* * *
Vasily, who had suddenly lost his sckness and ziness, brought them to the park. He still stank, farted as he walked, and burped loudly, guzzling the st bottle of vodka along the way, unable to even get a little tipsy. The homeless man knew his way around the alleys, underpasses rarely used roads much better than Igor, who trusted his experience. They walked along such winding paths that the guy would never have thought about them. Three holes in the fence, a huge drain pipe leading to the territory of a partially abandoned factory, and then a passage through the emergency exit gate, right past the guard, smacking his lips in his sleep. Narrow alleys, a shortcut through a private plot with a small vegetable garden. Vasily also grabbed and gobbled up a piece of rd hanging on a thread, promised to the tits, along with the st sip of vodka, which made the tits clearly twitter something obscene. A wide arc of circumvention along the forest belt, and here they are approaching the park from the outside. Unnoticed by anyone and completely invisible.
The stench of the Other Side came again slowly, from afar, dispcing Vasily's scent and making the Vessels spin in his chest in an accelerated spiral, melting the harmful force into nothing. Vasily, who often picked mushrooms in the summer, was also the first to sound the arm. By the way, he said, half of the pces at the market where they sell "their own mushrooms, personally picked" were bought from homeless people, bums, alcoholics, and other trash. That's why he had a habit of carefully looking under his feet. The find was not exactly a nightmare, but very arming given the general situation and what Igor personally knew. A torn sleeve of a sports jacket stained with something greenish, as well as a bck hat with a print of two-two-eight lying a little to the side. It seemed like nothing special. There was no blood, just as there were no pieces of a dead body, but it was hard to believe that this was random garbage without a tragic backstory.
They walked more carefully from there. Vasily led them through the most brutal gullies, ravines, and all that, so as not to meet anyone on the way. Well, Igor couldn’t even imagine what skills the life of a homeless person allows one to hone, although it is logical. They are extremely defenseless social individuals who have to fear everyone, from the police to teenage punks. The tter, by the way, should be feared even more, because if the police can kick someone for fun only occasionally, then the younger generation has always been distinguished not only by its very outstanding cruelty towards the defenseless, but also by its extreme ck of brakes. So, walking through the undergrowth and going around thickets of especially thorny bushes, covered by two regurly renewed blessings at once, they found the first body.
Well, what does it mean, body?
They found a fragment of it. A piece of the left leg with the boot was lying in the middle of a small ravine and, it seemed, had flown here along a parabo, thrown from somewhere else. Having exchanged gnces with Vasily, the combat duo only increased their caution, gripping the crowbar and hammer more tightly. They reached the pce from which the Other Side was blowing the strongest, already quite nervous, not even using fshlights to illuminate it. The night turned out to be cloudless for once, and the light of the half moon was quite enough. It was not the rgest of the unfinished buildings, but still quite rge, a floor and a half, surrounded by a high tin fence. The gates were closed, but not locked, because the lock on them was melted through, so all that was left was to push harder.
Instead of pushing, Igor put his finger to his mouth, demanding silence, then took out a knife and began to cut and carve a passage. The sparkling white kitchen knife pierced the purely material barrier as if it were a mithril two-handed sword sharpened to plus eight. A new door appeared in the fence surprisingly quickly, and the cut piece fell silently onto the snow that had fallen only yesterday and had not yet had time to melt. Very, very scarlet snow, because someone had definitely been killed on it, and in general, this pce looked as if there had been a fight here recently. They had fought, battled, and killed each other, but not cut a defenseless victim. When creatures with superpowers cut ordinary people, no traces of the struggle are left.
From inside the long building came muffled voices, equally muffled ughter, and some ominous gurgling, and no matter how hard you listened, you couldn't make out individual words. And if you listened too hard, your head would start to hurt, but nothing became clearer. The windows were not gzed, but carefully sealed with film, and a dim light was shining through, allowing them to discern the humanoid figures of those inside. People, it seemed, or more likely, were people not so long ago and had not yet lost their appearance. Somehow, Igor did not believe someone had managed to kill the creatures before them. The building smelled too strongly of the Other Side. Most likely, the local creatures were the first to kill their colleagues who dropped in for a visit. Or even not the Exalted Ones, but simply local mid-level drug business bosses who came to check where and how lower-level representatives of the drug business disappeared.
There was no door, only pstic strips, heavy and thick, and therefore not particurly affected by drafts. Igor had no intention of climbing in there. He rather wanted to open the film on one of the dark windows, coming from the inside, not from the outside. As, they had come too close, had behaved too carelessly, forgetting that they were not the only ones who had the means to viote the ws of the real world with all sorts of unscientific nonsense. His protection had reacted at the same time as Vasily's protection, as soon as he had come three steps closer to the walls of the building. It had not sagged or lost its charge, but had reacted. Having listened to his own Tablet, having assessed the feedback, which he had very good due to the high scale of understanding, Igor realized: it was as if they had touched a weightless and very thin web, only woven exclusively from energy, but not matter. The voices inside suddenly stopped, repced by the sounds not even of footsteps, but of running, hasty and rapid, and the source of these sounds was approaching them.
Vasily either didn't have such feedback from the protection or simply hadn't had time to get used to the protection and master this ability to track contact. But he heard a brief moment of silence and those same hurried movements, so he wasn't taken completely by surprise. A figure flew out of the doorway in a halo of pstic strips, blocking his view, and immediately attacked with a blow of brass knuckles to the ear. Attacking and hitting, and with such force and a dull click that without protection it could kill even a super-homeless person reinforced by his Tablet, and an ordinary person's skull would simply be split, like a watermelon when meeting a rge caliber. Fortunately, the protection on Vas-Vas still hung, having immediately lost a fifth of its strength, no less. Vasily's blow was delivered literally at the same time as the attack on him, awkwardly and clumsily, but with a hammer, and reinforced with whiteness.
He hit the chin and blew the chin off, literally tearing it off along with part of the upper jaw, but the figure of the attacker only staggered and growled dully, with a gurgling whistle, trying to hit again. This time, the homeless man successfully stepped back, hitting again, from top to bottom, right at the crown. The enemy successfully blocked the blow, completely losing both his hand and the pale green field of stinking power of the Other Side covering that hand. The hammer blow, characteristically, did not stop, successfully flying into the head and breaking it like a rotten fruit. Either a creature or a man was just falling when the next figure flew out of the same gap, jumping with all its mass on Vas-Vas, growling and howling like an animal, trying to tear him to shreds with clearly inhuman cws.
The hammer flew out of his unclenched hand. The protection trembled under the constant pressure of the cws, which slid along the slippery gss barrier, unable to find a point of support. Igor raises the crowbar and prepares to empty one of the three free ones, two are reserved for reinforcements, Vessels for renewing the protection, but an unfinished bottle of vodka comes into py. Vasily literally stuck it bottom-first into the skull of the creature that attacked him, clearing its way into the enemy's inner world with a white fsh. True, the enemy instantly turned into a dead sack of meat and crushed him with all his mass, depriving him of the opportunity to maneuver. Here Igor changed his mind about wasting the Vessel, stepping forward and poking into the emptiness in front of him with the sharp end of the crowbar. It was a good hit, because the third opponent, running out of the door, immediately caught the armor-piercing blow with his chest, not at all embarrassed by the crowbar pierced his sor plexus, striking Igor with his whole body.
The brute was, oddly enough, a real brute, so the strong but light young man was carried away with the freak who pushed him. He picked him up in his arms and literally threw him to the ground, even trying to hit him from above. Just like in wrestling, only now it was not a circus performance, but an attempt to kill. The protection withstood this, even a little charge remained in it, and Igor managed to roll to the side to avoid the blow of a mighty foot that was about to stomp his head with a boot. The enemy should have finished off the temporarily disoriented, not with a blow, but with a sharp change of position, young man, but he staggered, coughed, exhaling a hoarse and angry curse. Igor took advantage of the moment, rolling away again and right in the roll, using the Vessel to renew the protection.
The enemy is visible in the moonlight, unnaturally powerful muscles are visible, twisted and hypertrophied at the shoulder joint, making him look a bit like some kind of goril. His overgrown face and naked torso are covered with such a yer of hair that you could really mistake him for a monkey. The crowbar sticking out in the center of his chest is almost invisible, but the snow under the creature's feet is covered with fresh drops of scarlet liquid. Coughing and growling, as if through force, this shit stretched its arms forward and to the sides, stepping on Igor, who seemed very thin and fragile to itself. With a curse and a fart, Vasily pushes the corpse of the cwed abomination off himself, and the thug, slightly distracted by this action, missed the moment of Igor's dash. The d, clutching a kitchen knife, moved sharply to the left, trying to turn his opponent's back to Vasily, and when he tried to track them both, he simply... threw the knife. Just like the crowbar back then, in the fat cannibal's apartment.
In fairness, to be honest, he hit the enemy in the forehead exclusively with the handle of the bde, not the bde, but it didn't matter. The fsh of whiteness that filled Igor's weapon pyed its part. Initially, it was possible to preserve the shine effect on a weapon that had left contact with the body only in fragments, weakly, and, well, not at all effectively. Well, Igor had an old set of throwing darts, as well as a thick kitchen board made of very strong wood, on which he trained to maintain the shine when throwing a projectile. Incidentally, not only did the board suffer, but also the wall, a couple of times being completely pierced, but this act of vandalism against his own home just paid for itself.
The mutant monkey, dressed only in his family pants with hearts, looked up in bewilderment at the knife sticking out of his forehead with the bde outward, and sank on the scarlet snow, slowly and even majestically. Igor suppressed the desire to puke. It seemed he was gradually getting used to the sight of the blood bath, and only with a quiet curse did he pull the crowbar covered in unnaturally scarlet blood out of the wound. Vasily, who had gotten to his feet, had already found the hammer, and then, exchanging gnces with Igor, understood without words his answer to the question that had never been asked. They continue. Simply because retreating now is simply dangerous, fraught with a blow to the back. And Igor personally was literally frozen by the vile force pushing through the doors and windows, as if it had further increased the intensity of the flow of the Other Side.
Entering the door, they hurriedly, but without running, moved to the far wing, where the windows were lit and silhouettes flickered. But before they began either to enter the doorway, blocked by the same structure as the door to the building itself, or to break the wall to penetrate by sudden stealth penetration, a completely articute voice was heard from inside the room. A rattling, unpleasant, slightly mocking voice, but nonetheless a voice, and not the inarticute sounds emitted by the creatures. Human.
"Hi, faggots." Not young, but not old either, the typical voice of a typical gopnik from the neighborhood, just textbook. "Look at your feet, you fucking morons."
They both gnced, having managed to discern before their eyes the symbols of a putrid green color that covered the concrete floor with a solid carpet. But they did not have time to do anything else, if you do not count the muffled swearing from Vas-Vas, and a much louder fart from him. A fsh, silent, but at the same time deafening, pierces from the feet to the st hair, literally washing out the strength from the body, the power over that body, forcing, coercing, forcibly forcing to empty all the Vessels at once and fall into a deep sleep. Or rather, to be more precise, trying to force, compel, and lull, resting against the protection and extremely slowly pushing through it, simply washing it away with a stream of energy concentrated in a directed impulse.
Vasily snored standing up, falling already asleep, having lost both blessings and not being able to withstand the attack, but Igor, who controlled his Tablets and literally spent days grinding their use in all possible manifestations, and also relying on his Gift, managed to hold on. First, because at the most decisive moment he emptied another Vessel on the protection, replenishing it and not allowing it to be torn off from his essence. And while the protection remained active, the shine also did not disappear. This benefit itself would have been washed away by a stream of ritual power with a guarantee, and understanding would not have helped, but the protection, the protection fulfilled its main task and function. And then the role was pyed by the opposition to the negative effects of the shine, which did not allow the protection to be devoured until it allowed the shine to be torn off. As a result, Igor staggered from extreme concentration, then fell to his knees, but he did not lose consciousness. He did not lose strength, and in general, he became very, very angry.
For the faggot.
For the moron.
And for the phenomenal savagery of his opponent!
He heard the order to "drag them" through the cotton wool in his ears, and then he saw the one who was supposed to drag them. The utterly naked girl would have been quite beautiful if it weren't for the skin that had been ripped off alive from her arms to her shoulders, if it weren't for the eyes that had been ripped out, leaving behind empty sockets oozing with pus. If it weren't for the impossibly wide open mouth, from which a long tongue, at least a meter long, was sticking out, with those very eyes sewn onto the tip. Sometimes the guy openly hated his attention to detail, but judging by the whitish spots on and around the crotch of this tongue monster, the talkative ritualist used her not only as a combat unit.
They rushed at each other at the same time. She, pointing her tongue-eye at him, and he, realizing that the situation needed to be turned around before he was turned into something simir. The creature struck with its tongue like a whip, slimy, vile, and even longer, trying to wrap, entangle, and pull closer. Only the whip slipped off the amulet, and the blow with the knife simply cut it off along with the eyes. A very careless pcement of the visual organs, but Igor would have approved it in every way if he had the time and energy for articute speech. The screeching creature screamed very much like an ordinary girl, only too loudly and as if inside his head, as if demanding, demanding to stop and not dare to offend such a beauty. He would have stopped, even for a moment, because the strange obsession was weakened by the protection only slightly, but he was already delivering a second blow and could not stop.
The knife enters the creature's temple as if into warm butter, instantly turning off the annoying crying, causing him to shudder from the missing pressure. Pushing the body to the side, he picked up the crowbar that had fallen a little earlier, stepping into the ir of Evil. It sounds pretentious, but there was simply no other way to call this pce. It literally stank of evil. Not even just evil, but Evil, that very Other Side, which could not be anything for ordinary people except death, agony, abomination, and the loss of themselves. Here he do not need to be a hero or a fan of imagining himself as one, because any action against this crap is already justified. Because this simply should not be, should never be!
It was quite spacious inside and light, both from the portable mps and the pale green sparkling glimmer that came from a very, very wide crack-hole to the Other Side. More like not a crack or a hole, but a real door, for it was the right size. An opening in the wall, deep and as if punched through solid concrete, leading into the depths of that concrete where dancing lights flickered. There were three enemies, but two were motionless, and he felt they were not quite ready, naked and thin, even skinny human figures. They stood in the far corner, their backs and heads thrown back, like drug addicts who had received a dose of dope, only they glowed with the same light as the crap on the floor, the patterns drawn on them.
The third opponent, who was now bending over the gutted body of some unfortunate person lying on a film-covered table, an ordinary one, not a medical one, was very surprised to see Igor. Apparently, his tactics had never failed before, and he was genuinely dumbfounded that such a failure was possible. So genuinely that he didn’t even attack right away, and until then, he hadn’t noticed the death of his walking sex doll. He was still a man, albeit a very conditional one – tall, quite stocky, with a very noticeable belly, barely covered by a once white bathrobe, dressed only in sagging underpants and that same bathrobe. He clearly bore traces of mutations on his body. A swollen lump on the right side of his head, the size of a grapefruit, no less, and an already burst lump on the left side, from which a shiny and branching horn covered in wet mucus crawled out. Unnaturally bright green eyes, almost shining from the power accumuted in him, patterns of power that burned through the skin and reached the flesh all over the body, especially on the belly, closely interspersed with typical prison tattoos.
And also a prosthetic leg. It's not bionic, just a piece of wood from the hip, but it's alive and as if made of meat, shiny and oozing the same slime as the horn on his head. And this piece of shit looked at Igor as if he was that piece of shit, looking with a very surprised and gradually becoming frightened (and therefore hatefully angry) look at the knife that fshed white, stuck into the wall next to him. Well, what else can I say? Igor is not the best thrower of all sorts of things, he should have been standing behind Vasily while he took the blows and smashed everyone. The freak, who squealed in a completely unmanly way, even screamed at his creatures, hiding his fear and uncertainty behind the scream, hiding his apprehension and complete unpreparedness to confront the one who came face to face with him. Igor even became interested in whether he was an ordinary creature or originally a “colleague”, who had simply also gotten a bit too much of the Other Side?
"Get him, bitches, get him!" The scream is piercing and somewhat simir to the trick of the tongue-twister, but it is simir because her specialization was too narrow.
The two druggie straightened up abruptly, showing completely ordinary faces, shaved heads and empty, expressionless eyes. And then they opened their mouths so wide that a three-liter jar could fit in them, and their jaws also moved apart so that their teeth began to frame this hole like a kind of colr-neckce. Igor subconsciously expected another scream, but the creatures attacked silently. They silently moved toward him, spreading their arms wide and bending low to the floor. And then the sound came - sharp, loud, popping, one pop after another. The guy slightly twitched and looked in bewilderment at the one-horned and one-legged man looking at him just as perplexedly, at the same time, slightly shaking his head, in which seven light but fast pieces of lead hit in a row. Or what are bullets made of these days?
"You're such a rat." That was all Igor said, assessing the practically zero effect of the bullets on the protection’s reserve power.
The creatures rushed at the same time, not seeming to need direct control of the one-legged man, who opened his mouth in bewilderment, but hastily reloaded his gun. And the first of them immediately went down, when the side blow of the crowbar came to the area of the neck and not just broke it, but almost cut through it. The first one was just falling, but the second one had already grabbed Igor in a sweaty and tight embrace, pressing him against the wall, breaking his arms, and trying to bite his face off. And from such attacks, protection began to melt no worse than sugar in hot water. Three, an edge of five bites, and then only to spend the st charge not to die. Attempts to hit with his legs and knees bring some result, yet each attack is strengthened by white shine, but the attacks themselves are made from an awkward position.
And Igor, let's be honest, was not a master of hand-to-hand combat. He'd barely even fought at school, and all his experience hadn't prepared him for a close-contact fight for life in the arms of a naked man with a mouth the size of a watermelon. Something crunched, the creature barely audibly hissed, slightly recoiled, shouted something encouraging and offensive, one-horned, and the protection had already almost colpsed, and the panicked Standard-bearer just did not have time to renew it, did not have time to defend himself from the almost accomplished “big bite”. Vasily saved the situation, apparently having time not only to wake up, but also to realize the situation and help his comrade-in-arms. Deprived of the power in his vessels, which had hardly had time to recover, and without the protection of Igor's blessings, he simply took his hammer and threw it.
He was much better at throwing things than Igor, and the altered shape of the creature's skull made it extremely fragile. Apparently, some of the bone mass had been used to build a frame for the giant mouth. The hammer hit the target, lodging in the skull of the creature, killing it instantly. With his hands free and free to move, Igor pushed the corpse in front of him, taking time to recharge his amulet, trying not to lose the initiative. The corpse in the fall hit not only the nearest table, but also a one-horned man running towards him, who apparently wanted to shoot the tenacious young man at point-bnk range. He shrieked, bouncing away in horror, dropping his gun and miraculously avoiding a blow with his bare fist. He avoided the second one, too, managing to retreat and then to fall and roll to the far corner, grabbing some sort of cleaver or surgical instrument.
"Stand still, you bastards, stand still or I'll stab him." He did bring the bde over the throat of another body on the table, which, if looked at closely, is actually still breathing.... and there's no sign of gutting, and the marks on the body are fresh, not even burned through. "Now, if you still want your little faggot friend, you stay the fuck still or I'll cut him. I will. Take three steps back against the wall and put the gun on the table, asshole."
Igor, who had managed to pick up a recognizable and well-maintained TT from the floor, did not intend to approach the wall. There were too many signs there, and he had already seen the power of those signs today. He was not going to deprive himself of the weapon, which, by the way, was very uncomfortable to hold even in a thin leather glove. But it was not his hand to touch the gun, which obviously had several life sentences on it, considering the situation in this nice boratory of a maniac. Seeing the barrel pointed at him, the scum licked its bitten lips, running its eyes in all directions, and then slowly lowered the knife to the throat of the man on the “prosector's” table, who woke up and mooed something into the gag. He was very, very, very unpleasantly surprised when the bde just slid along his skin without leaving a scratch. He struck again seriously, growled like a cornered dog, stepping to his feet and shooting his eyes toward the breach in the wall.
A breach leading to the Other Side..
A breach that is clearly in a stable state, artificially maintained, and expanded.
"All right, bitch, all right." Igor's a little amused that he's trying so hard to pretend he's not afraid. "All right, fuck. I'm going through that door, to the other side, and we'll talk ter, if we have a chance."
"Seriously, fuck?" The young man wasn't even surprised, he was stunned by such impudence, because he expected anything, from a plea to an attempt to bargain, but not such impudent bullshit. "Who will let you go?"
Actually, Igor didn't shoot only because he still hoped to get the freak to talk, to ask him how he turned himself into this, why he felt only one Vessel in him spinning the spiral in the opposite direction. Not in the center of his chest, but from the center, not digesting the power of the Other Side, but spreading it from that vessel, infecting the surrounding world. He wasn't one of the "colleagues," the feeling was too different. He had somehow touched this shit differently, but had retained retive rationality, which raised a lot of questions that he wanted to get answers to. And it's not so easy to shoot a living non-human in cold blood, especially if you're holding a weapon for the second time in your life, and with real ammunition for the first time.
"Aha-ha-ha, faggot, to speak is not hard work." As if reading something in his eyes, the scum was gaining confidence in his position, not too afraid of Vasily, who was barely standing on his feet and had probably put all his remaining strength into that hammer throw. "I can see it, you're a fucking pussy. You ain't off your mama's tit. You think it's so easy to shoot a man for the first time, huh? Not in a fight, but against the wall, huh? I know your kind, I know your kind, where have I seen them? You're not a killer, you're a pussy, aren't you? No, you're not a murderer, man. So don't take it out on me, yeah. So we'll part peacefully, quietly, yeah. I'll just leave now, and you'll be here..."
The novice buffer was not the stupidest man in the world, but it took him a while to realize that he had either overestimated the freak's intelligence or he had lost all his brakes due to fear. He tried to crush his opponent morally, slowly grabbing the knife and making the first step forward. Igor of the times before the first battle near the stall, probably, could have lost in this fight of wills. But this was a different Igor, not the current one - very tired, angry, exhausted, almost died several times, and reacted extremely nervously to his opponent's sudden movement. It was unclear whether he was trying to throw a knife or really wanted to escape into the breach-hole, but it didn't work out.
Boom!
The first shot in his life and the first hit, right in the belly, which caused the one-horned man's face to take on an expression of completely childish and crystal-clear resentment and disbelief. He dropped the knife from his hand and pressed both palms to the wound, and his lips began to tremble, as if he was about to burst into tears. If Igor were a philosopher, he would certainly have asked himself why all sorts of animal-cruel degenerates and executioners, on some conceptual level, did not believe that pain and suffering could be inflicted on them, too. But even if the young man had some inclinations to be a philosopher, now he brazenly ignored them, simply starting to fire again. Again, the belly, neck, shoulder, miss, chest, miss, miss, and head, and finally another head, but not that one. He hit the tied-up prisoner, gd that he had thrown a protection on him, otherwise, it would have been awkward. And then a dry click, indicating that the pistol was out of ammunition.
"I should have had an existential crisis from my first murder, but I don't really give a shit." He said mencholically, putting the gun down on another table, right next to someone's corpse. "I've obviously used up all my reserves of reflection and doubt for tonight."
"Good riddance to him, my man." It was all Vasily, who could barely move his tongue, said. The rainbow mist began to draw into him, as it had into Igor, and the one left by the bodies in the street had clearly diminished in volume as it penetrated the walls and traveled the distance. "Doggy death for the dog, urghm, I'm going to puke..."
Igor did not answer the call from the very depths of his partner's soul, allowing him to release his pain into the outside world, while cursing at a certain Mahmud, who, bastard, was selling bootleg vodka. All his attention was absorbed by the prisoner, who was looking at him attentively, in whose chest three constantly emptying Vessels were spinning in a spiral, from which strength was drawn through the damned signs on his skin. He did not sob, moan, or try to break free. He only looked at Igor with a cautious and calm gaze, seemingly not experiencing any excitement at all. A typical guy, between twenty and thirty, fit, well-built, and obviously, also caught a glowing ball for himself.
For his good or his bad.
"Wait a bit, I'll catch my breath a little, and I'll start freeing you." He says, getting a calm blink and a nod, as much as his position allowed the victim to nod. "Almost empty, to be honest. I can hardly stand on my feet."
* * *
The guy's name was Zhenya. He was a master at throwing lightning. Probably the same one that killed the dog that pounced on him in the middle of the night. He came here at the call of the Other Side, wanting to pump a little, being armed exclusively with his gift and a couple of knives. He was not going to rush into battle today, but this intention did not help him. Unlike Vasily, he approached the building almost directly, since the only hole he had encountered so far was protected by only a very angry overgrown pigeon the size of a nightstand. He simply did not expect people here, and when he met them, he did not immediately understand who exactly he had met. It was after him that the severed leg remained, because he successfully fought back for some time before he was subdued. The blood in the courtyard of the building, like the other corpses, belonged to criminal jocks, who, apparently, had their own hiding pce or meeting pce in this building. They also dragged that same sharp-tongued girl here, having either kidnapped her or something like that. The local Mengele told him this story while he was painting his signs. It must be admitted that Zhenya did not listen particurly, trying to call upon his strength and resist.
When Igor's Vessels were restored, the first thing he did was cast a Shine on the untied man, helping to literally erase the power of the Other Side and the applied magic signs from the body. The tter were rubbed off extremely reluctantly, with great, great difficulty, but as soon as the victim's body was strengthened with light, the signs began to behave like ordinary dirt. No, first they fred up, all at once, almost touching the limit of the blessing's power, and then for another five seconds they glowed on their own. Or rather, the skin beneath them glowed, breaking the contact of the ritual reagent with the body. The satisfied but thoughtful man sincerely, in Igor's opinion, thanked him for his salvation, and then very sensibly suggested getting rid of the corpses. These bodies were in no hurry to disappear. The power that had permeated them not only changed the flesh, but also got in them very firmly. The open breach to the Other Side provided considerable support in this, its supply prevented the bodies from falling through the yers of reality.
"Got it, Kid, we can't leave everything here, we have to burn it." Despite the somewhat patronizing "kid," Zhenya spoke without disdain, quite politely and reasonably. "Even if we ignore the fact that there are a lot of my fingerprints here, there is also blood, there are tracks, there is a lot of everything. Even if the cops don't find the bodies, they will understand just by the red snow what kind of crap was going on here. And they are all angry now, people are disappearing, and their superiors are oppressing them in every way. I have two buddies in the authorities, they don't even compin anymore, they just drink silently. So come on, guys, put the bodies in the breach, remove the snow, and pour gasoline on everything. There is gasoline here, I saw how the asshole filled up his generator.
That's how they started working. The bodies were thrown into the breach, as were the rgest fragments of them, and then it was the turn of all these tools and other shit. They were dragged into the breach whole or disassembled. Once Zhenya asked Igor to cover him with a protective complex, and disappeared into the passage himself. He returned about three minutes ter, pale and quite nervous, saying only that he strongly advises against poking around there, but recommends quickly locking it and colpsing it. To the questions, quite natural, about what exactly he saw there, he said conically "Other Side", suggesting that they look for themselves, since words cannot describe it. For some reason, neither Igor nor Vasily wanted to check, having started throwing out the trash with redoubled enthusiasm. The rescued man looked very scared and stunned, yet he had seemed so calm, even on the cutting table, maintaining his presence of mind.
The Rift, a full-fledged door and not something, required successively three, six, and nine Vessels, which were emptied for its closing. Fortunately, not instantly and in a row. There was a time when the first "staples" were already applied, and the following ones were still being prepared. The analogy with stitches of sutures or the same staples on a wound arose by itself, because this shit really looked like a wound, even an abscess, deep and festering, poisoning the whole body. They all applied the first stitch, the second only ten minutes ter, when the spent Vessels were replenished. And if Igor experienced the simultaneous emptying of two Vessels retively calmly, then both Vasily and Evgeny felt sick. But they really felt shitty when they squeezed themselves to zero, leaving all three avaible Vessels empty. At some point, Igor believed that they would die here, and this despite the fact that he, having used three charges out of five, was only slightly better off.
The guy, by the way, appreciated the fact that the one he saved did not ask questions about where the two extra Vessels came from, although he clearly wanted to know, really, really wanted to. Consider that almost twice as much "ammunition"! It was useless to hide his difference from a couple of allies, since they were sitting in a real cloud of the Other Side force, their Vessels were spinning their spiral almost at the speed of a drill, burning through the crap that got into the body. There was no way to hide it, no way to deceive, no matter how much you wanted the opposite. However, if Zhenya hid his interest and did not express it openly, then Vas-Vas did not give a shit so much that it was even a little offensive, to be honest.
All was redeemed by a stream of rainbow mist, literally a stream, like from a fire hose, that hit at the moment the wall with the door folded in on itself, opening a new exit to the street. The stream of mist itself could not be called useless, but after this mist wrapped them, having begun to soak in, it left behind as many as twelve units of all kinds of pseudo-material loot.
Six "Tiny Marks of Valor", another "Small Mark of Valor", distinguished by greater efficiency and a longer working life, which, however, was not clearly named. Three "Dim Lanterns", and if two of them had the same description as before, then the third, instead of "provoking the formation of the Tablet of the spiritual foundation" indicated "provoking the formation of the Tablet of the bone foundation", only now, as, without expnation. The images did not want to answer the difference between spirit and bone, only pointed out the significance of this difference, some fundamental difference between one and the other. The st two trophies were a new type of loot, previously unseen by Igor, called the "Quietest Echo of Pure Knowledge", or rather, that is how he perceived them in his images. Judging by the description, this type of loot should have increased the speed and ease of learning the native Tablets for some time, which was, in fact, a very valuable factor.
Igor would have tried very hard to y his paw on both cubes, sparkling in different colors, whose edges were covered with constantly changing symbols. He would have definitely tried if his personal status list had not cimed that these cubes would not benefit him personally. There would be no harm either, but this was no consotion. The Gift he initially had was too superior to everything that this echo could give, it had nothing to cling to and nothing to improve in terms of understanding and cognition. He had seen and understood much more than such a boost could give, which was both pleasing and irritating, because you can’t add a pinch of dry straw to a fming rocket nozzle. There simply would be no effect from such “bonus fuel”.
"If you're both really generous, I'd take one Mark." Zhenya would clearly like to take more, but he didn't have the nerve to argue with two colleagues, both protected from his lightning. "Everything was torn off me, and it would be a shame to start losing progress. As for the rest... well, I'd like a new trick, but, frankly, I don't deserve it, yeah. I don't need the rest."
"Yk, you know, my dear fellow, I don't really need it, yeah." Vas-Vas was clearly considering the possibility of exchanging his share of the loot for a couple of boxes of vodka, but that was no longer Igor's concern. "So if it's for cash, we can sell it, my dear fellow. Just, well, so that you don't offend me, okay?"
"I'll take the Lantern with the bone, and the rest with Marks." Igor still occupied two of the three Patches with already active Tablets, and of the same nature, spiritual. He wanted to close the third one, and at the same time, learn the difference between spirit and bone. "Let's say, three tiny ones and a small one. Boosters, that is, Echo, keep them for yourself and share them. I don't really need it. If it doesn't suit you, let's discuss it now, so as not to breed resentment."
Oddly enough, no one started to bear grudges, although a greedy sparkle fshed in Zhenya's eyes, because he immediately understood that this guy would not sell him the priceless loot for a modest sum in crisp banknotes. Having finished dividing up the loot, they carefully doused everything they could with gasoline, of which there were eight and a half canisters, and it was not at all clear why. The former prisoner assumed it was to fill the breach itself, in case something really bad crawled out of there. And then, closer to the morning, they set it on fire. The pistol, by the way, disappeared in the breach. Igor made sure to throw it there at the st moment before closing. Looking at the burning building from a respectful distance, the pretty battered team began to say goodbye.
"My business cards. It's stupid to keep it a secret, you've all seen my face." The guy immediately hid the business card in his pocket, fortunately, any ally and union is always to his advantage. The Lot obliges. "If anyone needs anything about household repairs, especially to look at the wiring, then contact me, and with other topics too. That bastard whistled a lot, he didn't shut his mouth at all. And I don't really believe everything he said, but there... on the other side. In short, I'm sure that it will only get worse, there will be... more. You, in general, don't get lost, guys, because no one can't pull this shit together. He didn't just kill people. He, the rotten bastard, called. And he was completely sure that they would answer him. And they will come."
At this point, they parted, nodding sedately to each other, although his comrades remained to discuss buying gold for beads, that is, the loot for rubles and vodka. Igor still did not share his contact information, but they said goodbye very warmly, and after that, he even managed to return home before dawn.
By the way, he almost ran into a couple of figures on the stairs in the entryway where someone had unscrewed a light bulb, immediately preferring to wait for the elevator rather than find out who was wandering around in the dark and irritably talking to each other. He only threw them a conic "Good evening" on reflex that he hadn't managed to block with his brain. Fatigue and the desire to sleep rolled in with such force that he barely found the strength to wash off his makeup and take out his contact lenses, looking at his extremely tired reflection. Dark blond hair, brown eyes, bags under them, a certain unhealthy pallor after pouring in so many Vessels in a row, and slightly neater facial features. Nothing like elven ears or amazing beauty, but there was still a difference - the skin became cleaner, small scratches, pits from acne, and all that disappeared. This is also an important detail, because if they can figure him out by such a trifle, he will have to apply makeup to himself every morning, not make it look better, but rather disfigure his prettier face.
Yawning widely and nearly dislocating his jaw, he falls onto the bed, which creaks ominously from his nding, turning his inner gaze straight into himself. And he must say, he really liked what he saw at that moment! No, he was still sure that their little victorious operation had gone just at a critically shitty level, that he had taken too many risks and had almost died a stupid death too many times in an extremely short time, but now at least it had not been entirely in vain. And if he was definitely not going to unpack his new ntern today, then everything else – that was a pumping. Directly proportional, apparently, to the risk of dying painfully and cruelly during it...
Step: 0 [488/1000]
Minor Protective Charm: 81/100
Minor Combat Shine: 73/100
The stage simply and unpretentiously made a huge leap upward, well, or forward. Previously, he did not notice much difference, but now there was a clear assumption that the improved health and general physical parameters were precisely connected with this growth. It was due to the sharp jerk that he understood, because the difference was too noticeable, and he did not have time to get used to it, blur his vision, and not notice the obvious. The Shine stopped literally a few steps away from breaking through to a new stage-effect. Igor was sure that rethinking and assimiting the experience of today's fight would allow him to gain these two missing units, and with a considerable reserve. And there is no need to say anything about the beloved and cherished protection. He felt with all his being, even from the end of the fight he felt that the border had been crossed. As, but it was impossible to simply press a mental command and wait for the Tablet to undergo an improvement, no. It was necessary to actively help her, work with the Vessels, and also carefully absorb the knowledge and secrets penetrating it.
At the same time, he did not want to carry out such a procedure in such a tired state, but the detail-image-hint that he could not drag it out for too long was equally important. Fresh impressions, the most recent insights, bring the greatest benefit, increasing the chance to strengthen the new effect of the Tablet, to make it even better than usual. On account of those very points of the scale of understanding that he received in one sharp jerk, literally above the necessary norm for a breakthrough.
Igor closes his eyes, opening himself to the world. All the Vessels in his spiral are suddenly released and flow like a stream of healing honey onto the Tablet, literally trembling from the accumuted potential. He recognizes it at this moment, feels, knows, shares his essence with it, because its essence is so close to him and his Lot - protection, protection from harm as such, especially if he knows exactly what harm threatens him or those he protects. Those for whom he raises his Banner, those for whom he is here and now. Everything went so easily that he was even surprised. Judging by the timer, less than five minutes have passed, and the only consequence is a grumbling stomach, demanding more food. But like this, zily and not too diligently demanding, he can wait until the morning.
Tablet: Minor Protective Charm
Understanding: 81/100
Foundation: Spirit
Brightness: Dim
Effect: Creates a protective yer of stable energy that passively protects against minor physical harm, but can burn out in a single burst, reflecting a single significant physical harm, or lesser energy harm. When applied to oneself or a target, it depletes one of the Vessels for ten minutes or half time if applied to oneself. It sts a little over two hours, and cannot be applied to a target more than once.
Effect: Allows you to apply an additional protection on top of the first, up to three yers, where each subsequent yer of the protection is activated immediately after the destruction of the previous one, taking on the remains of the attack, as well as shuffling and changing the order of the applied charms. At the moment of the Protective Charm's disintegration, it additionally absorbs a significant attack impulse, disintegrating along with the attack. Allows you to adjust the amulet's protection, significantly increasing protection from the selected type of physical or energy damage, at the cost of some weakening of all other types of resistance. Lasts a little over three hours, the time count exists only for the top yer of the protection. The cost of Vessels and restoration remained unchanged.
Effect: [will be revealed upon full understanding of the Tablet]
Protect me, guard me, keep me, save me...
This... this changes a lot.
Literally from the first evolution, his power and danger increased almost by an order of magnitude. Three protection in a row, three at once, and each can be customized to the type of damage and freely shuffled. Given that replenishing one Vessel takes ten or five minutes, and the protection sts more than three hours. He can maintain all three yers of protection on himself and a couple of allies around the clock. Time expires only for the topmost protection, and as soon as he changes its pce in the "yer cake", the expiration of the time of existence seems to pause. Add here the effect of one-time absorption of even very strong damage when the top yer disintegrates, and now he can quite expect to tank even a tank or artillery shell.
Expect, because if he were to test it, it would be on some hamster, not personally. It was hard to believe, but the intuitive understanding of the Tablet's operation, multiplied by previous experience and the ratio of efficiency growth from the understanding scale, spoke in his, Igor's, favor. All sorts of volumetric explosions and cumutive shells, of course, put much more pressure on the protection, if compared with simple bullets or even sub-caliber anti-tank crowbars. On the other hand, adjusting the damage makes it possible to set the protection to withstand the shock wave and explosion. Although here, again, it is necessary to experiment and check in practice. Where could one find so much explosives, rge-caliber weapons, and, of course, hamsters for sughter?
Igor refused to consider himself a hamster.
Categorically!
* * *
AnnouncementT.N. More chapters on Patreon. Free trial.
