Готовый перевод Быть Гладу и Хладу / There will be Hunger and Cold: 18. Если это не повод для маленькой капельки заслуженной гордости, то что вообще можно считать таковым?

18. If this is not a reason for a small drop of well-deserved pride, then what can be counted as that?

* * *

As one character, who has been recognized as a classic on Earth for a century and included in the school curriculum, said: “CATS ARE GOOD.” This phrase is fully understood by those experts on the Broken World who have seriously studied the question of what a Cat living in the Broken World actually is. Because yes, cats are indeed good, but for the Cat, not for those who, through misunderstanding or ignorance, happen to be nearby. For them, everything can end very badly and with absolutely no alternative. And most importantly, few will even understand where it came from and why exactly it happened.

If, in the same ill-fated Tooth, in the backyard of someone's hut, closer to the border of the protective wall around the settlement, a man-eating tiger appears, the villagers will be frightened. They swear, and then take their clubs and impale the tiger on stakes, trying not to damage its skin. If they are really unlucky, they might even lose someone in the process, but more likely the tiger will run away, and then the local hunters will catch it, because its skin is really beautiful, with stripes. If the tiger turns out to be marked by someone's blessing or a magical beast, then there will be many casualties, but they will also kill the beast.

Or rather, they won't kill it, but they'll try to drive it away. Or hire a group of hunters, possibly even with their own gifted member. Tooth was just a stone's throw away from the town before Ilya stayed and tried to legalize his status there. They would have enough money to buy a couple of days' work from some relatively strong professionals. For example, that Charmancer, who liked to lock hamsters in cages. Even without a gifted one, such a group is quite capable of taking down a mediocre first-level creature with pitchforks, shooting it with bows or crossbows, or simply throwing expensive amulets at it until it is completely incinerated.

In short, unless a hypothetical man-eating tiger in a villager's backyard turns out to be a particularly seasoned beast, perhaps not even a first-step one, it will be dealt with. If not by the villagers, if not by the hunters they've hired, then by the authorities, whoever they ask for protection, and they'll send one of their two men with a backup team. Be it a tiger, a puma, or even a snow leopard, people will view the beast as just another creature they can profit from, as long as it doesn't eat them first. Possessing certain characteristics, some talents and abilities unique to big cats, but nothing more. A maneuverable, angry, hungry, and predatory piece of shit — that's how you could describe almost a third of the creatures inhabiting Dead Man's Ridge, including humans.

But if those same villagers from Tooth were to discover a real Cat one morning in their yard. Even if it's a multi-colored one, still quite young, and not yet fully developed... It would be very fortunate if they didn't understand what this strange, small, unusually colored lynx had wandered into their yard, and simply ignored it, or even allowed it to catch mice and rats. Then the Cat might just give those villagers a lazy feline look and go about its business. Perhaps it would even catch all the mice and rats in the Tooth barns. And in half of the Ridge in general. And not just the barns. And not just the rats. And not just the catches. But, in theory, if left alone, and the "woolly bastard" itself was in a good mood, the people might not even know what a fucking mess they'd just dodged.

But it's far more likely that they'll try to kill this little creature, small, no bigger than Earth cats, in its most basic form, for its skin, meat, and to stop it stealing chickens. After all, medieval customs prevail here in many ways, especially in villages and small settlements; no one would feed an unknown animal that looks almost identical to Earthly specimens. And not just purebreds, chipped, and with vet passports, but even the stray mixed-breeds that were common in every household before the Treaty. It's more likely that such a naive animal, approaching hungry people, would be eaten, even if there wasn't a famine year. There's free meat here; who would refuse that?

Yeah.

Freebies, whether in the Broken or on Earth, only come in the form of beatings. The Cat will do it to the naive villagers, shoving the now-deceased priest's mill up their asses. Moreover, this phrase may be literal, not just a figure of speech. And the authorities of the Ridge and the Crown, having learned the reason for what happened, will likely decide it would be easier to build a new Tooth, somewhere far, far away. However, that's if the authorities are knowledgeable enough, because in Broken, even in its most developed sectors, very little is known about Cats; not everyone will even be able to understand what they're dealing with, and what exactly it was. Then they could easily lose several groups of hunters, fighters, and other specialists if they don't act according to the principle of point three-seven-nine.

That is, don't send more and more people to places where previous ones have disappeared or died in very strange and incomprehensible ways, unless there's an absolute need or absolute certainty that the next group sent will be sufficient to solve the problem. Because there won't be enough. Even if City Governor Lazy, old Ryuk, and a couple of their peers gather together in a group and then, somehow avoiding killing each other and keeping their retinues in check, go after the incomprehensible creature, not everyone will be able to escape. Although the Cat, too, will likely not wait for an attack and will leave on its own, and there's no way to catch it, let alone engage it in combat. This is assuming we're still talking about a young, colorful creature, not a monochromatic one.

In short, Cats aren't so much a good thing as a horror story for those who cross the path of these wandering anomalies, so close to the Mechanism like few others or anything else in this world. Especially if the creature is in a playful mood. That's why Ilya, looking at his opponent, experienced such a powerful range of emotions. Not a single positive or even reprehensible one was among them. Well, at least there was one. It was only a blood carrier, and a first-level one at that, smiling at him now, not the Cat itself. Only at least four step would be able to outrun her, and even then, it's not a given. Successful battles with truly seasoned Cats are virtually nonexistent in Earth's history. There were supposedly mentions of such encounters on other Forums and in the histories of individual sectors of the Broken, but they were just that: mentions.

That same Simon White, when he found the smoky Cat lying on the cracked altar of a recently cleared lacuna, which they were planning to connect to the Citadel's shared altar network, merely glanced at her, scratched his nose, swore under his breath, and ordered all clearing teams to retreat. To his credit, he was the last to leave, standing until the very end, basking in the stream of pure power flowing from the claw-scarred Heart, already imagining the losses that would follow from the operation to clear the mega-lacuna, later dubbed the Cat's House. No, officially it was called the Labyrinth of the Lost, but the unofficial name is still far more official than the actual one.

And Mr. White can kick your ass for using this unofficial-official term.

That day, the Mechanism's favorite child drained the Heart dry. They had to make up for it by salvaging everything else they could from the lacuna. Although that was a small thing compared to the axial Heart, and an almost pure subtype at that. Without the Cat, Earth in general and the Citadel in particular would have had one more five, maybe even two. And most importantly, no one could figure out how exactly this "woolly faggot" — consider it the official name for Cats among divers, so as not to mention them too much, but still understand who we're talking about — ended up near the axis. Either she'd snuck in after the noise of the three fives' battle with the axial creature, or she'd been wandering there all along. On her own.

In short, it’s not a Cat – and that’s good.

But cat blood on the first step isn't even bad; it's a disaster, especially for Ilya's hopes of a nine-fight winning streak.

Okay, the mechanics of the steps won't allow her to utilize the most ferocious aspects of feline magic. The body of a first-step gifted person won't be able to withstand such a weight, even if she's completely reliant on passives to enhance energy and flesh, ignoring stabilizers. In principle, feline talents, with the right attitude and skill, can also serve as their own balancer, even in extreme cases, not weakened by stabilizing aspects. Yes, yes, cat blood can easily give almost the same result as Ilya's Trait... though it might not. In any case, an earthling would prefer to assume only the worst. Less chance of error.

They didn't speak to each other, simply looking at their opponent. She with a smile, he with almost genuine indifference. The emptiness surrounding them blinked, transporting them to the arena of the coming battle. A rather strong and unpleasantly warm wind hit their faces, damp and reeking of something musty. It wasn't even the light that struck their eyes. No, the awareness of the space around them. Very, very vast, far more vast than in the previous arenas. Well, perhaps those arenas were just as large, but visually they seemed smaller due to the terrain, and also because the opponents appeared almost next to each other.

Ilya stood on the summit of a cliff, bare and lifeless. There wasn't even moss or lichen, only dead stone. Everywhere he looked, the same dead stone. A multitude of sharp rocky peaks, thin and unnaturally high, and cracks oozing with a warm wind. And then there was It. Not even a crack, but a natural fissure, at least seven kilometers wide, so that in places the opposite side was lost in the shimmering, warm wind. The breeze in the gap seemed like a real hurricane, surely capable of lifting rocks into the air, if such rocks existed there, in the void. The bottom of the fissure was invisible even with his vision, but he could see it. His cliff rose directly above the edge of the fissure.

The arena's perimeter stretches from horizon to horizon, like a damn bottomless rift emitting the most powerful magic. No, this isn't the infamous Greatest Wound, on either side of which are communities of earthlings who have never met in person. These are two sectors of the Broken, separated by the Wound and completely inaccessible physically. Even at its narrowest point, there's at least a full hundred kilometers of rift, and the flow of magic from it is so intense that anyone attempting to fly or jump across the Wound mutates into a vicious shit a third of the way. No, this isn't the Wound, that's for sure. It's likely, almost certainly, that this Grand Canyon of the mother's friend's is perfectly possible for an ordinary gifted person to cross without growing a few extra mouths and limbs. But you shouldn't fall in there. Even if there is a bottom there, you'll die before you hit it.

Between the two sides of the divided arena, there are many different bridges in the form of the same rocks of various types, stone isthmuses, and bridges, involuntarily reminiscent of the kind of living tissue that results when you cut a piece of meat and stretch the cut apart. It looks like a real wound, huge and immense. Well, or a scratch, yes. It is quite possible that this arena is literally a piece of the Broken One, located near the distant edge of the Wound, millions of kilometers from the territories known to Earthlings. Or maybe such fractures in the Broken One come in a variety of forms, who knows? The sky here is covered with clouds, the constellations are not visible, nor are the stars, so it is impossible to check whether the sector is close to the phenomenon known to all LORE experts.

And this isn’t what Ilya should worry about, if to think about it.

What should worry him is the figure, visible to his enhanced vision, standing on a rock almost identical to the one where Ilya had manifested. The distance is enormous. Without the appropriate talents, even the vision of a standard gifted person, no matter how perfect and enhanced, would barely make it out. But she sees him too, perhaps not his face or the expression in his eyes, but she certainly sees his figure. She makes him out and waves to him, welcomingly and almost sweetly, evoking a deep-seated anger. It's unpleasant when they don't just laugh at you, or even try to take you lightly; no, they simply don't see you as a real threat. Yes, she's noticeably better prepared for this fight than Ilya, but she could have avoided displaying such bravado. Or rather, she's obviously deliberately displaying it, to enrage and frighten the beast within.

In that void of nothingness, where they saw each other's coats of arms, their senses were blocked. She couldn't know his class or nature, but here, in the real world, the Mechanism's favorite could easily read him even from such a distance. He could see her calmly beating heart, couldn't he? He could. How was she inferior? Not at all. She was superior in every way. No matter how much he tried to console himself with the thought that his rival possessed only a drop of blood, not the full essence of a cat, she definitely had that blood, strong enough, complete enough to be reflected in her body modifications. His entire arsenal, all the synergy of his Hunger-Obsessed build, dialed up to its limits, would be enough to prevent a completely ignominious and utter defeat.

Cat's Blood at the first tier won't unlock magic, the fierce, reality-shattering madness displayed by Cats. No, first and foremost, Cat's Blood is a modifier to the effectiveness of physical attributes and talent power. A literal multiplier, with an initial minimum. At the third step, when the Earth Cats, also the leaders of the Infinite Staircase community, acquired their blood, this minimum is very good, but not absolute. At the third step, and especially at the fourth, there are already plenty of imbalanced builds and particularly powerful trump cards. But at the first tier, as well as most likely at the second, Cat's Blood will be practically uncounterable.

If Ilya were still the same Lottery winner, but possessed a different, more powerful magical class, honed to the extreme attack of a glass cannon with area talents on the same Abyss, there would be a chance. Like the aristocrat who was killed not so long ago, only even more powerful. And for the fight to take place, as it did there, in a closed room where there was nowhere to dodge. Then he would have crushed her, crushed her with not the worst chances, despite the blood. Perhaps the Druid would have had a chance with the same advantages if the arena had been forest-like and active enough for him to put it to work. Cats are also Nature's favorites, but there would be a chance.

But, alas, Ilya is a Wendigo. He is possessed by one of the forms of Evil, a Beast who has given himself over to Hunger, but remains in human (or partially human) form. Her talent will work incredibly effectively against him. The basis of her class, if she hasn't received something unique, tied specifically to her blood, is most likely either Assassin, Hunter, or some form of scout build. To assemble anything else, having access to cat blood, is simply stupidity of epic proportions, and his opponent didn't seem stupid to him. And getting the ill-fated blood with some other build won't work either, not at the very first level, damn it! So no, he's willing to bet his salary that his enemy is just as much a lottery winner as he is, having gained a huge advantage from the start of development.

So what does she have?

First and foremost, she's faster, stronger, more resilient, and more powerful than he is. Even if he were in his full Form, in fact, she'd also embraced hers, manifesting her blood with the corresponding talent, "Blood Manifestation." Her figure grew taller, broadening in the shoulders, and acquired features that were neither humanoid nor bestial, but rather alien and irregular. They say that adherents of the furry subculture mightkick ass for reminding them of what cat-girl-boys look like in the Broken realm when they switch to combat mode. Or sue them if it causes them genuine psychological trauma. Ilya isn't in danger, but even his eyes hurt a little. The appearance of the two-meter-tall humanoid, with its clothes automatically stretched and shifted, was so wrong.

The girl ducked down from the cliff, hiding from his sight, and her heart's glow began to fade. It would have been completely lost if not for the recently acquired aspect of the corresponding talent. Secondly, one could say. It's her camouflage, natural camouflage, tailored to merging with nature, surpassing the capabilities of the first step by about the same amount, just as Ilya's Eye surpasses those same limitations. And her camouflage will gradually become stronger, he's sure. So losing someone else's heart from her focus is almost guaranteed, especially when she crosses the rift. There's such a flow of magic there that an earthling involuntarily squints, his perception simply blinded. If she's not stupid, she understands this, because it would blind anyone. She understands and will take advantage of it, because she's not stupid.

What's third?

Ilya leaped down, carefully choosing his landing spot, barely feeling the impact with the rocks as he began to move deeper into the stone labyrinth, avoiding the particularly sharp chips. The sharpness of individual edges rivaled that of volcanic glass, while the hardness of this strange non-stone was more suited to a solid piece of steel. He could go and chip off a blade, but it would hardly be so easy. Pure gloomstone, and not just any ordinary one. A kilogram of it could be exchanged for a gold nugget three times its size. And it will be cheap. Here, there were not just tons of gloomstone, but millions, billions of tons of solid, high-quality material. Had he been a craftsman, like the Golemancer, the Mechanist, the Draftsman, the Alchemist, or the Carver, the battle would have ended in a technical victory for the catwoman — he would have died on the spot from greed.

Well, there's no need to worry that their battle will damage the surrounding area. It's also worth avoiding scratches on the stone, as wounds can kill a Wendigo over time. They simply won't heal. By the way, the scratch can do the same to his opponents. But they are gifted, and obviously physically strong too. With their coordination and body awareness, they won't cut themselves with a random movement, unless they yawn particularly epically. No, everything will be decided by a personal fight. It may not happen right away. It is still unclear when she will find him. Or he will manage to notice her approach first.

Thirdly, yes.

Ilya moves forward under the cover of his rock, creeping not as a human, but as a Wendigo, leaning on all four limbs. When the cat's blood picks up his trail, one of his few trump cards will be that she will hunt the hunted and hungry beast. Let her be surprising, at least a little. If she is surprised. Intuition in all feline blood must also be a basic multiplier property, strengthening both Veil and Mystery, and Aurora and Radiance equally. Although who knows. There's too little data on obtaining blood at the first stage, damn it. Ilya would not have refused to study this point more deeply; he would have spent generously, buying the time of specialists in the necessary field, but this tournament does not offer the “Forum Help” option, despite several precedents found in the archives.

An excerpt from the Seventh Verse of the Ninth Multiverse of the First Writing of the One Who Knows the Unspeakable, an attribute of the very Purifying by Act worshipped on the Ridge, repeats itself in his head like a broken record. As Ilya understood, this attribute was either unknown or of little interest to anyone in the lands of the Crown, as were the other attributes. It was common for one of the Dead to be worshipped in its entirety, without being divided into attributes, even in church sermons for the simple folk, revealing those attributes only to their own caste. The priestly caste.

How was it there?

Do not anger the sneaking Cat, be afraid of the laughing Cat, fear the Cat who is beyond their grasp.

Fear the Coming Cat, be afraid of the Cat bringing news, do not wait for the Omnipresent Cat.

His opponent has only fragments of the Cat's true abilities, mostly focused on intuition and physique, but there must be a third element. The question is whether she has managed to develop her deep cause-and-effect relationship to the level where she can achieve the famous cat-like balance. Well, a shadow of a shadow, of a shadow, of a shadow that can be endured at the first step. If so, then it is easier to jump into the rift or smash your head on sharp stones, because it is no longer fair, and it is easier to preserve what remains of your pride by leaving on your own terms. If not... then there is still a chance.

Whatever is said about the Mechanism, it does not lie directly and therefore will not lead directly into a completely hopeless fight. All of Ilya's defeated opponents had a chance of defeating him, some more, some less. Even the Dreamwalker who threw himself against the wall of his mental fortitude could have won the fight if he had behaved a little differently and not put everything on one, as he thought, an irresistible blow. He could have summoned nightmares, blurred the boundaries of dreams, cast a spell of slumber on the space around him rather than on Ilya's consciousness, dug in for a defensive battle, and tried not to wear him down, but to force him to reveal himself. He could have killed himself against the wall, too, only more slowly.

But yes, technically, the Dreamer was matched against an opponent most unsuited for direct combat, one possessing absolute and uncounterable defense of consciousness and self. In a way, this fight can be considered payback for an advantage already gained. Yes, in direct combat, like a Wendigo against a feline blood with either the Assassin or the Huntress class, he doesn't stand a chance. But there's no need to be a Dreamer trying to get into the mind of the Great Trait's wielder. The game is about surprises, about contradictions, about the need to drive the opponent not into a trap, but rather, her blood and instinct will pull her out of the trap or prevent her from entering. No, no!

He needs to lead her into that network of options where there is no right choice at all.

Ilya peered into one of the seemingly bottomless cracks, emitting a warm, magically charged wind. Even he would soon feel ill here. Even his body would gradually wear down in this background, like the ancient cleanup workers at nuclear power plants. Him, his opponent, both of them. Neither would rush, nor would they allow themselves to hesitate; both would have to choose their battle, and both would want to fight it on their own terms. And he would certainly grant these terms to the feline beast.

Having made his decision, Ilya pulled himself together and ran forward at a leisurely trot.

He will have to make a rather large loop, even knowing for sure that this loop will not deceive his rival.

* * *

He spent the first day simply walking along the rift, unhurried but also without slowing down. He spent the second day the same way, allowing himself a few minutes of restless sleep. He activated the Eye at full power almost on cooldown, but, as expected, he saw nothing. Cat girl was outside the talent's range, either hidden by the background emanating from the rift or somehow managed to overcome his Eye and the Aspect. Or even all of these combined. Excellent fuel for paranoia, bringing their confrontation to another clash of endurance and character, only here he doesn't even expect to win, as he did with that trio of liquidators. They're not the same weight class, not at all.

On the fourth day, he crossed to the other side of the rift, feeling noticeably ill, even though the bridge he needed was located barely a kilometer and a half from the edges of the "scratch." He crossed back to the original side on the sixth day, not yet feeling any weakness or malaise, but aware that they would soon begin to manifest. Fatigue and soreness would accumulate, and the strain on his consciousness and energy would increase. The image of Hunger within his consciousness no longer even growled, but merely stared silently at the ceiling of his bunker, feeling how up there, at the very edges, the bunker itself was gradually dissolving, like sugar in boiling water. And despite the adaptive resilience of his consciousness, the pressure was still being applied faster than Ilya could recover.

He didn't hurry, but he didn't slow down either. He kept up the pace, scanning the area with a jagged rhythm, not giving himself the chance to be suddenly attacked. He was already certain the cat girl had been on his trail for a long time. His nose, sharp and incredibly sensitive, didn't detect anything suspicious, nor did his gaze, but that was precisely why Ilya knew they were on his trail. A rather iconic talent for Hunters, far more often used in PvP than in classic leveling, called "Stolen Bait." The thing eats brains pretty badly, but cat blood doesn't scare; its blood eats brains so much that there's no room left for anything else (or brains).

The essence of the talent is that it removes traces of presence from the real world, eliminating sounds, smells, reflections of light, and even the optical image of the Huntress hiding. Of course, the effect scales in much the same way as Ilya's Ice Breath or Eye, only on a different principle, relying on the stability granted by the blood. The girl is very good. Her talent is probably also operating at full power, but it was precisely this full power that Ilya detected. He didn't detect any foreign odors at all, only rocks of an incredibly rare material, only wind, only magic — complete, fucking sterility. When he deliberately exposed himself to the shifting wind, which should have carried the remnants of his own tracks to the Wendigo, he didn't even detect his own scent.

Most likely, the third of the four step. She chose "Depth" and/or "Power" but not "Selectivity," which is why the talent, operating as a closed field, affected not only her but also Ilya. She removes her scent, but any remaining traces of the earthling also disappear. He would say it was a childish mistake, but no, because few would be able to simply know all the talent lists and then pay attention to this particular detail. And even after paying attention, he achieved nothing. The radius of her talent, used to its full potential, is as wide as Ilya's Eye, so he simply knows that his pursuer is "somewhere nearby." That she is as patient, as methodical, as he is.

Think about it, and you might conclude that she deliberately allow to sense of the effect of talent to get on the Wendigo's nerves, to toy with her prey in the style of those very same Cats. Well, more than one Cat has been killed by curiosity, and their manner of playing with seemingly doomed prey. The chronicles of other Forums, as well as the stories found in various sectors of the Broken, are hardly all lies. So you need to become the prey that this particular Cat finds too tough. Or at least too hard to stomach.

He searched for a long time for the right spot. He needed to do more than simply force a fight on his terms. He needed to force the cat-girl to choose the moment to attack without her realizing it had been chosen for her. An impossible task; he wasn't that good at tactical games. So he needed something else: he needed to make her believe she'd figured out the basic plan of their target. Hide one thing behind another. So he hid it, with a rough idea of ​​what their battle would look like, if it could even be called a battle.

Twice more, he crosses from one side of the chasm to the other, each time risking falling into the abyss, and once almost managing to go flying. This material is incredibly slippery, especially on the broken surfaces, as if it were truly glass. It's a good thing the palms of his dead body aren't sweating, otherwise he definitely wouldn't have held on and would have gone flying. And his opponent didn't attack either, although she clearly regretted it — at the moment of crossing, she had nowhere to hide except on that same bridge, which was within direct line of sight; she was simply too far behind. Had she been within striking distance, she would have taken advantage of the three and a half seconds while he hung over the abyss by one hand.

The cut on his palm, left by a sharp rock edge, wouldn't heal and bled, despite all attempts to stem the bleeding. He had to breathe a crust of ice onto the wound. It was a stupid situation, but Ilya turned it to his advantage, leaving his pursuer with a trail of blood. He gave her even more confidence in her victory. In all fairness, she should have waited until the blackening edges of the wound dried up his arm up to the shoulder, until the already doomed Wendigo died. But either she couldn't bear the surrounding atmosphere, waiting another week, or she simply wanted to fight too much. It's unclear; someone else's soul and someone else's thinking are obscure to anyone without specific sensory-mental builds. The fact is, she decided to finish him off, and exactly where he wanted.

Not exactly the ideal spot. She'd missed the first two spots where she could have attacked, allowing him to weaken further, wearing him down with anticipation and constant movement without a moment's sleep. She probably sensed a trick subconsciously, with that same intuition that flowed from her damned blood. And yet, she couldn't bear it; she didn't want to wait for his inglorious death, preferring a moderately risky adventure to a completely safe and utterly boring tactic. It was a shame, a complete shame, because in her place, Ilya would have been expecting a guaranteed victory, but he wasn't in her place.

He's in his place.

It happened during yet another crossing of the stone bridges stretched across the abyss, each three Ilyas thick, yes, but still, compared to the distance, it seemed trivial. It was clear to the mind that the gloomstone could withstand even greater loads, but walking along this thread, which, by normal physics, should simply collapse under its own weight, somehow didn't appeal to the mind; emotions ruled. He was right in the middle of the path, almost mathematically in the middle. He heard absolutely nothing, his eyes saw nothing, blinded by a particularly powerful stream of magic from the abyss, for the bridge was located approximately eight kilometers below the edges of the rift.

He would have gone even deeper, but then the provocation to attack under the blinding backdrop would have been too obvious and insistent. He had to choose the moment to cross precisely when this route seemed the safest, the most convenient, practically the only possible one. The correctness of his choice was confirmed when, long barefoot because his boots had completely fallen apart, his feet felt a barely perceptible vibration. It was as if someone were shaking this very same rock thread with their footsteps, only the vibration was utterly muffled. Smell, optical camouflage, sound suppression — all these things tax talent, and now such a specific detail must be concealed.

She chose to sacrifice stealth for speed and succeeded. He felt the vibration and realized what it meant, but he only reacted to escape, not to strike first. She used the "Dangerous Walk," which on Earth they affectionately called "wall climber," "crawler," "sticky," or even "speedorman," a reference to an old-fashioned superhero from the pre-Mechanism era. She simply pulled herself toward the same bridge, only from below, moving toward him. At some point, the bitch managed to cross to the opposite side before him, probably a day and a half ago. He'd seen something in the rift then, but he wasn't sure. And only now did he realize she'd been ready to strike him the whole time.

She was ready and struck.

A flexible and swift body flew out from the left and below, moving on four legs, not even like a beast, but like a gecko climbing a wall. My goodness, how fast she is! In an instant, she was in his field of vision. In an instant, he could still make out her slowly beating heart, which had almost stopped beating due to the long use of “Ambush the Beast” with the “Lethargy” aspect. In an instant, he is on the verge of death. Her dash is not much faster than his, but she simply does not make a single unnecessary movement. She moves faster than thought, her own thought, not his.

Ilya doesn't have time to think about using Shapeshift. He hasn't yet realized the full extent of the danger. He jumps back in a not particularly graceful leap. He plays on the distance between them, even before he has time to see it, only sensing the rock trembling from her movements. And so he survives, because she threw her kukri as soon as she freed her hands, hanging on the side of the bridge with only her feet touching it. The throw is not just fast, it is almost instantaneous, as if the knives appear in him by themselves. One knife, the second removes its Hide, flying off into the darkness of the crevice. He takes the second blow on his already blackened arm up to the elbow, sacrificing his palm. “Accurate Throw” in the aspects of ‘Pulsation’ and “Piercing” simply tears the flesh apart, as if the arm had been shot off with a large-caliber rifle, and not just an ordinary person, but a frozen Wendigo.

Encounter. They look at each other for less than a moment. Ilya's brain is still processing the loss of his limb, but he is already shapeshifting, letting another projectile fly past him. This time, she didn't throw a kukri, but simply a sharp piece of rock. This time it was a piece of uncut gloomstone, damn it. Part of Ilya is seething with envy at his rival's cat-like luck, because he hasn't even found a small pebble during the entire journey. Using the Transformation aspect, he lets the blow pass through him, even though he feels a dull pain in his absent body. Such powerful material, filled with “Primordial Will,” and surely also with “Ancient Knowledge” or “Insight,” or even both, stings a little even in his Transformed state..

They clashed. A one-armed horned monster and a noticeably smaller cat girl in combat mode. Her face, body, movements, and facial expressions seem unbearably alien, as if something even more terrifying than his hungry appearance is emerging from beneath his humanoid proportions. It's nothing like Japanese cartoons or furry pictures. Before him is not a beautiful maiden with cute ears, but the ultimate predator, the king of the hunt, knowing neither mercy nor the very possibility of failure. An invisible haze flows from her fingertips, like the shimmer of hot air, vaguely resembling claws.

And these claws cut through his flesh and skin with the same ease with which a good axe would cut through an ordinary person. And it's not that he's so weak, just that even a single scratch would kill him due to the aspects of “Multiplication” and “Continuation.” The wound would grow and grow, expanding until it killed the victim. Not every physical build can stop such a curse of “Gutting Alive.” And very few would continue the fight without even slowing down from the damage they received. The smile on her unfamiliar and visibly tired face is almost full of happiness; she literally enjoys their fight, every beat of it, every step she wins over beaten Ilya.

He doesn't give up without a fight. He uses the aspect “Steps” instead of the usual ones. He has already used "Transformation" aspect three times, dodging her attacks and trying to gain momentum for his own. After the third time, when he almost lost his second arm, he stopped. There is no room for a counterattack. Either she has upgraded her fighting style to at least the fourth step, or it is her cat blood and its multiplier. They are simply killing him, taking him apart piece by piece, and even the cheat ability to use talents without recoil, ignoring psychosis, only allows him to prolong the agony.

He uses an Ice Breath at a third of his reserve, but the familiar cold barely slows his opponent. The ghostly protection of "Flayed Skin" shimmers around her naked body. She's also shed her clothes, and the sight is anything but pleasing to the eye. This isn't even "Desecration" anymore, but a full-fledged "Suppression" through a combat style or the root "Hunter's Rage," a cascading reduction in the effectiveness of any offensive magic cast by the prey. He tries to create an epicenter and even achieves some success, but it's too slow; he'll be killed long before the Cold reaches dangerous levels. Ilya switches completely to a maneuverable defense, exhaling again across a wide front, covering his opponent with his breath and losing sight of her. The Huntress's heart skips a beat again, rendering her nearly invisible to the Eye, especially in such a magical backdrop, and there's no "almost" involved.

Big mistake, very big on his part.

When the cold mist, the frozen fog of condensation congealing into snow, is carried away by a stream of magic-infused wind from the fissure, there's only emptiness before him, no one there. His reflexes are faster than his mind, far faster than his memory, recalling the fight with the Executioner in the middle of the snowy wasteland. He spins on his toes, expecting to see her behind him, running under the rocky bridge again. And then he continues this turn, making a full circle, just in time to use the Transformation aspect for the sixth time. She didn't come behind him; she simply dove down, hiding from the not-too-threatening Ice Breath, and then immediately rose back up.

The sixth Transformation is felt throughout his entire body — he is already at his limit and will most likely not be able to recover, dying in a couple of days from multiple ruptures and general degradation of his subtle body. And yet he saved himself again, playing a few more beats while trying to counterattack. He appeared behind her, trying to kick her in the butt, nearly losing his foot in the process. She didn't even turn around, but seemed to blink — one moment she had her back to him, and the next she was facing him, so quickly that his reaction was stunned. And it's not talent, just speed! Growing and growing speed, coming with the excitement of the hunt.

She wasn't surprised by his self-control at all, nor was she surprised or slowed down from the very beginning of the fight. She herself was now one solid instinct, only much more perfect. Not a hungry madman who had lost everything, but the self-aware apex of the food chain. A slashed knee almost caused him to fall, covering himself with his mangled arm from the inevitable blow of retribution. That blow cut off three fingers, which fell into the endless darkness below them in a halo of black blood. The next blow took one of his eyes, the next broke off his left horn, causing indescribable agony throughout his body and, worse, in his energy, which was being torn apart.

She could have finished him off, not even now, but much earlier, but... no. She's not even playing. She's training. Yes, she is training herself, honing her skills on an opponent worthy of her time. She makes another move, a step and a close-up, a blow to the side, tearing a lump of icy veins from his thin side, and then pushes Ilya with a kick. Not a beautiful one, from a turn, like in the movies, to the face or the center of the chest. No, she hits him in the thigh, breaking the incredibly strong bone just as Ilya breaks fruit sticks at his computer. This is the end, agony, finishing off a mouse barely able to squeak, which the cat has already played with to death.

This is the end.

But not only for him.

After all, this was the blow he'd been waiting for so long. It was precisely for this reason that he'd continued this shameful role as a training dummy. Just a moment, the moment it took her to strike, her contact with the rock was limited to just her right foot, not even her supporting leg! Contact with the rock she'd already traversed before the Earthling tried to get behind her. A rock he'd twice covered with a powerful Breath, never expecting to hit. His talent lacked the "Ice" aspect, which would have created a perfectly slippery surface on which no one could stand. But even if it had, the brazen bitch's instincts wouldn't have let her fall into its trap; she would have circled him from below once more.

But Ilya had the "Horns," and he still had one final horn, through which he channeled the remnants of suppressed Cald, condensing it onto the surface of the rock. On the surface of a solid piece of gloomstone, which itself is usually smooth as obsidian, and also very inert. A simple Huntress, without an effectiveness multiplier, would have had no luck using the "crawler" on this rock; it would have simply fallen off. But now, by briefly enhancing the effect, using the already partially manifested "Source" in the "Epicenter" enhancement, he achieves an emulation of that very frost, almost turning it into a fully-fledged aspect.

And the cat girl's single foot simply slips, slips, despite its claws capable of piercing enchanted steel. These claws are ineffective against gloomstone, and she won't even scratch it with a pointed blow on the second step. For the first time, her face, filled with battle-filled exultation, flashes not even fear, surprise, or childish resentment, but understanding, the recognition of where exactly she went wrong. To her credit, she finds the strength to smile at him, continuing her attack and tearing away the hand that pushed her, nearly ripping his throat open and nearly breaking off his second horn. But she still doesn't make it. For a moment, they fall into the bottomless abyss together, almost side by side, but then he pushes off her and flies in the opposite direction.

Without both arms, one torn off at the elbow, the other at the shoulder joint, with a single horn, one eye, a leg dangling on the remains of flesh, a host of smaller injuries, but he flies. And she flies too, without a single scratch. The only problem is that her resistance isn't much weaker than his; in fact, in many ways stronger, if we're talking about pure magic. And what about psychic resistance? The kind that allows you to ignore the inaudible whispers whistling in your ears. The kind that obscures the countless lights flickering in the utter darkness. The kind that succumbs to the endless torrent of a magical wind that alters the essence and substance, that blows flesh from your skin and memories from your ears.

They fall for almost an hour, during which time Ilya stabilizes his condition and stops dying immediately, sinking into deep meditation. He can no longer see her, not even trying to waste energy on activating his Eye, which, in such a background, cannot distinguish even his own heart, let alone someone else's. But he knows for sure that she is also fighting now, also hoping to snatch victory. Only she is trying to keep her mind, while he desperately wants not to die from purely physical wounds before all his organs fail at once and his subtle body falls apart into lumps of rotten threads.

Switching to familiar images, his bunker had lost its top two floors, which had simply disappeared under the winds of entropy. Most of his skin, by the way, also slipped off his flesh like fresh dough, and the teeth that had begun to grow on his flesh, let's be honest, did not add to his health either. But when the fall time approached an hour and a half, it seemed to him that he heard someone's scream, chilling the soul and seeming to tear the flesh apart. Probably, it seemed to him, because he could no longer hear anything, his ears had also been blown off, and in their place, it seemed, new eyes were ready to open. Whether it seemed so or not, it was then that the Mechanism finally noted his survival and his sanity and clear memory. At the same time, his opponent should have been driven away, if not by her body, then by the brain, forty minutes earlier.

The fight is over!

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Well, now he can consider himself one of the few Earthlings to have defeated the feline blood in battle, and the only one (until someone disproves it) to have done so on the first level. The fact that he would have outlived his opponent by a couple of hours at most, as well as the fact that he effectively managed to trade himself for her, almost losing the fight itself, can be omitted from the story. And the fact that he couldn't even scratch the nimble bastard, he won't mention either, yeah. To be fair, she still commanded a certain respect, at least for her ability to accept defeat with a dignified expression, rather than throwing a fit like a pure golden boy.

And her “game” was, in fact, just a way to practice controlling her blood, an attempt to maintain her mental balance for as long as possible, doing everything as effectively as possible. She was just taking advantage of the conditions of the tournament, where there were plenty of interesting opponents and no excessive penalty for mistakes during training. In fact, she paid nothing for her defeat, only losing the opportunity to receive an additional reward. And she wasn't that unbeatable, if you think about it. If he had known about her talents, he would have been able to come up with a tactic that would allow him to fight not on equal terms, but not one-sidedly either. He should have focused more on creating an epicenter, constantly maneuvering his steps, without trying to fight head-on, two or even three skins instead of one, a quicker entry into battle instead of long chases... yeah, and even better, if they had tied her up before the fight started.

Well, he'll console himself with the fact that he still won, even though he was badly beaten and didn't even manage to get her once. And she can console herself with the fact that she would have wiped the floor with poor Wendigo if it weren't for his dirty trick at the very last moment. So they will both try to get rid of the taste of shit in their mouths, because they fed each other that shit very heartily, for the first course, the second course, the salad, and even dessert.

An additional bonus for the winner: an absolute drop of the uplifting Essence of complete certainty allows you to raise one of your existing talents to an aspect!

For a few seconds, Ilya simply stared, already sitting on his platform in the void. It's not easy to come to his senses after nearly turning into a gurgling mass of flesh in the midst of absolute darkness. The realization that he had regained a full set of limbs and organs of vision, as well as his mental stability, restored from scratch and even stronger, distracted him from analyzing the reward for almost three minutes. During those minutes, he simply lay on his back, thinking of nothing, only breathing deeply and relishingly in the slightly cool air. It lacked that disgusting warmth, like the exhalation of a colossal maw into which he had been falling all this time.

And then, he almost jumped up, realizing what exactly they had given him.

It wasn't exactly a spare life, of course, but it was only slightly less valuable, and for him, who hadn't spent his Vessels anyway, it was even more valuable. He'd read about this type of Gift, read about it, and wasn't at all opposed to receiving it, but it was like dreaming of winning the lottery. A regular lottery, not the one he'd won. It's all well and good to dream, but you know you won't be so lucky, not again, not after the lucky break you've already had. On the other hand, he'd consider a reward of something less powerful not an insult, but a belittlement of his achievements — the fight wasn't just on the brink, it was well beyond it.

As for the reward, it was simply listed among the known Gifts on the Forum. Not minor Gifts, but rather significant ones. And this drop didn't simply increase any talent by a step of your choice. Its "complete certainty" property allowed you to choose the aspect you needed from the start. Not just one from a specific number of steps, but just one, any aspect you wanted. And you need to know which one; "something really cool" won't work and will give you a standard selection. Something like "lowest drop chance" might work, but it doesn't guarantee that the drop will suit your build. Low chances apply not only to elite aspects, but also to aspects simply locked by previous leveling, which are initially unsuitable for those already chosen.

That's why Ilya began thinking feverishly, choosing between good, good, and even more good. His leveling plan allowed for some flexibility, but the next talent on the development plan wasn't as desirable as some other options. The ability to take the exact aspect he needed increased the available paths, forcing him to think frantically and try to recalculate his build on the fly. That's why he stuck to his intended path even though he wanted to, and upgraded the talent he'd originally planned. Now he knew for sure that this upgrade would be the most successful.

A drop, incredibly dense, bright, unimaginably hot, piercing and freezing to death, scarlet to gold and golden like blood, falls into the altar basin. It falls, immediately turning into a weightless haze, covering the skull inside the basin, coating it with the thinnest film, and then flowing under the altar, reaching the skeleton and foundation hidden there. A moment, and there is no longer a drop, no film, no anything else, but the bones have become slightly different, strange. They seem to float slightly under an unseen gaze, as if the skull's fanged smile changes, as if the empty eye sockets begin to watch the surroundings, as if it is not a skull at all, but something else.

Another.

Wrong.

Evil.

Illogical.

Scary.

Transcendence

Properties and Mutation:

Wendigo Form: 2/5 (Essence Invested: 0/20)

Even if the Hunger-possessed remains indistinguishable from a human, it is only externally, while the inner essence, hidden under the flesh and bones, changes dramatically. The appearance of a true child of Hungor and Cald is hidden behind a thin barrier of material flesh, and, having received a sufficient push, this Appearance can manifest itself, lying on top of the usual body. The proportions will change, the height will increase, the face will acquire other features, the spirit and magic will be distorted, having become stronger, colder, harsher, and angrier. The talent of Shapeshift is required for work.

The adopted form becomes noticeably taller, denser, stronger, and somewhat thinner. The sharpness of fangs and claws becomes unnatural, the effectiveness of all talents used in the Form increases significantly, the bones of the skeleton are significantly strengthened, and the Form gains the ability to imitate human speech to a limited extent.

Horns: a symbol of life and birth, consumption and growth, horns became part of the essence of a creature that accepted eternal Hunger, as blessed as it was cursed. Cursed and blessed to consume, to devour, to live, and to suffer. Concentrating the power and will of the Wendigo, the horns growing on its head, branched and sharp, become an extension of wild magic, storing additional magical powers, serving as a guide and resonator for any talents. There is no peace for those who see him once, walking with frost, walking with the rustle of leaves, hungry and horned, cursed and terrifying.

The assumed form becomes slightly taller, as well as significantly denser and stronger. Perception and reaction speed are accelerated, becoming sharper. The effectiveness of all talents used in the form increases significantly, resistance and survivability are dramatically increased, and the Form gains the ability to perfectly reproduce heard phrases and words, completely copying the voice, tone, and sound of the speaker.

Transcendence: by understanding Evil and becoming it, dissolving in it, surrendering to it completely, the Wendigo begins to partially fall beyond the bounds of normality, beyond the canons and laws of the universe reserved for created beings. Each such transgression against the accepted rules only further exposes the Wendigo to its Hunger, wrapping it even more tightly in the shawl of Cold. But the Wendigo will never stand for this price, for it has already given all and left nothing, having devoured, taken, taken what it desired and demanded the rest. The Evil imprisoned within it begins to flow into reality, complementing every movement, strengthening every action, weakening every resistance.

Ilya didn't flinch; he didn't even twitch, even though the werewolf mutant in the imaginary dungeon seemed to have grown taller, adding an extra inch to his height, but he felt somehow uncomfortable, as if everything, absolutely everything, in him had changed a little, become different, more wrong. He took a deep breath, then exhaled, realizing that he had succeeded after all. There were mentions of special rituals and liturgical ceremonies that allowed this aspect to be obtained in the talents of shapeshifters, not at the final step, but even earlier, at the fourth or even the second.

In theory, any Possessed can get this aspect to choose at any step, but the probability is so low that it's not fun. There was some anonymous guy on the Forum who said that he got this aspect on the third step, but he was a Shaman, with a focus on insettlement and totemism, not a Possessed. And he, having never heard of this aspect, did not choose the unfamiliar thing, despite the enticing description in the help section, preferring to build his character in the standard way. For this, he was alternately called a lucky guy, a loser, a cowardly jerk, and simply a very smart and balanced individual who did everything right.

Because choosing an unfamiliar aspect based solely on a promising description is idiotic. It's just plain stupidity, after which divers should be sent straight to a mental hospital. Because that's exactly where such an individual will end up if they continue to pump themselves up like that. Little is said about Transcendence in general, and it is studied in optional “advanced aspectology” courses or at specialized universities such as London Uni. Because such aspects are rare. They are only needed for very specific builds, two-thirds of which are cinematic. The rest of them are unviable or untested. But the aspect itself exists, as do those who have chosen it. There are even those who do not regret their choice, although they then had to invest heavily in balancing talents to compensate for the most severe psychoses.

The essence of this aspect is extremely simple at first glance: it enhances a talent and all its associated benefits. Given that this aspect almost exclusively drops on Shifters of various types, it often affects the entire build. It's simply a very powerful and rare passive, certainly quite good, even excellent, but not worth the drops and slots spent on compensators. But that's only the first impression, until you start living with this aspect and notice some very specific details that need to be addressed.

The reserve should have been empty and spent, but somehow it lasted for another Sulphur Wave, a powerful one at that, somehow piercing the enemy's defenses beyond what was possible. The crookedly activated Contemplative Shield should have burst under the attack like a soap bubble, but somehow it held firm and neutralized almost the entire attack, which would have pulverized you into a blot. The heart, pierced by the cursed spear, cannot regenerate with Beast Vitality, but the diver still survives, waking up in the morning and realizing that they hadn't even finished him off properly, carelessly, and unprofessionally, considering him a guaranteed corpse.

This is roughly how Ilya's chosen "Transcendence" manifests at a basic level, and only in divers, while local aborigines almost always operate exclusively on a passive base and nothing more. Why is this? Because the aspect scales from the one thing every diver possesses, but only a very few gifted aborigines possess. From their own attribute of Fate and Fortune, indeed! A de facto documented stroke of combat luck, not so much and not only a tweaking of probabilities, but also a direct manipulation of reality. Adding reserve, strength, survivability, penetrating power, and everything else a diver needs at that precise moment, at the right moment.

It's worth noting that it's not guaranteed. If you deliberately try to screw yourself over to exploit your extreme abilities, it'll almost always fail. But it happens often enough that the intervention of the extreme becomes a statistical moment in your own development. This may well be worth the risk of mental problems and the expense of compensators that transform the famous 1-1,5 into a full two-one for the next five or six promotions. Ways to use FaFo to your advantage without the unnecessary risk of a predictable rollback are very rare and, more often than not, excessively difficult for the first step.

Pure rituals, specific talents, and other tricks available to everyone are most often used in communities where there are people who can help with the ritual, reagents, choosing an altar, or purchasing theurgy from local temples. Loners are advised not to touch Fofan at all—if you mess up, you'll have only yourself to blame. Ilya knew at least fifty such rituals, some of which were relatively simple, such as the “Pendulum of Fortune,” which temporarily greatly enhances the positive aspect of FaFo, making the diver absurdly lucky. And then you get a kickback in the form of guaranteed fatal bad luck. The actual exchange of the Vessel of Rebirth for the success of some operation, at the cost of a small barony in reagents or a quick desynchronization, if the ritual is performed in a strict form and without a protective circle.

Well, obviously, he is not in danger of losing synchronization, but only of choking on a cherry pit or drowning in a toilet pit. This is just an example of why such powerful rituals are not very applicable — either the consequences are very serious, the actual madness of Twin, or they are ruinously expensive. And here you have a guaranteed free and constantly active passive aspect of such a rare variety that almost no one will expect it from you. And even if they do, they simply won't be able to understand and identify it normally: what's wrong with this earthling?

But this is only the first part of the cake.

Ilya is now much more interested in something else. How accurate his guess turned out to be. A guess that no one on Earth could verify due to the guaranteed desynchronization for the verifier, as well as the low probability of obtaining the necessary aspects, especially so early on. Probably... No, Ilya is ready to guarantee, not to assess probability. To guarantee that he is the first Earth diver to have managed to collect such an aspect combination on the Wendigo build. Perhaps on any type of Possessed. And certainly the only one who remained sane enough after that to evaluate the result of the attempt.

He rereads the description of the aspect he received for the third step a couple more times, both in Form and in Shapeshift. Then he reads the description of “Loss” for “Knowledge of the Curse” and recalls everything he knows about the aspect of “Desecration” in wild fighting styles. Well, if he guessed and calculated everything correctly, then his combat potential has grown almost exponentially, even if only for short bursts, allowing him to successfully and heroically escape (optionally, as the old Odin said, “dropping shit”) from the inexperienced and maneuverless gifted of the second step with standard builds. But for some reason, Ilya feels that he has not made any mistakes and that he has guessed everything correctly.

He slowly undresses, taking off his clothes so as not to damage them, then activates his shape-shifting ability and simultaneously uses the aspect of Transformation... but not completely. He seems to see the terrifying Wendigo from the outside, a foot and a half taller and more frightening, which is both present and absent at the same time. The paradoxical, impossible, beyond-the-boundaries activation of his talent gives him not a second of non-existence, but something else. Let's say two or three seconds, but with a partial inaccuracy. Ilya seems to grow to a height of five meters, spreading out in all directions like a ghostly veil with a huge mouth, and then crumbles into icy crumbs and snowstorms, disappearing completely.

To reappear in full Form, deliver a series of blows with even more clawed paws, inspired by the beast's movements, and then disappear again, but not all at once, as if gradually, albeit quickly. He used Shepshift with the Transformation aspect, but started with his feet and head, while his paw managed to complete the blow. Once again, he is a man, once again a Wendigo, once again striding forward, almost to the paradise of the platform, wasting part of his torso. Just enough to dodge someone's signature blow, while striking himself. Again, a change of appearance, already to the point of buzzing in thin bodies, but now he also uses the Hide, stepping along with it... but remaining in place. Only the fleshless skin stepped forward, which only made it even hungrier, and whoever the ghostly silhouette of this trash falls on will be very unlucky.

||Wow, Ilya thinks, scratching the back of his head, a little confused by his own success in the planned leveling scenario.

"Wow..." He says aloud, realizing the prospects that will allow him to diversify his fighting style incredibly, immediately creating a series of very, very harsh tactics. "Now, on the closing step, take what I have planned and I can even on the first step... Although, no, I can't. Such thoughts are stupid; they kill you."

But yes, he had grown stronger, not just in terms of his aspect, but almost to the point of achieving a talent with five steps, and already well-developed ones at that. He had understood before that his trait of mental stability was incredibly powerful and rightly considered Great, but now it had revealed itself in all its glory. With this status modification, he was probably ready to fight the cat-girl again. He would most likely lose, but not so shamefully, and he would definitely beat her up, beat her up properly. Perhaps he would even catch her at the moment of attack and still hug her until her bones cracked, ignoring the wounds inflicted in response.

The seventh of the fights!

This time, his opponent belongs to a fairly recognizable world, recognizable by its coat of arms, two intertwined apple shoots. This world is interesting because it's highly developed and maintains an extremely small population. The guys there, half a millennium ago, fought a brutal war of extermination when the Seven fought, so few survived, mostly in small eco-communities with a full supply cycle. Harsh birth control laws, widespread sterilization of the lower strata of the population, technologies not so much cloning as external gestation of embryos, and the authorities of these communities, overfed beyond all bounds. The population there barely reaches fifteen million, if you believe the Forum's figures, and you have to believe those figures.

Earthlings find the inhabitants of the Garden, as their world is called, interesting primarily for their social structure and the fact that they represent a world even more technologically advanced than Earth at the time of contact with the Mechanism. Yet that world has almost completely descended into techno-barbarism, surviving solely on the meager reserves of its full-cycle techno-cities. And, of course, on the Essence they use to maintain their technology. Otherwise, there was little conflict with them; the few encounters in the Broken resulted in nothing, and the only cooperative community plunged collectively into a too difficult lacuna, remaining there forever.

You can't go into the lair of Unspeakable Cooks, especially around the central temple altar of the Lying Eater, if there's no way to guarantee you'll get yourself out of their lair. They'll eat you along with the Vessels and your supply of Rebirths. However, their average level of the Divers is quite high, and some of the manuals studied on Earth are directly downloaded from their Forum. They have preserved the manner of storing and cataloging information no worse than Earthlings, albeit in their own way. Their world is a kind of terminal stage of the dream of complete isolationists, when it comes to cities, or complete Luddites, when it comes to practical savages living outside the city walls in wastelands ravaged by nuclear and other wars. And there are gifts left behind by their Seven, cursed territories, wandering calls, and all that.

Here before Ilya stands a fully-fledged demos, a noble citizen of one of the city-states, a member of the highest strata, an honorary citizen, judging by his personal coat of arms. He stares directly at Ilya with completely blind eyes, a pure cataract of a lens without a single pupil. He's been pumped to the limit, how could it be otherwise at this stage, with the talent "Blind of Fates," the most powerful of all known divination talents, available only to the base Oracle class. Their elites generally gravitate toward non-combat support classes; their Sages aren't always inferior to their Earth counterparts, judging by that same Forum and its statistics.

And here Ilya has questions. There's, of course, Blind Cass, who, at her fourth step, thanks to her combat precognition and manipulation of others' perceptions, along with their memories, can, of course, brutally bend and pwn everything around her. But she's at the fourth step now, and she's crawled long, hard, arduous, and painfully to her current position, not only on her own but also with the help of her faithful comrades. The seven of them were cast into the Broken by shared birth, through one of the Gifts, so they were born almost side by side. And even then, not without the rough edges.

At the first stage, she was practically defenseless in direct combat, relying on someone else's cover to compensate for her complete blindness. Yes, blind eyes allow a great deal, allowing her to analyze a multitude of possibilities with direct clairvoyance. Literally peer into the future with her blind eye, asking, "What's in that suspicious cave?" or even, "What will happen if we do this?", "How will those guys in ambush kill us?", "How exactly will the native warlord in impenetrable relic armor betray us?", "Will this plan to penetrate that armor with this trick work?" and so on.

A walking savescumming mechanism, albeit very vague, sometimes abstract, and not always taking into account many unnecessary details. Overall, a pumped-up Oracle is a huge asset for a strong community, but only for one that's already strong. Because such a setup would drag a weak community down like a weight around its neck while trying to drown in a hydroponic collector. So, if Ilya saw this guy in an alternative competition, he wouldn't be surprised. But he sees him here, in front of him, in the seventh act of a battle with increasingly powerful opponents! In other words, this guy somehow defeated his own opponents, now facing Ilya.

So, the Eqrthling isn't facing a support diver, but a fighter, a more advanced class, most likely the same Walker. However, building a combat Walker based on the Blind is, to put it mildly, practically impossible at the first level. Either the Gardeners' efforts have taken their builds to a whole new level, or Ilya is facing yet another cheater-winner. It's unpleasant to realize, time after time, that you're no longer unique.

The Earthling looks at his opponent, dressed in a rather vintage-style tailcoat-pants suit and a wide-brimmed hat. The fashion here looks eighteenth-century, not medieval. Even the weapon is a heavy, solid cane with a handle shaped like the head of some chthonic creature. Clearly a relic, unlike the expensive but relatively ordinary mechanical revolver on his belt. Did he buy it from a Mechanist-Gunsmith or plunder it somewhere? More likely, he bought it; the clothing hints at a more advanced native society, which tends to emphasize the production classes of Mechanists and various subclasses of Alchemists specializing in homunculi and chimeras.

In principle, the Earthling, though no Oracle, has a rough idea of ​​how this guy could have won before. Perhaps he'll defeat him, Ilya, too; anything can happen. But this will be more difficult for him. On Earth, they know quite well how to counter clairvoyants and other enthusiasts who peer into the future, past, and present. They focus more on confronting characteristic creatures, but also gifted ones. Ilya had undergone the appropriate training, having perfectly mastered the most basic truth: you can't build a path to victory if your opponent doesn't have a path to defeat. If you take your time, act deliberately, and don't be stubborn, slowly driving your opponent into zugzwang, then even an opponent who can see the future won't find a way out.

In terms of training, it looked different. For example, like fighting inside a VR, where a programmatically created enemy always knew where you were and always struck in the best possible way. By choosing the most effective option, the clairvoyant involuntarily becomes predictable. The ability to deliberately leave open vulnerabilities so that the enemy strikes precisely there and then catch them at the moment of attack requires special skill. It's difficult, tedious, extremely unreliable, terribly risky, but it's hard to surprise a London AU graduate with a Walker. Then again, it wasn't easy to surprise previous opponents either, but this imposing dick somehow managed it.

Ilya hadn't yet managed to completely wind himself up when his opponent stopped staring at him with blind eyes for the first time and opened his lips, saying just two words:

"I admit defeat."

"What?"

Victory is granted!

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Yeah.

So, was it possible?

Obviously, it's possible. Ilya just didn't know or think about it. Which is a good thing, because in his fight with his previous opponent, he would have clearly been tempted to finish quickly and with dignity intact, rather than gamble everything on the possibility of someone else making a mistake. Just like his opponent did now. No, it was almost mocking. He'd already been preparing for a rather interesting and challenging fight, and then this disappointment. Although who is he lying to? To himself? He's completely satisfied with this scenario, thank goodness for the saved nerves and time. Time may not pass inside arenas, and all fights pass literally instantly in the mainstream of time, but still, thank goodness.

Here's another question: was it the recent promotion that granted the Aspect tied to FaFo that made the Walker so despondent? All such classes are extremely vulnerable to such tricks, even more than Ilya was vulnerable to the Cat girl or the Dreamwalker to Ilya. This is a question for the future, and one worth pondering; perhaps he could conduct a couple of pure rituals in the Broken to test this theory. But that's for later, not now.

Right now, he has fourteen drops of Essence, which he's in no rush to invest anywhere, and on top of that, another gift of encouragement. Frankly, he hadn't felt that strange languor since childhood, like unwrapping birthday presents, not knowing exactly what's inside, but knowing for sure it's something good. His premonitions were right, though the result wasn't quite what he'd been secretly expecting.

An additional bonus for the winner: from now on, all Vessels of Rebirth require eighty-one drops of essence to fill, and any excess drops fall into the Vessel of Exaltation!

Ilya is once again overcome by a vision of hot drops dripping onto an icy lake, a veritable rain. The rain forces its way beneath the ice, heating it, making it glow crimson. Below, the golden drops soak the countless skeletons of prey devoured by Hungor and Cald, people and creatures alike, in their fate at the bottom of the icy tomb. However, it's not quite so icy toward the end of the rain — the ice seems reddened with blood; a crimson mist now rises above the lake, making it impossible to tell whether there's ice there or boiling blood. The chill from this mist, however, is truly intense, even more terrifying than before. The crimson reflections add a special, eerie quality to the landscape.

Step: 1 (103/300)

Consider that more than a third of the Vessel has been received, and rebirth has been simplified. If he loses a life, refilling the empty slot will require nineteen drops less. He would have preferred a couple more of the same super-drops as the previous reward instead, but it's still good. He'd be a fool to complain. And he, whatever Bronislav Valediktovich Yanin might think, is no fool. And anyway, this gloomy nightmare of a student community in United Europe, in general, and Great Britain in particular, a priori considers all members of humanity to be uneducable fools.

People of other worlds, too, probably. They just don’t pass tests with this character.

Probably.

He could have been an unregistered diver, working as the director of a magic academy in some large community or indigenous state, humiliating studious people in two streams of reality. These frivolous and completely stupid thoughts of Ilya's were interrupted by another word from the Mechanism. And not only interrupted, but also brought the earthling back into a fighting mood. Now is not the time or place to let yourself down, nothing is over yet, the hardest part is ahead. It would be a shame to lose after such a winning streak.

Eighth of the fights!

A new opponent and again a completely unfamiliar coat of arms, a rather complex one at that, reminiscent of a multitude of stitched-on mosaic scales composed of individual mini-coats of arms. One of these is depicted on a small coat of arms, fluttering behind him, calmly and with slight, but certainly not disdainful, contempt, as he gazes upon his opponent. He is approximately twenty-five years old, no older, but not much younger either. He has a clean-shaven face, light brown eyes, short dark brown hair, a Roman profile, medium height, and a back as straight as if he's swallowed a stick. He's the spitting image of an aristocrat from some feudal world, judging by first impressions, and by second ones, too.

"You're dressed rather poorly, my enemy," he says, sounding not even contemptuous, but rather surprised, continuing his statement with a question. "Ascetic or simply poor rabble?"

“…” Ilya answered, looking at his opponent and understanding how exactly he had reached the current stage and why he had been eighth in the row, because he, of all people, had every right to look at him as a pauper, even at the memorable Pure One.

The clothes are enchanted down to the last thread, so adorned with magical runic embroidery that one could mistake them for a craftsman class in self-made armor. The vest, pants, shirt, and scarf provide more protection than Gaunter's full plate armor. But the embroidery itself... the runes combine not only to create the typical cascades of classic armor, based on physics and magic, but also to enhance the summoning, create protective contours, and centralize the flow. Purely summoning tricks, suitable for divers working with minions, especially those of the viscous, dark aspect, like Occultists or Shamans.

There was no doubt that the enemy was an Occultist. Three iron seals hung from a chain slung over his shoulder, red-hot from the forces flowing through them, and the chain itself held a heavy grimoire with iron pages and a cover made of human faces in a tightly bound and sealed state. The seals themselves are constantly changing, making it impossible to determine the type of Gehenna, but their hellish nature cannot be hidden. And he does not hide it. He has another relic in a completely transparent, glass-like sheath: a worn bone dagger, almost falling apart. If Ilya understands correctly, the rank of such a relic is no lower than second. There are no first-level relics of this type. Rings sparkle on his fingers, and the necklace around his neck was also probably a relic, but it was hidden under an automatically maintained illusion, preventing it from being recognized.

But what really made him feel class hatred — in the original historical sense of the word, not the mechanical one — was the almost weightless trinket hanging from his belt. A piece of invisible crystal, encased in a cage of the finest copper wire, in which a sparkle danced, both golden and scarlet at the same time. Or scarlet and golden, it was impossible to tell; his mind refused to recognize the exact color. The only thing that was clear was that one color was much more abundant than the other, and this imbalance was incredibly unstable, causing the drop to collapse into itself. If it weren't for the protective walls made of such inert material, the drop would simply collapse and cease to exist.
T.N.

But it exists.

Touch of Fortune.

A universal, supreme relic, suitable for any step, from the first to the fifth, interacting with FaFo, simultaneously strengthening and weakening it. It literally doubles all positive aspects. The owner of the Relic is as lucky as if he had two points of FaFo. All negative aspects of the attribute, on the contrary, are reduced to a complete and absolute zero, the same as that of a completely ungifted individual. Only three such relics have ever been found in the history of the Earth Forum, and in two of those cases, the relics already had owners who were in no hurry to give up their treasure. In the final, third case, the earthlings who found this thing in a cleared-out lacuna simply recorded its properties, and then the leader destroyed the fragile object.

Because otherwise the Community would destroy each other, for they wouldn't hesitate to pay any price for such a prize. Betrayal and baseness wouldn't even be discussed here, whether from their own or the locals. In fact, openly possessing such a joyful abomination is downright fatal, unless you're at least a Four. They'll take it away. By any means, by any intrigue, by any means, they'll take it away for themselves. Ilya is absolutely certain that this guy would never have carried such a serious thing outside of the tournament; he simply wouldn't have dared. And yet here he is, bragging. And judging by the way he grinned broadly, he noticed Ilya's slightly lingering glance; he couldn't help but notice.

So, against an Earthling, he's absurdly lucky and quite fateful (if the spark's colors are imbalanced, Fortuna always outweighs Fate), but that's not a death sentence in itself. If we're talking specifically about the positive, and only positive, aspects of the FoFa attribute... Fortune determines the degree of direct luck — you might luckly slip and dodge a blow, your enemy misses where they shouldn't, an exploding bomb will scatter a wide fan of shrapnel everywhere except you, you'll notice the prick of a poisonous needle in a crowd. Fate denotes the degree of distortion of reality to favor the wearer — overhearing someone else's conversation, finding a wallet on the road, dripping blood from a cut onto the locked gate to a treasure cave, and thus opening it.

Fortune bestows what can be calculated probabilistically, with a roll of the dice, giving you the chance to roll one in a thousand nine times out of ten. Fate changes the world for you, allowing you to delve into what's already been and been done, but remained behind the scenes of your perception, ensuring that everything behind the scenes plays to your advantage. Physicists who have dedicated their lives to researching various theories of quantum entanglement and other observer effects are driven crazy by the way FaFo works almost as often as divers by a Twin gone out of sync. Apparently, there are three separate recreational resorts around the world specifically for such individuals.

It would seem like an absolute and inevitable disaster, but Ilya knows that a two, even a positive two in FaFo, isn't a death sentence, but a perfectly viable option. If he were confronted by the possessor of just this one relic, Ilya wouldn't even bother, only tormented by envy for not having such a thing. The presence of this thing will only fully reveal itself in the long game, when a cascade of successes and victories — which must be used correctly, rather than robbing the game's houses and temples, inviting the vengeance of the bosses — will snowball and result in something wonderfully good. For example, a set of several synergistic class-type relics, a ton of money, social status, and access to real power.

So the Touch itself isn't a problem for Ilya. The problem is that his opponent acquired while using this cheat and brought to the tournament. These include boosted talents, extra altar gifts, and a stash of amulets and artifacts that could be hidden in his belt pouch. A pouch, which is a versatile, expanded storage area. Ilya wouldn't be surprised if the Occultist had a completely standard build without any special tricks — he doesn't need it, not with such an arsenal and not with the help of the Touch, which are perfectly effective even if he carries them deep in his backpack or in his own ass instead of a plug.

"You seem a bit unfriendly." Ilya would say someone was playing on his nerves, but no, it's just that his opponent is completely unfazed, no longer accustomed to believing he'll lose, accustomed to the fact that the "I'll get lucky" tactic always works. "At least speak up. Otherwise, I'll think you haven't even been taught how to speak."

"Are you Generous?" the earthling asks with a fair amount of sincere interest. He needs to know which Gehenna will confront him, even if the enemy tries to lie, but the reaction also matters. "Or are you Magnanimous?"

Instead of trying to play a pun or confuse Ilya, he simply chuckled, a completely carefree and pure laugh, igniting a distinctive sign above his palm. Ilya didn't smell the stench of sulfur, as the void between the platforms clearly served as some kind of barrier, but he still believed it; it could be faked, but it was too difficult, and he couldn't believe it. He considered the possibility of deception, but he refused to believe it himself.

"Aim higher, I am the Humble One." A smile from ear to ear and a persistent feeling that he is literally drunk on his own coolness. "I don't settle for anything less, never, anywhere. And who are you?"

Well, sort of. Of all the sinful paths, Pride is considered the most powerful in terms of sheer damage output—if such a thing even existed in the Broken—but also the most dangerous. It carries the greatest risk of contracts and summons going haywire and turning against you. And every single Humble One detests losers; they'll turn their backs on those who've suffered defeat, been humiliated, and vanquished outright. Because that's their nature, their immense ego, which gave these creatures their essence. Basically, for an absurdly lucky summoner who's clearly already going a little crazy from the permissiveness of their abilities, it's the perfect choice. But for someone who initially chose Humble Contracts as their talent, this choice is pure idiocy, profitable at the start, but devastating after the first mistake and defeat. And there must be such... unless you first find yourself a Touch of Fortune or something else of that sort.

Or maybe he's smarter. He started with Greed, and then went through a series of rituals and liturgies, replacing his talents with completely different ones. With his resources and luck, he could undergo risky procedures a hundred times, which often cripple old talents, preventing new ones from being created, or making the new ones much weaker than the old ones, or all at once. And every time, successfully, yeah. Jokes aside, you need to be prepared to confront the creatures of Pride. Even at the first step, you can be unpleasantly surprised.

"Wanderer," he lies, not embarrassed at all, simply to say something, having chosen a class that fit his "equipment."

"Ha-ha, seriously? I don't believe it." Ilya wouldn't have believed it either. "Did you just go in the opposite direction and wait until the enemy got fed up and conceded defeat?"

Ilya shuddered, a genuine emotion, not feigned, when he realized this was a perfectly realistic tactic for tournament Wanderer-Vagabond and other derivatives of the Hermit class. Given their proverbial basic mental fortitude and incredible patience, they can spend a year or two of subjective time on each battle before finally admitting defeat. Because hard to find them or catch up if they run away. In a fight with a cat girl, for example, such an individual could easily win; she wouldn't do anything to him, wouldn't catch up, even if she managed to track him down.

His reaction was clearly misunderstood, but since it only benefited his image, Ilya wasn't even particularly upset by the resounding and surprisingly clear laughter of the bent-over Occultist, who was determined to achieve another victory. Ilya was equally determined to show him what a fickle and capricious beast FaFo truly was, as well as all the shortcomings of relying too much on the quality of equipment rather than on brains and training. Both of them were completely uncompromising in their aspirations.

The emptiness gave way to a new arena, now noticeably more vibrant and pleasing to the eye. Ilya found himself in the middle of a picturesque forest clearing. Activating his Eye immediately revealed a multitude of small creatures around him, their hearts flickering before his inner eye. The hearts were varied: he saw a pair of moose, a clearly magical bear in its den three kilometers to the south, and all sorts of birds, including a nightingale and its mate, oozing with magic, nestled in a nest they had enveloped in some kind of magical protection-illusion right above Ilya's head.

What he didn't see was his opponent. His heart didn't show up on the radar at all, even at full power. So either his camouflage was too good, or he hadn't been transported within a radius of at least nine and a half kilometers. Ilya didn't risk going any further; his aura was too shaky even as it was. He was also wary of removing his cloak of Lurking Evil, precisely because of the nightingales overhead. The birds somehow sensed his essence through his camouflage; if he remembered his bestiaries correctly, they might very well, in desperation, place some kind of Forest Mark on the bearer of evil who disturbed their nest. He didn't want to get the equivalent of a targeting marker over his head and the aggression of all the surrounding fauna.

As expected, the choice of arena clearly favored the enemy. Not only to the Occultist's benefit, but also to Ilya's detriment. He only had to twitch slightly, and he'd be immediately under attack. So he left the clearing very carefully, not even glancing toward the bird's nest. This, Ilya, is the FaFo effect on the enemy side. And an example of how to deal with it. A little attentiveness, a little restraint, a modicum of knowledge of the Broken One's bestiology, and he calmly left the song feathers' nesting area, leaving them alone and without any problems. Someone without this knowledge or Ilya's sensory abilities would have immediately suffered an unpleasant and unmasking effect.

Leaving the clearing, he moves first in a straight line, then in a wavy line, trying to take in as much of the forest as possible. It's quite ordinary, and only slightly magical, not even remotely comparable to the Ridge, but it's hardly a mere grove either. Not one of the ill-fated Forbidden Forests, but still more dangerous than a simple backyard wood. Ilya, with his affinity with Nature, felt quite at home here. The conditions weren't as ideal as those in the middle of the Dead Man's Ridge, but better than the deserted arena. The point is, the arena should still be advantageous to the opponent. Given the opponent's specialization, it's not hard to imagine how exactly this advantage will manifest itself.

So Ilya, finding a suitable tree, huge, old, and tall, easily climbed it, settling into a comfortable nest among the branches, and began to meditate. Slowly, with full dedication, practicing breathing exercises and regularly checked his surroundings. He waited until almost evening before finally noticing the faint smoke of a distant fire rising on the horizon. Sighing, he ended his meditation and descended quickly, almost immediately breaking into a leisurely but brisk run. The wendigo within him thrashed in constant hysteria, testing the strength of its prison, as the earthling constantly attempted to access the aspect of "Trancendness."

Without a transformation into another form, this couldn't have had any effect or measurable result, other than increasing mental pressure. But Ilya had some suspicions that such a ripple of active aspect would somewhat mitigate the effects of someone else's FaFo. Although only within the limits of the misfortune directed at Ilya specifically. It's unlikely to have any noticeable effect, and even if it did, the effect would be practically unprovable. But it wouldn't cost him anything; his brain can withstand even greater abuse.

It was less than fifty kilometers to the point of interest. Naturally, Ilya did not go straight to the source of the fire at first, but walked in circles, choosing a safe and inconspicuous route, and avoiding attracting attention. He avoided it, even though the creatures summoned by the "Minor Contract: Humbly Contemplating" flew in pairs. Looking like giant hornets with two abdomens, they held a pierced human eye belonging to one unfortunate person on each of their two stingers. And all four of these eyes were watching. All four saw. All four, in some way, lived a perverted and abusive life. Who would doubt that the enemy's arsenal would include the perfect sensor against “wild” types of camouflage?

Fortunately, Ilya had been cautious from the start. He spotted the creatures of Gehenna in advance and avoided their attention. The sun had long since set when he calculated the creatures' flight path and crept up to the ravaged village. The meat here was exemplary. One huge hecatomb for six families. It was not so much a village as a large farmstead with those same six courtyards, twenty-eight people exactly, neatly laid out on the “Humble Vine,” diligently gutted. Or just as diligently discarded when the creatures, fed by their victims, burst out of their hosts' skin. So, counting three pairs of observers, we can assume that the freak now has a retinue of at least six, at most eight creatures. The question of what kind remains to be seen; we need to examine the ritual itself to understand.

He steps back, allowing one of the three pairs of observers to fly up to the slaughterhouse and feed on the still-fresh entrails, and then, as they fly away, he attacks. Two stone throws, with all his might, again and again. They dodged the first blows, and in the second round, one of the stones shattered into small pieces in midair, but the creatures still collapsed. Ilya was already running towards the second pair. This time, additionally activated the ripple of “Transcendence.” Two throws were enough. The first was a well bucket, and the second was a pitchfork handle.

This type of creature is quite good at sensing, especially if you give it eyes, and also has some unpleasant, striking, and cursing abilities. Most likely, their task was not to kill Ilya, but to hang a “Mark of Gehenna” of one variation or another on him. But for this, their eyes needed to fixate on the target and focus the prepared effect on it. None of the six invocations even saw their opponent. Having studied their maneuvers, Ilya entered from a blind spot and finished them off without approaching. And the luck that some people are so accustomed to did not happen because Ilya did not allow room for that luck. Ilya himself could still have had fatal bad luck... but that did not happen.

Ten minutes later, he studies the ritual, roughly understanding what happened here and realizing that he will face the classic pair of “Humble Clothed” a couple of “Humility Drunkards,” and on top of that, a single, but still frankly weak sacrifice, the “Modestly Blushing One.” For such a single sacrifice, it would be necessary to use all the people and polish it off with livestock. And the livestock went to the foundations of the defensive circles, which is just hilarious. It's like trying to stop a leaking industrial container of soda with a piece of tape.

Well, everything about the book on the chain is now clear. It's a real grimoire, and a very good one at that. There are too many types of summoning contracts to consider them talents; no amount of drops would be enough here. But the book provides an analogue to classic summonses, only always on the first step, with a mandatory (not optional, but mandatory!) requirement for a ritual, not just a sacrifice, and with a huge risk of disobedience from the summoned. But Pride, so accustomed to victory and unfamiliar with defeat, is ready to serve the invoker for the time being, even if they are summoned into an almost symbolic protective circle.

Then the seals on the same chain are ready-made ritual developers that accelerate the invocation in the same way as the presence of “Imprint of the Line” in the list of talents. Because otherwise the timing doesn't add up. Even with the utmost simplification of the summoning and zero precautions, the enemy would not have had time to perform the rituals. But he performed them and summoned them, the bastard. Ilya still wondered whether these people were copies of the natives, created solely for this battle in the tournament arena, or whether they had been transported to some part of the Broken One that was most convenient for the Occultist, who required sacrificial meat. But he thought about this as he moved on, along the well-trodden path leading to an unknown destination.

But his opponent knew exactly where the trail led — he wasn't stupid. He obviously questions his victims about fresh meat. His opponent, apparently, judging by the tracks, appeared right at the gates of this farm. Of course, Ilya didn't go along the road, following the “go through the forest” paradigm, moving along the road, confidently controlling it with his senses and only coming out onto it in random places to check the tracks. The Occultist and the five creatures left many tracks, not even trying to hide. Instead, the “Sulfur Mine” was well camouflaged, right under the body of some merchant, well armed and not robbed, like his two guards.

The earthling did not examine them, nor did he approach them. He really did not like the horse carcasses, even if they were “Meat Pies” and not just a mine. Well, it couldn't smell like bread in this place, even through blood and shit, no way. His eyes wouldn't see such junk, and this type of disposable combat amulet is readily available for a good price in a bunch of sectors of the Broken. By “good price,” we mean “good for a disgusting rich owner of absolutely positive luck,” obviously. He left without looking back, hiding again in the vastness of the forest, almost missing the right turn. There, the tracks of the enemy squad diverged. Two creatures, one of which was clearly a “Modestly Blushing One,” judging by the characteristic tracks and stride width, went ahead, while the meat-cutting enthusiast and the rest of his entourage moved along the trail.

Ilya rocks back and forth on his toes, trying to make a quick decision, and finally makes up his mind, continuing on his way. Attacking the Occultist now might seem like the right thing to do, but only if you don't know about the very nasty talent in the arsenal of almost any individual who summons Gehenna. “Sinful Exchange,” damn it, allows you to replace yourself with one of the summons. Literally swap places, and if you choose the right aspects, even if it's just “Distance,” “Far,” and “Horizon,” the exchange can be carried out over huge distances, as for the first step. It's no wonder this build is so popular, despite the need for mountains of meat to work at full power.

If the enemy expects that they may encounter difficulties and have to retreat, it is logical to send one of the “Humble Clothed”, less useful members of the group, with the “Modestly Blushing One”, as the most valuable. If there is a failure, you will save the most valuable combat unit by sacrificing the weakest fighters and still save yourself. And if not, it will not be difficult to catch up with the least maneuverable unit; he will simply order his creatures to carry him. As long as he wins, Pride will endure even more, especially if victories bring sacrifices. They bring flesh, blood, and souls to Gehenna.

Before rushing into battle and revealing his cards, it would be wise to deprive the enemy of the opportunity to retreat, which is what Ilya is trying to do. This time, he runs almost right next to the road, rushing through the forest like a silent petal, a gust of wind, without forgetting to actively ripple. Hell knows if this aspect works in such an application, but it shouldn't get any worse, even if the energy isn't too strained. He found another group of victims without difficulty. They too were right on the road, some kind of cart with strange bags, a man, a woman, and a teenage daughter. The parents were definitely dead, gutted and without entrails, but the girl was crying over the bodies and wailing bitterly.

The heart is normal, human. There are no signs of parasite infection in the energy field, but Ilya is in no hurry to play the knight in shining armor. First, he doesn't believe that the creatures left the girl untouched. Not after what he saw at the farm, where even the very young were not spared. Second, by the law of luck, the enemy must already have some tricks up his sleeve against his senses before the battle begins. Ilya looks closely at the overturned cart and the crying girl, straining his eyes to the point of pain, using his normal, albeit enhanced, vision. And he finds what made him flinch, just as the Occultist flinched when he sensed the destruction of his sensors.

The girl is dressed poorly, simply, in a peasant style in every respect, except for the rather worn ribbon in her hair. So why the hell does she have such a beautiful, delicate, and almost invisible brooch hidden in her braids? Already figuring out what the trap is, Ilya smiles and goes back into the woods, starting to move in circles. It took him ten minutes to find both creatures, who hid in a ravine fifty meters from the road and tied themselves up with an artifact chain. It's not a relic, no, but it's very good camouflage junk, designed more against all kinds of Sages, but it also devours wild sensory perception just like that.

“Humble Clothed” looks like a mixture of a beetle and a mantis, clad in human skin, over which a mental illusion of normalization has been cast. It's lousy, let's be honest. It can only fool a simpleton; a gifted person, even without Ilya's resistance, would notice something was wrong, not at first glance, but at third glance for sure. But if the disguise is lousy, it means the creature is strong in other ways. And two extra glances can be fatal. The creatures of Pride are distinguished by their unpleasant power at close and medium-close range. However, the creature would not have been a problem if it weren't for the “Modestly Blushing One” lying heavily on the ground, making Ilya very nervous. Without revealing his trump cards, he would only be able to defeat it with a lot of luck... but why should Ilya rely on luck in this battle?

Throwing a hatchet is not an easy task; that is not what this weapon is designed for, which is why he does not throw it. He threw down the axe and a spear broken into a dart, which he had picked up from the ruins of the destroyed village. Both projectiles hit the “Humble Clothed”, who was more vulnerable, as a backup chance for the Occultist, who had the exchange mark on him. He threw from an extremely comfortable position, couldn't miss, and didn't miss. At the last moment, a boulder that had been completely stable moved loudly under his foot, but Ilya did not miss. The axe forced the insectoid head back with an unpleasant crunch, and the spear completely pinned the enemy creature to the slope of the ravine.

“Modestly Blushing One” reacts instantly. Its body, resembling both a fly and a spider, jerks all its legs at once, emitting a deafening screech and clouds of sulfuric smoke oozing from its chitinous joints. Its throw is incredibly fast for such a body, but fortunately, Ilya is not surprised. They were all trained in virtual reality, and the creatures of Gehenna are one of the few types of enemies that are always the same in all sectors, even standardized. There are individual moments and different talents even within the same type of summon, but the general characteristics are most often similar. Ilya knew how fast this shit could be, so he started running before the creature jumped out of the ravine.

And immediately jumped back, following Ilya's trail, realizing that he had rushed to finish off the wounded creature. But “Modestly Blushing One” did not have time to jump out of the ravine again, because Ilya simply jumped over the monster pinned down by his spear. He jumped over and spat right on top of the bag folded at its feet. He spat deliberately, not quite accurately, and with minimal power pumping. So that, even in the worst-case scenario, he would not detonate the rest of the “Pies” before he disappeared behind the walls of the ravine, which was so convenient for an ambush. It would have been funny if he had gone into battle against the Occultist, and the latter had replaced himself with the bag carrier — active “Pies” lose their stability from portal magic.

There were no screams, but Ilya had no doubt that something alive remained in that ravine. Not after the stench of sulfur was replaced by the intoxicating aroma of meat pastries, and the Wendigo howled with rage. The effect was literally mental, awakening hunger and the desire to devour the resulting mass, gradually merging with it. There is a limit. After three or four multiplying iterations, this junk will simply kill the eater from overeating, rather than turning them into another pie, but still, of course, it's a complete mess. I couldn't resist my curiosity and looked inside the ravine, because before that, I had only read about and seen screenshots on the forum of the effect of passionate love, Alchemy, Ritual Magic, and pure, refined Madness distilled into a concentrated form.

The entire surface of the ravine was covered in a layer of well-baked dough, which had melted and baked onto leaves, grass, and branches — indeed, any non-meat organic matter. And the two Gehenna creatures looked like two very authentic mannequin-pies, straight out of a culinary competition. The flushed one was especially good, ready to be posted online under the caption "my humble breakfast." Having appreciated the aroma, he doesn't breathe, but the aroma seeps through his mind, his aura, and his will, and not wanting to test his own body's resilience lest he cough up dough for the rest of the fight, he turns and heads back to the cart.

In theory, the Occultist could easily develop the same "Trinket" aspect for teleportation to an object beacon, replacing himself with a girl transformed into a bomb. The girl stared into the forest, shuddering, looking there with an indescribable mixture of hope and horror. She didn't notice the shadow that darted out of the forest, which instantly grabbed her by the neck, and with her other hand, she reached with the tip of a knife and pulled out a long needle, like a knitting needle, from her skull, the other end of which held a pin-brooch. The girl's body immediately went limp, and the effect of "Object Insetlment" was immediately cast aside, a very high-quality one at that, and not the work of his opponent. It is, after all, associated with Pride, and Ilya, even through a knife, sensed the echo of a rather distinctive stench of sulfur, fresh flowers, and expensive perfume all at once.

Hm.

Perhaps it was the “Chaste Instruction,” a branch of contracts with Lust, not Pride. Without any protective measures, and with such a powerful creature that it almost broke through his resistance in a couple of seconds of contact through the steel... a normal gifted person would have started a dialogue with a petty little creature, and five minutes later there would have been a scene for which decent Forums would ban you or ask you to hide it under a spoiler. Kicking the brooch upward with his foot, he watched it fall into the forest, roughly into a pit with pies. No, this crap couldn't be destroyed that way, but anyone it managed to attract would surely become dough and minced meat themselves, so it wouldn't hit Ilya in the back.

He could have blown with full force and destroyed the artifact, but that would have given the creature inside a chance to scream to its master that it was being crushed by active Cold. There was no point in giving the Occultist a chance to prepare. He would surely have something specifically against Cold, even without luck, simply because the sulfuric stench of Gehenna quite effectively counteracts Cold if the talent user's hands are steady. Grabbing the girl by the shoulder, he carried her a hundred and fifty meters in the direction she was traveling, away from the call of the hairpin, which could surely summon the already marked target, and then went back into the forest, returning along his own tracks.

This time, he ran much faster, rushing with all his might, and appeared at the beginning of the trail before the Occultist and his entourage had time to return. He moved forward cautiously and much more slowly, and almost missed (unlucky with the rhythm of the cycle deeper into or out of the forest) the moment when the enemy received the message about the fallen enemies, and then went back to the place from which he had retreated. Does he want to use the prepared defensive position? Quite possibly. It is possible to use an already spent summoning circle, but it's like playing hussar roulette with a magazine gun; in his case, such suicidal behavior is justified.

Ilya caught up with them as they approached some kind of witch's forest cottage, barely avoiding falling into the burrow of a magical and vicious wolverine on the way, nearly stepping into a nest of mutated hornets, and reflexively dodging a bird that tried to poop on him. The latter, however, may not have been the effect of someone else's relic, which was doing its best to slow down the threat to its owner. There is no point in mentioning the numerous branches that got underfoot, the unfortunate windfall, and other trifles. If the active ripples had any effect, it seems to have been more symbolic, especially so close to the epicenter of the other FaFo's vortex.

The witch's cottage, which they managed to reach, turned out to be the cottage of a very real witch, gifted, perhaps even a true Witch, the advanced class of Charmancer. There was no other way to explain how he could summon a creature walking beside him on incredibly long, stick-like legs, as if four huge blades of chitin glowing with sulfuric flame were in place of its arms and legs, each three meters long, each very sharp and deadly even for Ilya. He is confident that he can defeat the summoning of “Pacified Humility,” but only in a one-on-one battle. And even then, victory is not guaranteed, as the creature is extremely unpleasant, on the verge of the first step.

And the talent for this call is not “Minor Contract,” but “Insignificant Favor” with six steps. In theory, of course, there are relics, rituals, and altar enhancements that will allow a gifted of the first step to use truncated or even full versions of talents from later stages. There are, but damn it, what the hell? It's just offensive, you know! Ilya has never felt so worthless, to be honest! So he prepared for the attack with all due care and still almost shit himself. His lunge forward was instantaneous, but he foolishly pushed off from a tree to get into a good position. The tree turned out to be rotten inside, but normal on the outside, which is why Ilya almost fell to the ground.

Almost.

The balancing act of the pumped-up Wendigo, the opportunity to take a step, leveling his position, as well as the anticipation of the inevitability of something like this, also played its part. He strikes with full force of Ice Breath, not hesitating to put in two-thirds of his reserve, almost to the point of pain. The “Pacified Humility” jerked, chirped, and in three steps emerged from the cloud, covered by a cloud of sulfur smoke that rose from under the chitin. The face of a rather beautiful woman looked at him indignantly. The chelicerae snapping out of their mouths clicked just as indignantly. Armor, of course, causes respectful irritation — the one remained “Humble Clothed” and the two “Humility Drunkards” simply turned to ice.

And then all this immense Cold began to be sucked into nowhere, right into the relic pulled out of the bag in the form of a cracked obsidian bowl. Visibility returned to normal, and the enemy managed to see the incredibly fast figure of the Wanderer rushing towards him, holding a long, snow-white swan feather in his hands. Holding it like a weapon, he ran straight between the legs of “Pacified Humility,” who did not think to attack. It seemed that all he had to do was poke the poor Occultist with this feather, and he would be finished. But Ilya did not stumble, did not falter, the ground did not give way beneath him, and the Occultist's sudden luck did not happen.

He panicked and acted on reflex, replacing himself with one of the remaining markers and using “Sinful Exchange” on the creature trapped in the hairpin. Ilya sees the hairpin for less than a split second because it bursts open. A strange mixture of an insectoid and a woman appears before Ilya. Even the most perverted minds of the earthly Forum would not find this sight sexual. Although-I-I-I-I-I... Okay, there would definitely be a fan out there, but that's just a theory. Ilya smiles happily and runs past, without even slowing down, dodging the spit of the “Pacified Humility” with a pendulum swing and not reacting to the mental attack of the “Chaste Virgin.” The spit, by the way, still hit him, peeling off his Hide, but it didn't slow him down, only accelerated him even more, as soon as the teeth on his Hide devoured the viscous mass of boiling sulfur and mucus.

He can still win, but if he understands everything correctly, then he doesn’t need to.

A minute passed, then two, three, the creatures chasing him did not slow down, all sorts of obstacles kept getting in his way, and a beast invisible even to the eye jumped out of its lair and after a couple of seconds was already running after Ilya, but not with the intention of attacking, but also running away from two creatures of Gehenna on the verge of the second stage. A couple of times it was very close, the constant annoying bad luck and the constant advantage of the creatures got on his nerves, but he still did not lose. He waited for the synchronized, indignant screech with which both creatures burst into sulfuric flames and were expelled from reality due to such a powerful recoil.

The Occultist's defense is simply delightful, that's true, but even that wasn't enough to save him after he fell into a ravine full of "Meat Pies". He didn't turn into pastry instantly, but he spent all those minutes choking, coughing up his lungs as they turned into dough, until he finally died. He brought too good consumables with him, against which standard means of counteracting curses or poisoning would not help. Potions did not help, and there were no spare spells that could take on the wounds and pain. And he, of course, tried to summon a new one with pure talent, summon it with his will alone and without sacrifices... but Pride did not come.

The irony is that he wouldn't have been in any danger if he hadn't moved, if he hadn't given in to fear, if he hadn't shown weakness. Had he accepted the battle, all Ilya could do was assume his Form and then flee. He wouldn't have risked fighting simultaneously with a summoner and such a powerful summons right away, not under the pressure of such a relic. But in his hands was simply the feather of a large bird, picked up along the way, threatening nothing, and so luck didn't favor the Occultist, since everything was already unfolding in his favor. Therefore, failure didn't hinder Ilya, because he was walking into a trap, making things worse for himself. And having lost several summons and unable to even see Ilya's face, the enemy panicked too much, allowing himself to lose his pride, something his chosen type of Gehenna never forgave him for.

If he hadn't run, if he hadn't split up, confident he'd be lucky and still make it in time, if he'd done the smart thing and kept a couple of sensors instead of believing the enemy would inevitably be unlucky and fall under their mark, if only, if only, if only... And the best part is, Ilya didn't even use his Wendigo Form. He outplayed the absurdly packaged, absurdly lucky, perfectly positioned ferret in a chicken coop person with pure tactics, psychology, and a bit of imagination. If he couldn't take pride in his victory over the cat girl creature, he couldn't dampen that pride now, as if the creatures of Pride had intoxicated him with their sulfur, despite all his mental resistance. So, if that's not a reason for a little well-earned pride, then what could even be considered one?

The fight is over!

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Ilya immediately sat down on the platform, checked his essence supply—exactly twenty-one drops—and immersed himself in his thoughts, preparing to upgrade another planned talent. Not the most useful, but still necessary. First and foremost for further upgrades and lucky aspects. Well, he'll just have to wait for the description of the reward he received for his victory. Although, to be honest, he's in such a mood that he wouldn't be upset even if he got a big fat nothing. The celebration of preparation to fight with others' luck and resources that he has already experienced is enough for him. But he definitely won't say that out loud, and he'll be extremely careful in his thoughts, lest the Mechanism react to human desires for the first time in Earth's history.

An additional reward for the winner: a free distortion drop of talent ascension has been acquired, available for distribution in any of the talents, or two such drops, but available for ascension only after the completion of the last battle of the current stage of the Competitive Tournament!

Well, there's no other option here, only after the tournament, simply because a single drop won't bring him any success right now. This essentially rare reward does what always requires crazy risks and incredible luck in Broken, not to mention the costs, which are already assumed to be extremely high. This drop adds a step to any talent – ​​there were three steps, there were four, there were four, there were five, there were five, which is the maximum for a first step.

Hm...

Could he have received such a reward for one of his victories before meeting Ilya?

But that's not important. What matters is that he currently lacks a talent that's important to boost right now. But he does have the signature class combo of Shapeshift and Form! And boosting both talents means far more than boosting just one. Not double, but almost an order of magnitude — sixth steps in these talents will unlock so much that it's a bit embarrassing to even think about. True, all of this will have to be recalculated properly, rather than waiting and stalling, dreaming of his future incredible awesomeness. And he'll recalculate his build on Earth, not on this platform; right now, he needs another.

Again, the image of a snowy land, only now the snowstorms don't disperse the thick fog, from beneath which shines the bloody lightning of the seething lake. And the howling sound near the altar — not the wind, but something else, as if currents of air cut by the edges of a thicket begin to scream like a beast. Drops leave the chalice, dissolve on its edges, drift off into the wind, bestowing their blessing upon Ilya, making him even more prepared not to die right now.

Hunger Howl: 3/3 (Essence invested: 20/20)

A Wendigo seeking food can be incredibly silent, but its scream, absorbed some of the wild magic of the Hunger-possessed, is all the more terrifying. It instills fear, robbing the power and control over the gift, forcing the hands to tremble and the vision to lose focus. It can paralyze or stun weaker prey.

The strength of the brutal Hunger that follows the howl increases slightly, the range of the effect increases noticeably, the depth of damage and after-effects are slightly increased, and the howl weakens to a lesser extent with distance from the Wendigo.

Repetition: nothing frightens like imminence, nothing saps strength like inevitability. And there's no denying that a Wendigo stalking its prey is inescapable. Few things convey inevitability more fully than its Hungry Howl as it catches up with its fleeing victim. Each Wendigo Howl weakens the target, inflicting an ever-increasing mental and physical effect that grows more powerful with each beat, gradually eroding and reducing the target's defenses to nothing. But the price of each Howl is great, for one cannot convey one's Hunger without experiencing it firsthand, without losing self-control.

The penetration of the Howl increases, the range of the effect increases significantly, the weakening of the howl with distance is significantly reduced, and the effect of the howl becomes more significant or weaker depending on fury and Hunger.

Echo: let everyone hear the howl of a beast on the hunt, let everyone fear it, and this is undeniably true. What makes it even more terrifying, however, is that a Wendigo who has properly given itself over to the Hunger is capable of knowing that it is being heard, knowing who is hearing it, and if it tries, even pointing to the direction of its prey frozen in terror. Each subsequent Howl, having penetrated the mind of the hearer, makes it easier to search for and find this prey, and erasing or blocking the wild magic of this cry is not so easy.

Honestly, it's not that difficult. A gifted person with the right cleansing talent can handle it, and good consumables will help, but in Ilya's case, the synergy with the Eye and the aspect of Insight will also play a role. This allows the Howl to briefly penetrate someone's essence, lock onto the mark, and more accurately locate hidden targets with the Eye. The combination is fairly standard for a wide variety of builds, even though the talents vary, but many people use this "blinker." The main thing is to have a Mark talent and a Radar talent that support each other. As for the class, the actual names of the talents and classes are secondary; the aspects play a role here.

He chose his aspect specifically for this combination, which would make his howl less inconveniently useless in combat. Especially since the howl now has a very limited ability to be enhanced by the Hunger he experiences... Let's say, not too much; there's a peak moment of acceleration, and it's not as extreme as, say, the same Eye or Ice Breath, but it's still pleasant. If you think about it, he's simply become overly arrogant again, especially after the last boost, when he acquired his "Trancendence."

The other two options, "Tremors" and "Concentration," weren't much worse, but they didn't provide any synergy, so they were left out. The first increased the effects of weakness, trembling, buckling legs, and breathlessness, to the point of simply killing non-gifted players with fear... but against Gifted players, it was still not very effective. The second allowed you to weaken the effect of Howl on all targets, increasing its effect on one. This would have been perfect for fighting Gifted players, and it would have made it easier to operate in a group. Ilya already has plenty of ways to finish off a Gifted opponent, but all sorts of unnoticeable and unpleasant monsters are constantly trying to hurt him.

Some even do.

The last of the fights!

He recognizes the coat of arms, already frowning irritably under his cloth mask. He knows it all too well. It's one of those worlds that Seven fans like to point out to any Diver, saying, “This is what would have happened if it weren't for our idols.” It's a kind of totalitarian religious dump, with a Christian twist. Their religious symbol was even a murdered man. Only he wasn't crucified on a cross, but hung upside down from a tree, a spreading oak. A very closed society, which considers the Broken One to be a sinful evil (well, reasonably so), and all Divers to be damned to hell while still alive, and therefore sets as its goal the murder of those gifted with the Mechanism in general and Divers in particular.

They are incredibly indoctrinated. From birth, they are brainwashed with the relics left behind by the Three, trained to become very good liquidators. Almost all of them are either Oath Bound, Priests, or Assassins. Other classes, different from those of the Three, are considered sinful and are punished by burning in the purifying flame. They are very unpleasant opponents who do not value their lives very much, seeking to kill rather than survive. They have almost no high steps, only the highest priesthood, but even they do not particularly advertise their step, lest the monks begin to wonder why they are not rushing to die with particular pathos. And why do they live so much better, in luxury, with a harem of personal nuns and all that?

In general, if Ilya saw another fanatical man or woman with characteristic class traits, he would not be surprised at all. But he was surprised. First of all, by his opponent's personal coat of arms. If the common flag depicted the very same Sacrificial One, also known as the Hanged One, also known as the Devoted One, also known by a bunch of other epithets like the Almighty, then the personal one was different... and it wasn't the stigma of one of their churches, no. There was a Tree, but it was burned to a stump, near which lay the scattered bones of the One Himself. There are heretical movements in the world of the Sacrificed (they believe that they live only on credit for one of the Three who killed himself in Reality, moving to the Broken One in order to create and feed the relics left after the Three). Not everyone likes the totalitarianism and cruelty of the churches.

But they have all been driven deep underground, with virtually no organization or information about developments. The Sacrifised themselves do not use the Forum at all; it only contains prayers and lists of those killed and desecrated, with all data on levelling stored in paper records inside guarded church cantons and seminaries. So the very fact that one of their heretics is here now, in front of him, means a lot. At the very least, it means that his opponent is an extremely remarkable person.

Opponent.

The woman's exact age is unclear, but she's young, dressed in a wide, hooded cloak, clearly a relic, likely also a disguise. Only the lower half of her face is visible, quite pretty; even her lips are either painted or, perhaps, blackened by some talent, as if she'd decided to play a goth. Her smile, by the way, is calm and enigmatic, like Mona Lisa's, with lips like those, as Mesmericks would say, perfect for pornography. Jokes aside, she could be anything, though Ilya's betting on the Assassin — she stole the guide from church leadership somewhere, step in a star, hid for a long time, but rocked the Broken to the max, and has become a true pro, no worse than the fanatical monks.

Well, if she has become his enemy at this stage, then she is clearly someone to be feared and respected. The invisibility there must be simply insane, and there is not the slightest belief that his Eye will be enough to pierce it. If the arena turns out to be inconvenient, then she will have every chance of killing him with a single, swift attack. As befits an assassin, for a moment. They didn't say a word to each other, apparently understanding with their sixth sense that there was nothing to talk about at that moment, that steel and magic would say it all. They limited themselves to short and dignified nods, as if to say, nothing personal, but I need a reward.

In a moment, Ilya finds himself in an arena that looks like a very strange room in an ordinary city house, similar to the one where Svyatik lived in Lazy. Only now Ilya is standing on the wall, next to a glass window, and the door is located on the ceiling. He opens the window and looks outside, seeing hundreds, thousands of fragments of different sizes and shapes, which make up a huge and constantly changing mega-house hanging in absolute black emptiness. Of all the arenas he has been to, this one is the most incredible, more mind-boggling than a blow with a mental hammer. Shaking his head and returning to the room with slight apprehension, Ilya decides not to fall into the void under any circumstances.

Activating his Eye revealed nothing and no one, not a single living creature within range... or perhaps it simply couldn't penetrate the camouflage. If he had correctly assessed the scale, then the length of the edge of the colossal Rubik's cube in which he found himself was less than three kilometers. So it was only camouflage, only that, that couldn't be dismissed at a distance. And it was worth raising that eye if, time after time, he encountered opponents who knew how to hide from his gaze... almost hide. The Eye, still active, noticed a heart barely flickering at the opposite end of the structure. He himself appeared in a small room that was literally a corner of the mega-cube. His opponent seemed to have done the same.

And she either provokes him, invites him, or treats him like a fool, because it was hard to believe that this Killer would make such a mistake. Rather, this is just the beginning of a real confrontation between two loners, in which there will be room for drama, glory, tenderness, and self-sacrifice, because there can only be one winner, even if they both deserve this victory. Ilya ignored the migraine needle pricking his temple, running his hand over his face, and suppressing the urge to scream in anger. Why was he so lucky to have such unique, fucking opponents?

Why did his opponent in the final battle have to be this girl, whose smile and mystery involuntarily stirred something long forgotten in his hardened soul? I mean, damn her, the very, fucking representative of that class who, in terms of effectiveness, is either a complete disaster, even when fully developed, or a brutal anal carnival for anyone who crosses the path of such a unique individual. Yes, the mental effects only slightly irritate him and won't directly affect him, but the problem is that if this traitor of traitors, who hasn't stumbled from the fallen, looking at him from the shadow of her own glory... It's fucking infuriating! If she ended up here, at the ninth battle, then her strength is definitely not solely based on mental strength. In her arsenal, there is room for all the Madness that can be found in her genius (and here Ilya thinks so, because without genius this class cannot be played in any way) head.

He needs to be able to find her, engage in direct combat, and be able to win without falling into her narrative while she builds her Kingdom around him.

He'll have to find a way to deal with this incredibly strong, since it gets to him even here, since even his resistance gives way to a migraine, incredibly motivated, since she already achieved her strength in her home world, fucking Storyteller.

It's a fucking awesome finale, he must say.
* * *

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Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/88055/594505

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP