty at all and was more passive, increasing her affinity with the element of air, in addition to the one she already had, only tied to water. The air affinity was even more powerful, which made Rowena puppyishly excited. It was access to hybrid and blood-bound, but full-fledged elemental magic practices. For vampires, who don't tolerate any element other than earth, elemental magic is mostly off-limits.... It should be no surprise that even Sylvia was filled with the blackest envy, then invited Rowena to her room, looked her in the eye and made her believe that she was a little girl of six who wanted to sit in the corner of her office and suck her thumb. And it was Malter's own will, not the shaman's suggestion through a doll, which best showed the extent of the envy that had come over Sylvia.

Jaspera was the third to check, having temporarily interrupted the work of recalculating the finances in case of escape, as well as withdrawing some of the funds unnoticed by de Fell, also staying not too long. A lot of her characteristics, at least half of them, had gone into Constitution, which was fine for a vampire, but Jaspera was the one who could have the least use for it, as she was not a fighter at all and did not like to fight or train in combat skills, although she was forced to do so. Somehow he remembered an old joke that the financier used to use regularly - her Bloody Armour was the worst in the whole nest, if you don't count the young chick that had died recently, but she was better than anyone else, even better than Sylvia, at using the household version of that Armour to clean the dirt and dust.

The first of her properties, or rather the second one, but the one Stepan had learnt first, was not vulgar and passive, but rather combat - accelerated regeneration due to Blood Droplets. That is, every vampire could do that, especially if they were old, but Jaspera's aura property intercepted that function, so she regenerated without even putting any effort into it, and could also ignore a lot of ways to slow down vampire regeneration, which were used by hunters with varying degrees of success. In his mago-spiritual vision, her regeneration seemed to pierce her entire body with a framework of many small bubbles, as if aura and body were segmented and yet still connected. Even if a specific prayer, a silver stake, or a nail consecrated by the solar priests damaged some of the bubbles, sending a harmful impulse into the body and aura..... this impulse will not go far, it will damage only one part of the physical and subtle body. Again, the honourable Sylvia Malter wanted to look one of her chicks in the eyes again, but she could not distract her from her work even more, and they had not finished analysing Jaspera's aura.

The shaman was puzzled by Jaspera's second gift. He quickly realised what it was doing, but he could not understand how it was doing it. The effect was partly through the etheric layer, the same layer that was responsible for the same information or attempts at clairvoyance, and partly through the mental field, similar to classical mentalism. The acceptor of the influence was visual perception, and also magical-spiritual perception, even if the victim did not possess any form of magical vision, it was even better that way. Subconsciously, eye contact was also perceived, but it was impossible to consciously interfere with the attack. So what was the trigger for the impact? Given the nature of the meta-skill, and the nature of Her Milfy Milfiness, it wasn't hard to guess - boobs. More specifically, not the tits themselves, but the nipples of both breasts.

One glance at these parts of Jaspera's pale body was enough for the effect to work, and the woman had to make a conscious effort to keep her property inactive, which was much like Stepan's “small spiritual-energetic protection”, which also acted passively, was not switched off, and was temporarily suppressed only with a conscious effort. What did the sight of these magic nipples give? The answer is rather complicated; the shaman had to observe the effect several times on the same Lemira, and they also involved the passing servants in quick tests. Conclusions were drawn, results were obtained, and bold assumptions were made, to the effect that Jaspera's nipples had become a memetic virus: one look at the nipples of her breasts made one think of them, of that image, as if the image were imprinted on the retina and subcortex at once, these images, images of nipples became more and more dense, took up more and more space, the body felt arousal, but one could not fight it or simply drop it, because the very thought of anything but nipples did not fit in the head.

Then the victim's mind was finally overloaded, there was nothing in the mind, only naked nipples-nipples-nipples-nipples-nipples-nipples-nipples-nipples. Then the arousal and the fixated thought-image collapsed, and the victim cum violently and uncontrollably, sinking into a mixture of deep sleep and complete helplessness. Such a victim could not execute complex commands, but it was quite possible to interrogate him or use him instead of his favourite dildo. An ideal means of crowd control, alas, not working through illusions or image projection. In all seriousness, it was the perfect way to take a dangerous opponent alive, because by the time the victim realised that something was wrong, it was too late to do anything about it, there wouldn't even be enough concentration to kill himself.

Thirty seconds is literally enough for a simple, uninitiated person, but an experienced and able to work with their aura and spiritual body could last much longer, even if they are unaware that they have just seen an analogue of the mental virus that has seeped into their brains through the optic nerve. Lemira collapsed in ecstasy after only three minutes for the first attempt, not yet knowing exactly what Jasper had gotten or how that ‘what’ worked. Subsequent attempts and active resistance with a shift into the inanimate phase helped her stretch out her switch-off for nearly ten minutes. Stepan, who had ventured out to test himself and his powers, lasted almost eight. The first time, he gave up his position due to a few unfortunate mistakes. Luckily, he didn't have to dirty his underwear, for Lemira readily helped him with her mouth, at the same time nourishing herself, and when he woke up from his lethargy, she also sucked an additional portion of his seed, as she was very skilful at blowjobs.

The second and all subsequent attempts were much more successful. He managed to calmly and confidently suppress the viral image, isolate it, and, changing almost completely into a spiritual form, dismantle it from his own brains, both physical and spiritual. Towards the end, he was able to cope with it in a matter of seconds, and only began to give in if he looked at the nipples of Jaspera, who had unfastened the collar of her dress, literally uninterruptedly. Otherwise, just turn your back for five seconds and you'd be burning that shit out. Despite the cunning and insidiousness of this property, it was a property, not knowledge, not flexible enough, and always the same, working according to the same algorithm. Once you have mastered it, there will be no difficulty in repeating it, like riding a bicycle or swimming skills.

Lemira was the last one, for dessert, but that wasn't surprising. He realised, even on a cursory inspection, that she had the most powerful something the four of them had ever had. In all four cases, the most powerful of the properties came from already existing aura modifications - increased aura intensity in Artemia's palms, which was very useful in her work as an amulet-maker, Rowena's already existing skills of working with scents, only she had enhanced them by modifying the perfume with blood magic instead of producing it herself, even Jaspera's regeneration came from the standard for any vampire property ‘bloodsucker's body essence’. Yes, they had all grown stronger, the entire foursome now in terms of aura power was either not too inferior, or surpassed slightly, that of Sylvia at the time of her encounter with the shaman. But it was Lemira's gift property that was the most active, the most complex and ultimate, surpassing even Sylvia's eyes, and even without much analysis, it was obvious, just by a superficial examination through her own mind with the focus on the doll.

The two properties, active and passive, complemented each other perfectly, which made the final result cause a slight feeling of envy. The passive modification of Lemira's aura was one of those that increase the propensity to certain types of magic, while working with some sensitivity to the manifestations of the chosen school. It was a decidedly exotic focus. After some analysis, the young man came to the conclusion that it enhanced Lemire's acoustic magic, the depth of its potential and control, at the same time adding perfect hearing, a sense of rhythm, the ability to pick up even the smallest rustles, identifying them very confidently, not to swallow at sharp and loud noises, as well as almost using a magical version of an echo sounder. That was both useful and a noе smutty, especially in the long run. Vampires had a knack for working with sound, so to speak, at the level of racial magic. So, for example, every chick learns pretty quickly to make little to no noise when walking or making any movement at all. Sylvia had a body modification that allowed her to charm with her voice, albeit not up to the racial abilities of the same sea sirens. Lemira, the second and only one of the nest to develop it, had the same modification, albeit a little less stable.

She used this voice more often not for seduction or attempts to influence negotiations, but as a weapon, directly deafening, as a means of putting to sleep or distracting attention, which has many uses beyond the vulgar variants that the Autogoddess would approve of. A lot of guards near a warehouse will not go to check who is singing a song a hundred metres away, and then it will be too late. If they won't fall asleep, then they will just lose all concentration, not noticing how the warehouse is being stripped clean. In general, Lemira had such a modification, and she actively used it, quite successfully and with a proper share of fiction.

The keyword in that phrase, of course, was because the same thing happened to this modification as to Sylvia's eyes. The system's gift was superimposed on top of the already finished foundation, and instead of a high-rise building, it turned out to be a damn skyscraper. Seriously, the shaman considered this modification even more dangerous and penetrating than Martel's eyes, primarily due to tactical flexibility and greater stealth. Now, by straining her body, aura, and expending her blood supply, Lemira could speak in an inaudible tone, directing her words directly into the etheric layers so that she could be heard solely by her victim's subconscious and mental body. In such a situation, the command was perceived by the victim's own thoughts, and it seeped so deeply into the victim that the mind would further construct the reasons why it was necessary to do exactly as Lemira said, even if she was not heard.

The standard defence for this attack simply didn't exist, advanced witch fields were stitched through at once, at most only slightly weakening the effect, and even then, until the bloodsucker got used to breaking through this defence, adjusting his voice to it. The spirits, even strong, sharpened to work with the ether and consciousness of the suggestion, at most had time to catch the moment of impact and warn that the impact on the victim was made, but with great difficulty and delay, recognised the command and decoded it. Lemira was quite capable of picking out a target even in a crowded room, attuning herself to the victim in a similar way to the way a familiar Blood Patronage focuses on the aura. Only here you don't need to have a full aura cast, just be within earshot of the victim, you don't even have to see them.

The servants, who were distracted from their work, obediently jumped, fell asleep, scratched their noses and butts and obeyed other commands until Lemira's throat began to bleed. Then, having healed her with the meta-skill, they continued with more careful handling of the vampire's subtle body. The commands given by the Voice were perfectly disguised as their desires and thoughts, but they were not absolute and did not overcome basic instincts. You couldn't command not to breathe or cut your own throat, not with a single phrase. But if you first tell the listener that everything is worthless, he is nothing, he has nothing to live for, and then offer to throw yourself on a dagger, then yes, it will work. But it would not be two or three words, but almost a small speech of a couple of paragraphs, which would exhaust Lemira. She already had to drink his blood to replenish her strength. The second time, he did not give his blood, but ordered Sylvia the use her token, which gave a vial with a particularly interesting scarlet drop.

If we talk about trying to resist Lemira's voice, it was a quest to find a suitable defence. He had never found a method of counteraction, he just needed to keep moving in the direction of transition from flesh-based thinking to thoughts based on the spiritual body. Otherwise, there was no way, not at his level and not with his resistance and intensity to recognise and block this stuff on pure reflex. Obeying paranoia and not wanting to give up, the earthling began to search not for an effective method of defence, but for the shield itself, intending to construct a witch's amulet, or a similar amulet, only with a spirit, or all of them at once. It didn't work on the first or even the tenth attempt, which made his pride suffer a little, or just his pride itch - he wasn't used to catching such critical failures, to being so incapable of coming up with something.

Nothing humiliating, no, no, they weren't in advanced training to use the erotic method, no desire to lick a vampire's pussy, no soiling their underwear with liquids, no amorous languor. No, this was pure defense selection, so Lemire was simply put to sleep by clapping his hands, standing up and walking around, and other low-risk shit that tested his defenses. The trick is undoubtedly insidious because even seeing Lemira's mouth open and lips move, one doesn't realize the strangeness of the order. Yes, clapped his hands in emotion, only to immediately focus again and continue waiting for the moment when he felt like doing something unnatural. Yes, he got up and walked, though he was going to sit in the chair and before that he had agreed with the vampiress that she would try to lift him from the chair, but it was just to stretch his legs, now he would sit down and be ready to take the attack on the mental shield. He fell asleep in half a minute while he was watching the bloodsucker's moving lips, but he was just tired; he would take a nap and continue, and sleep itself was a perfect shield against her attack, that's why he was falling asleep.

He got out of it by finding the right signatures of chaotic spiritual vibrations that interfered with the voice, allowing it to be heard by the ears instead of the subconscious, and allowing him to ignore commands. The necessary combination was created on the twenty-first anniversary of the twenty-first application. But it was only once to find a counteraction, it was indeed a spell-enhanced hairpiece with a small spirit in it, which was able to suppress sound not only audible, but also inaudible too, synergising with the spell material, as Lemira's ability became simply useless against the shaman. Yes, the coolest property, but knowing its nature and method of operation, it was only necessary to pick up the appropriate interference, and that's it, nothing more can be done. The property is just that, a property, and such modification lacks flexibility. Stepan fell asleep that evening so satisfied that he didn't need any more fucking, he had had enough of it, so to speak.

* * *

Stepan had never considered himself a particularly conscientious person, preferring not to worry about what he couldn't change and not to bother himself with unnecessary reflection. But at the same time, he had such an uncharacteristic character trait for young men of his age, and for people of Earth and other-worldly people in general, as the ability to recognize his faults and try to correct them to the best of his ability. It is to try, exactly to the extent possible, and not just to whine about the fact that he, by the way, set a person up or offended another person. That's why the idea of slightly helping the affected by demonic force individuals came to him almost at the same moment as he finally got rid of the consequences of overstrain of all moral, magical, physical, and mental forces, which did not allow him to call normally. Now that the bookmarks of the demonic creature did not turn him into a pervert eager to fuck beauties between oiled large breasts, his usual efficiency returned and rose from the ashes.

Yes, it can be hard to get yourself back on track. You can analogize it to pregnancy and the first year of motherhood, when it's hard for women to recover after a long time out of the loop, with constant sleep deprivation and emotional swings. It's hard to get the gears in your head crunching, to regain your mental acuity and quick judgment, but women all over the world manage it somehow, right? His agent and brainiac knowledge only added fuel to the fire, indicating that such a technique with immersion in the pleasure and unwillingness to exert themselves, replacing that desire to search for pleasure of various kinds, is very popular and frighteningly effective. You need to eliminate a competitor in the magical craft, so that the teacher's attention goes only to you alone, but killing or cursing are prevented by oaths? Selected mistress-servant, special perfume, a little alchemy on the sheets of the bed, and here is a competitor all gone not in practice and development, but in fun bed plays - a minimum of direct control, maximum results. Dangerous political opponents are often knocked out this way. For example, Sylvia could tell a lot about it, she herself had been hired more than once to carry out such an operation or a part of such an operation.

The shaman was well aware of all the dangers of giving himself slack and did not want to get not magical, but purely psychological problems with concentration, and therefore the shroud of tenderness, its remnants, not just dropped, but literally annihilated. Again, without all the same influence of “sis”, he felt perfectly rested and already povznavalivayuschih pleasures of the flesh, gave him a little pleasure for the mind and, of course, the soul, just not in the sense that demons mean. So, his working mood, combined with a slight fear of not being able to return to full concentration, perfectly combined with those very flashes of not dying conscience, which softly hinted at helping those who had suffered because of his fault, too. The guilt of that was incomparably less than that of the demons, but still, he didn't even think much about it when he started the massacre in the city. He didn't regret it, no, he understood perfectly well that he did everything for his own survival, and that survival was at the head of everything, and conscience could be listened to after the showdown. He didn't regret it, but he didn't shrug off the fact that he had a joint, maybe not the biggest of all possible ones.

Of course, he could cure the entire barracks of poor people with his knowledge and access to the store, but he couldn't just show up and start curing everyone. They wouldn't interfere with him, especially if his aura wasn't hidden, but this option would ruin the conspiracy just a little bit. So, it is necessary to come to those barracks suddenly, unnoticed and hidden from everyone, taking away the eyes and constantly present observers from the priesthood, ducal people, ordinary, and secret guards. Also, not so difficult, even in spite of the uproar, because he can retreat at any moment, and he himself will easily pass through the protection and alarms installed against demons in the first place. Much more difficult to ensure the stealth and treatment of victims at the same time, but this is also quite a working environment, just need to be well prepared.

He had prepared himself by retreating to his subterranean cache, admiring the shimmering faces of the cube, which changed the colors of the individual fragments of the mosaic with such frequency and smooth slowness that it resembled a test for epilepsy, or a Soviet wall rug at forty-degree temperatures. Calling in the appropriate spirits, relying on totems and constant checking of disguises, selecting a concealment team and a backup team of the same concealment, going out to lunch, and returning to the mansion. He worked as he was used to, and the results were quite obvious and noticeable. The hardest part was the summoning of one rather unpleasant entity that fed on the emanations of demonic foulness, but did not want to communicate with those who had any contact with demons at all. On the one hand, the shaman is completely cleansed of any bookmarks or stains, but on the other hand ... spirits perceive the world very strangely, he may well notice not systemic, so ordinary info-etheric connection with the demoness and rebel.

It was necessary to rebuild the amulet additionally, to install a backup circuit, and to carry out the kamlanie outside the body, purely in a spiritual form, lighting underground fires, pumping the smoke deep into the bowels of the earth, replacing oxygen with fresh, and, of course, communicating with a rather problematic entity. It had to sacrifice fragments of religious symbols, any but quite a few, which had to be purchased separately from the system, but not to say directly expensive. It wasn't high-end relics that were needed, just analogs of the cross that had been worn for years. The essence was manifested from the smoke, formed from that smoke its body and base, and the creature itself was of those who are very skillful in working with divine power. In a way, it could be considered an analog of a fish, which feeds on the crumbs of power from the divine table. But, along with the diet, the spirit has also acquired some of the properties of celestials, primarily enduring intolerance to demons, the ability to literally erase their power as if an eraser, leaving the canvas of the soul and aura of a mortal untouched.

The spirit didn't hesitate to accept payment and take possession of the totem created for him, and the shaman continued to call for a new spirit, then another, then a third. On this operation, he will go with the clear idea that he may well be detected there or at all waiting, and therefore needs to be ready to escape sharply and quickly. Or, which is much more preferable, to notice the ambush in advance and get away without disturbing it at all. That's why he has another summoner planned as a stealth spirit, specializing in stealth against those who search for spirits using classical magic methods. A formless base, aspects of silence and magic, but no clear sphere, almost pure neutral as far as it goes. Even in spiritual sight, he is invisible, effectively replacing part of the spiritual world of the spheres with himself and his body, as if replacing a piece of reality with himself, reality, not even space.

An senior spirit, not particularly strong in terms of pure power, but possessing a lot of exotic aspects, and specifically so problematic in summoning, who loves to test the summoner for strength, and his amulets for functionality, not even out of malice or desire to eat the soul of the loser, although he can do that too, but just out of a playful mood. Even his summoning is not so costly in terms of reagents as it is dangerous in terms of resisting his games. You'll bore him and force him into obedience, you'll do well, and if you don't, he'll tear your house apart, asshole. Yes, yes, this was the spirit's favorite way to get on the nerves of a shaman or other summoner - to damage the circuits, sag totems, eat some of the other's offerings, and so on. It's not fatal, but then you'll have a hard time cleaning up such shit. He had to try hard, creating not just a circle, but literally soldering it into reality with territorial magic, and then locking it with a ring of etheric currents, thus forming a lacuna-pocket, in which the spirit was still the whole piece of reality, including the lacuna, but could not go beyond it.

He tried hard, of course, pushing, looking for weak points, but he couldn't find them, though the shaman was a step away from burning some of the auxiliary totems, or simply using meta-skill recovery. It didn't happen, though the senior entity, of course, was still the senior entity and would have snapped if the shaman hadn't called in advance a small chorus of negotiating spirits with similar aspects, which persuaded the older fellow not to mess around on his own behalf, saying what a great guy Stepan was and how great it was to work with him. Thanks to this support group it was possible to get time for the beginning of negotiations, the spirit, having broken a little bit and jerked the locked key points of the lacuna, agreed to at least listen to the earthling. The next step was easy. With his build, sharpened in suggestion and brainwashing, he simply and slowly inclined the spirit to a favourable decision for both of them.

Despite the temptation to completely enslave the entity or to make it work, figuratively speaking, for a bent penny instead of a mountain of gold, the Earthman managed only minimal exposure and an increase in the general... no, not favour, but indifference. With those shamans that the spirit liked, he would play his games in a particularly fun and funky way. Rather, the young man showed himself to be boring, so boring that it would be easier to accept a contract for seven indefinite conscription, just to get away from him as soon as possible. He was ready to try his luck with the mass treatment of demonic corruption. The rest of the calls were simpler and sharpened more in the interaction with good auras and priestly prayers, and they did not particularly resist the call, those images-proposals of the shaman.

He finished with a sense of accomplishment and moral superiority and decided to rest and meditate for a while. He felt as if he'd had a good workout, but it was not his body that sang and was full of strength, but his spirit. He felt like after a good workout, only it was not his body that was singing and full of strength, but his spirit. So, meditating on the soft mat on the stone floor, he began to do what he had been putting off. He knew that Sylvia was still too busy to decide on the reward for her battle against the Bloody One, as well as to realise it. Her deed turned out to be valued by the system in a boost of two random knowledge one rank up, the unlocking of two random meta-skills, and a random rare token. From the kind and generous Greatest Among the Milf came two more rare or elite tokens, as well as a random common-grade property.

Malter, who had carved out some free time for herself, went to her bed, deciding not to bury herself in the ground, but she had plenty of strength and no serious wounds, despite the three times she had flashed by in close proximity to death. Twice she was nearly disembowelled by blades of the demon's summoned blood, and once he almost managed to blow her up from the inside with a blood explosion. A supreme, bitching vampire to kill with his own blood, despite the protection of the hilt of her new blade! It was a real ultimatum for all bloodsuckers, just a complete counter to any trick in the arsenal of even an experienced bloodsucker. He would have crushed Edichka and his nest as a fox would have crushed the chickens in the henhouse. But for Malter, it was a couple of scratches, which were not even affected by the evil thanks to the sword's shield and the purifying witchcraft pumped through the doll and totems, connected to the doll from the other side of the connection. Oh yes, she had to throw away he clothes, such an unbearable loss.

The enhanced knowledge was “advanced basic search practice based on blood magic” and “advanced basic scarlet pulse techniques”, which both became “ developed”. Serious enhancements, useful and highly variable, are tied to both support with searching and direct combat. Even though Sylvia considered direct combat to be a last resort, she was glad as hell to have such a gift. Well, not to hell, Stepan thought, a very unfortunate comparison that seemed a mockery of recent events. Search influences had increased in range and accuracy, it was easier to bypass the cloak from the search. Now her fugitive subordinate would be unable to hide without the shaman's intervention. The Scarlet Pulse quality synergized with combat skills and general bloody practice, here and fight, and acceleration in that fight, and just acceleration, which allows you to think faster in normal non-life, and provoke regeneration, and a sudden attempt to take under stealthy control by increasing the resonance of blood. In every place, you have to be in time first, to be able to speed yourself up sufficiently, and here you have developed knowledge, and in an extremely sharpened for a vampire configuration.

Sylvia's meta-skills were the full analog of the shaman's “constant influx of experience I” and the purely vampiric “summon of saturated blood I”. The latter was very similar to Sylvia's token, but it worked once every two full days, and also called not a particularly cool blood, but just about a liter vial of good and suitable scarlet liquid, belonging to a gifted person, but definitely not the level of a master of magic. Yes, cool, yes, useful, yes, it would gradually fill the fridge with supplies for a rainy day. But her “blood replenishment” was much more useful for her, restoring her blood supply at once, and the new meta-skill was good only because the summoned vials could be stored under her bed instead of a suitcase with bucks.

The token given by the system turned out to be quite a useful thing, even if it was situational and also vampiric: “‘significant creation of a den of the foul earth with controlled binding’, three charges only, but still a very good thing. Good for a vampire, specifically. Apply it to any piece of land, and that land will be imbued with Sylvia's or whatever vampire she's pointing at, as if the land had been used as a recovery grave for a good fifteen hundred years. The token will also create a beautiful and not bad enchanted coffin, in which you can rest, and which enhances the properties of the earth while masking the vampire. The grave itself does not glow in magical or spiritual sight, no matter how old. Any experienced bloodsucker learns to make their grave not glow to the outside world, but the token created by the token is looped to itself close to the ideal. Even specific techniques, prayers, weaves, or spirits used to hunt bloodsuckers will fail.

The two Autogoddess gift tokens were exactly what one would expect from, well, an Autogoddess. The first one was called “Languishing Mouth”, had fifty charges, and when activated, made the victim want to give Sylvia the most tender and passionate licking the hapless victim was capable of. As always with tokens, the compelled desire seems completely normal and natural. Here you are arguing with her about something, and here you are apologizing for the distraction, getting on your knees and diligently working your mouth, finding a logical explanation for doing just that. Those around you, or who learned of the event in other ways, also accept what happened as the norm and don't attach any significance to the event. Oh yeah, just like with other tokens, this shit can't be used in any combat or critical situation.

The first time this token is used against someone in the same group, the victim gains one random new meta-skill, not elite or rare, but only for the first use, not any subsequent use. If used against anyone not in the group, the victim gets a permanent increase in love for oral sex to beautiful women, regardless of gender, though a straight or convicted gay person's one-time use of the token will make her at most a little bi-curious. Stepan noted separately that nowhere in the reference did it state that the stuff wouldn't have a similar effect on a member of the group as well. Not that the young man was in any mood to let himself be hit with this token, he had a lot of similar stuff that he stubbornly ignored, but this particular suspicious avoidance of a clear answer only convinced him more strongly of the rightness of his attitude.

The second token had only ten charges, called “Nourishing Fountain”. It acted only on men, causing uncontrollable and excruciatingly pleasurable erection, enlarging the known organ by five to seven centimeters in length and at least one and a half in width, and also produced very abundant orgasms and extremely fast recovery of readiness for the next round. The victim had an unnaturally strong desire to cum, but completely forgot that the tension could be released on its own. But he readily approached any pretty female and tearfully asked, even begged, to help him relieve the pleasant agony of heaviness in his balls, and the women did not refuse the victim, although they could quite easily show playful irritation or displeasure. The victim received a unit of Constitution at the end of two weeks, or two at once, if the same person helped to “relieve tension” during the whole period of the token's validity. The tension-remover herself also received a reward, not the Constitution, but in Resistance, and only if she relieved this tension personally during the entire period of the token action.

Stepan, of course, indignantly rejected the idea of letting him use such a thing on himself, especially since he was fully satisfied with the size of his own body. But mentally, he was glad that he didn't care much about the Constitution, because if there was an opportunity to increase his Spirit.... No, he would also refuse, he would definitely refuse! He would have said a hard as flint NO, but it was still good that it was the Constitution that was offered to be promoted, very, very good.

The last of the gifts, a free property from Her Milfness, was almost normal, turning out to be a modification called “soft tissue modification: elasticity and sensuality”. Aside from its intimate uses and increased enjoyment of sex, this modification also greatly expanded the limits of what exactly Sylvia could, ahem, cram into her spatial pocket. Again, increased survivability, resistance to shock in the inanimate phase, and resistance to pain, even against specific anti-vampire torture agents, improved sensory and tactile perception of magic. It wasn't a wow modification, but against the background of what the Autodivine tokens were, it wasn't bad, almost good.

Glancing around his workshop, the smoky fires giving off fragrant smoke, the guardian spirits swarming around the portions of the offerings, preventing the gift from being snatched by those it was not meant for, listening to the hum of the totems working in the magical field, pumping the power of the spheres into a form acceptable to the spirits, he exhaled and resolutely ordered himself to go to bed. It was early morning, and he was planning to start his operation at night, so he needed to get some sleep and just relax. Too much stress would only hurt him. As soon as he went directly to the mansion, he was greeted by a slightly disgruntled Sylvia, who folded her arms under her breasts, covered only by a thin robe, not accidentally exposing them. She had learned her knowledge and modification without a problem, though she still had to pause, putting Jaspera and Rowena in her place to talk if someone happened to call on her. Her frustration is understandable. She knows where Stepan intends to go that night and considers his actions to be stupid idiocy, which she declares, albeit not in such a rude way:

"I absolutely refuse to accept your argument, Pann." She shakes her head, mentally surprised that she didn't activate both of the tokens she's just received on him, eyeballing him and locking him under house arrest until he gets his wits about him. "Your actions... It's some kind of whimsy, and I didn't make you smear seed on my boots, begging to be allowed to kiss my flower just because I have to admit that all those looking for you right now wouldn't expect such a thing from an unknown shaman. I'll make it clear, pet, that I'm not being complimentary, and by “such” I mean a lot of thoughtless and unnecessary risk.

Stepan only sighs tiredly. He doesn't even try to explain that he can't just leave a crowd of people afflicted by demonic foulness to die or lose their health and psyche. Too innovative thought, which according to local morals is somewhere between “such moron!” and “completely craxy”, but the young man believes in his strength. If he wasn't sure that they weren't waiting for him in those prayer rooms, if he wasn't sure that he could do it quietly and with minimum visibility, carefully covering all the traces, then he wouldn't have lifted a finger, even if there were three times as many people dying there. He wanted to consider himself altruistic at times, but he clearly understood that healthy and properly placed selfishness came first. It was just that from Sylvia's point of view, he could see that it was not preparing for the operation and leveling all the risks, but that even tens of times lesser risks were simply not worth his time, effort, or attention. Who gave a fuck about the poor, the hobos, the ordinary townspeople, and a certain number of artisans and craftsmen who were caught in the middle?

Fucking right, Stepan's the only one who gives a fuck.

And what's more frustrating is that no one will even say thank you!

* * *

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http://notabenoid.org/book/86785/585345

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP