* * *

  Evgeny sent several reassuring messages that he was just looking into the problem for now and was not actively asking questions. But he promised to keep in touch every twelve hours, and at the same time sent several files, including tax extracts concerning the current owners of those very premises. As the ally said, he was lucky by coincidence, because now it was useless to ask questions actively. Authorities had gathered so many people, as if they had found a boratory for the underground production of nuclear weapons, especially strong drugs, and a club for lovers of reading the Constitution, all in one bottle in that building. In short, there was the wrong time for questions. There, several random passers-by, suffering from excessive curiosity, were arrested right there on the spot as suspicious individuals, and they did not stand on ceremony in expining the legality of their actions.

  Panic was growing in the city, little by little. Lots of people had disappeared, died under strange circumstances, and simply decided to leave. Rumors were circuting, one worse than the other. Dog packs on the outskirts and in the factory district were literally hunting for single passersby or even small groups, and regur attempts to shoot them were increasingly resembling military actions. In recent days, it was not dog hunter enthusiasts who were wandering around there, but special forces or other military personnel. Rumors were circuting about bringing in full-fledged military units into the city. Because the SWAT returned from the dog hunt pretty battered, in smaller numbers than when they left. The same unprovable rumors were circuting about a terrible leader or shepherd in dog skin, running on all fours, appearing among the dogs. It seems they never managed to shoot him.

  Among the housing and utilities workers, or whatever they are called now, there are also many problems, voluntary departures, and other nice things, because none of them wants to go down into basements, manholes, or climb up to attics and roofs. Many of them were found dead and extremely gutted after that, and some were not found at all, which is why there was such a mess. Among these guys, the losses were especially great. In a small church on the southern outskirts of the city, of some historical antiquity, they found a priest who had hanged himself, and at the same time his entire family and retives of who knows what generation. Thirty-one bodies, from old people to a three-year-old boy, who simply went and hanged themselves, all at once, voluntarily and without traces of violence.

  The operative who posted the video online did not wait for the boss to give him a flugegehaimen in the ass, wrote a statement and, according to him, was going to move to Kuban that same day to live with his retives. However, the video and the operative's comment were quickly deleted, as were many attempts to post it again. And in general, the Internet is working worse and worse, as is mobile communications, but this is, of course, just a coincidence. In any case, the encryption under "just a conversation" performed by Evgeny became more and more allegorical and cunningly twisted with each message. Just in case. He also advised considering the option of moving, because at this rate, their "passion for walks" could become even more life-threatening than it already is.

  The city froze in a cloud of panic rumors, bloody crimes, mysterious horrors, and all that. People instinctively sensed trouble, trying to stay away from it. There were fewer and fewer birds and cats in the yards, and dogs also disappeared somewhere or joined the outskirts of the packs. Even the atmosphere, the air saturated with soot and smoke, seemed to become heavier, more unpleasant to the taste. Igor was not sensitive enough to answer this question exactly, but it began to seem to him that the level of the power of the Other Side was increasing in the concrete jungle. Not enough to feel this stench with full awareness, not enough to make the spiral of Vessels in the chest burn this power right in the body. But the muck filled the air, poured out of the tap with the water, spoiled the taste of food, and polluted the earth. Obviously, in rge quantities, this abomination could turn a person or another living creature into some kind of shit. But Igor didn’t even want to think about what regur and prolonged exposure to even retively weak “radiation” would do to ordinary people who didn’t have the protection of the Lot and Vessels.

  The products in the stores were gradually becoming less and less diverse. More and more often, he saw literally overflowing carts as if some kind of hysteria had begun. A new hunt for buckwheat or pasta. It seemed to Igor that rope and soap should also be added to the list of mandatory products. He now spent most of the day in meditation. He did not even cast his skills over and over again. The time when this could have helped had already passed. Now he was precisely learning the Tablets, trying to better understand the secrets behind, to look through the keyhole without opening the sealed door, to see just a crumb of truth, so as not to die from seeing it. New units were added to the scale extremely reluctantly, but each such increase made him smile, because its value was higher and higher each time.

  And now he was lying on the floor again, on a mattress, with water, aspirin tablets, a phone set on silent, and everything else that might come in handy when going through such an important procedure as filling out the Patch. It was time to close the st of the three free slots for the Tablet, and he had just the thing to close that slot. He had originally hoped to find something cooler in a raid on a kindergarten, but it didn't work out. The only trophies he got were beating and Tablet development. And that wasn't bad, especially the second one. He was basically satisfied, as were his comrades, who didn't realize why their understanding scales had gone up so dramatically.

  He, obeying his intuition, pced the lump of matter compressed into a very dense mass, no longer ghostly, but entirely material, which had taken the form of a mp ntern, right into the hollow on his chest, right on the sor plexus, feeling, precisely feeling, and not seeing, how this ball crumbled into many thin threads. The threads penetrated his body extremely quickly and without encountering resistance, they entwined all five Vessels, pierced the base of the Lot, which ran like a column along the spine, and then, having gathered into a real battering ram of these threads, rushed to the st free Patch. Here was where the first difference came: where the "spiritual" Lantern at the moment of the ram disintegrated into the smallest grains of sand, merging into a foggy trail, the "bone" one, on the contrary, strengthened, its threads intertwined into a denser structure, like some kind of rope with a ram-like thickening at the end, which pierces through the unfilled Patch, forcing it to open up and turn inside out.

  Or to the Other Side.

  It was both simir and completely different from what Igor had done before. The same visions, the same Spiral, the Tree and the Rain, would have crushed his soul and would have been much more terrible if the dim glow of the Lantern had not protected him. But now he was illuminated by something else, not the usual manifestation of individual aspects of some secret mechanisms of control of the universe. No, it is different, like a multitude of small words and sounds, particles not of one mystery but of many, which merge into something unified. Much more cumbersome, useless in its clumsiness. This knowledge will not be instantly brought into the world, nor will it be forced to distort reality by a single wish and a gnce into one's own Tablet. But where there is clumsiness, there is also strength, a great power born from its own fetters. A sword in the hands of a skilled swordsman, finding gaps in armor and vulnerable points, or a heavy war hammer, capable of crushing and breaking through that armor? It was the same thing, but in different words. It was different, but simir, and because of that, he had to concentrate much harder, not to let himself be deceived by the difference and simirity at once.

  Now, Igor understood. He understood the difference between Spirit and Bone.

  The secret knowledge that becomes a part of you, that you absorb with your breath, that you absorb with every movement of the spiral - this is the Spirit Foundation of the Tablet. But the Bone Foundation does not become you, it appears on you like a stigmata on your skin, or an engraving made by a bone carver directly on your bones. The young man freezes for a moment, choosing what he desires more than anything else, realizing that this type of Tablet is much more flexible within this framework, much better able to bend it to his advantage, if you can, and in time, if you have the will and the desire to know. Even before he opened his eyes, he knew what he had seen, what he had understood, and what was the fundamental difference between the first two and the st Tablet at his disposal. Surprisingly, his brain, accustomed to game analogies, was not even surprised.

  Spirit Foundation gives the skill of quick activation, which is easiest to describe as “spell”, so as not to bother with terms like “direct impact of energy on a small part of a separate w of the universe”. So, if the Tablet of Spirit Foundation is a spell, the Bone Foundation allows you to master a... ritual.

  Tablet: Light Touch of Primordial Powers: Grant Fragile Chalice and Bodily Might

  Understanding: 1/100

  Foundation: Bone

  Brightness: Dim

  Effect: Allows intuitive creation of ritual traits and actions that will convince the Primordial World to bestow a stream of pure energy upon the target, thereby increasing the number of avaible Vessels. Cast on oneself or a target, depleting one of the Vessels for a little over an hour, granting one additional Vessel of a fragile nature. The fragile Vessel sts indefinitely, but only until the first emptying, after which it disintegrates, increasing the physical characteristics for a while. The next Vessel after the first will require the energy of two of one's own to be invested in it, the next after the second, three. Filling the trait and activating ritual actions also consumes one full vessel, depleting it for a little over an hour. The number of targets is limited by the total number of Vessels the initiator of the Touch has.

  Effect: [will be revealed upon mastering 75 units of understanding]

  Effect: [will be revealed upon full understanding of the Tablet]

  Behold, your cup is before you, drink it to the dregs...

  Igor y on his back, staring at the ceiling and seeing nothing but his thoughts and the images that came into them. The new door-gate blocked the Patch with the Tablet was not like the other two either. This gate is not of cast steel, on which is carved a clear and distinct image. These gates are like a mosaic, beautiful and moving, each part of which has meaning and understanding. Collect from them what you consider necessary and what you have enough puzzles for, and having collected them, embody them in reality. Transfer the pattern drawn on your bones, cut with a sharp bde, embody it in reality, embody it and fill it with power, and it will serve you as it should serve you. Or you will serve it, who knows?

  Unlike a Protective Charm or Combat Shine, the ritual avaible to him was flexible. Igor knew he could accomplish his goal in different ways. He could draw the signs. It was so easy now for him to imagine the symbols he needed and understand their meaning. Drawing pentagrams, he could wait for the right time or search the fridge for the right ingredients. He may do it all together, getting a little more result than from each approach separately. But at their core, all these reagents and signs, all these symbols and ritualized action... they are, like the first two Tablets, just tools. A way to convince the world to py by his will and his rules, based on the ws of the universe. It's just that now he has the right to rely on them, to know exactly how to py those notes.

  He raised his hand and looked at his fingers, releasing a little power from not even the vessels, but from the spiral itself, which throws these forces out into the world around him. And the tips of his fingernails shone, and Igor himself knows that he can draw a sign with his fingernail, he can direct this power to a pencil or a pen, he can impregnate dried grapes or a freshly id hen's egg with it, he can, he can, he can.... He can do a lot of things now, but not much use is made of each individual action. And you can't overcomplicate the ritual either. It would become too cumbersome even for a Bone Tablet, it would become unruly, threatening to colpse into itself and hit its creator with a rollback. Choose the elements, prop them up against each other, imbue them with your power, accepting and understanding each part of the ritual action. Then empty the Vessels and cast, cast as best you can, hoping to pull it off. Unlike the familiar Protection and Shine, the guarantee of success of Bone Tablets is not one hundred percent. Simple Tablets can also have misfires, remember only his fears of not being able or not having time to concentrate to activate the protection in direct combat, when trying to nibble the face, but here it may not work even in ideal conditions.

  If you do not create worthy elements of the sacrament.

  If you can't cope with the created mosaic.

  If you miss some of the preliminary work.

  If you just miss something, you won't believe in yourself, or you'll believe too much.

  "If, if, if, if..." In the dull voice of a disappointed bore who was shown the "pwn everyone" button, and then this button turned out to be fake, says the young man, getting to his feet. "Again, a lot of work, not magic. Couldn't they have given me a magic wand so that I could wave it and everything would be done?"

  In fact, he has not one but two most valuable acquisitions. The ritual itself. It is simply impossible to convey how useful it is, allowing him to double his ammunition at once. Well, if he blocks three Vessels with the Shine cast on himself and allies again, leaving him with only a couple of free ones. The second acquisition, no less valuable, was the ability itself, embedded in instincts, to direct the forces of not so much the Vessels as the Spiral, outward, just like that, without relying on active skills. This, and also an understanding of the mosaic mechanism itself, is the selection of more suitable conditions for activating the ritual. When used correctly, these tricks can, if not move mountains, then greatly surprise a superior enemy.

  The bastard from the abandoned building was a moron and definitely crazy, but his ritual allowed him, with only one vessel, to strike so hard as to almost knock out both the young man and his homeless assistant. Now, Igor no longer doubted that the freak had the bone foundation of the Tablet, or even more than one. Somehow, he had transformed human bodies into creatures, and he had transformed them not by random mutations, but by targeted action. A completely new direction of "build-building" was emerging, opening the way not only to direct damage but also to crafting, summoning, or controlling crowds of all sorts of abominations. Those same golem-idols of te, no doubt, were created simirly and were not much different in essence from the vivisectionist's meat mutants.

  Having finally come to his senses and soaked in the shower, Igor did not rush the horses, but thought over the general features of the future ritual. First, he needed a cup, a bowl, a pstic bottle, or any vessel, but a cup would be the best option. The ideal option turned out to be as many as four cy cups-pots, which were souvenirs from a local history museum. Igor had no idea which one. These cheap cups were left in the apartment by one of the tenants. Then he removed the carpet from the floor, leaving only the old wooden floor ... and immediately covered it back with carpet. It would not work. The surface was too uneven and not right, not suitable, too lively, and not dense enough.

  The ritual was moved to the bathroom. He began to draw a circle on the old tile, using the remnants of gouache to which he had added a little of his blood from his punctured finger. Or rather, not a circle, but a spiral, with one continuous stroke overpping the other. Forty-nine times he drew that spiral with a diameter of a metre and a little more, each time the power-soaked brush continued to draw it, as if from that power creating paint and blood, not letting them end in the middle of the stroke. Then there was a circle, which had to be painted with the rest of the gouache and in a normal way, not with one stroke, closing the spiral into a cage. It was the turn of the fridge. Mulberry from the freezer, bought at the market in autumn, a few apples cut into slices, the same number of cucumbers, parsley, and tomato. One. A single one, because it was the freshest, and he didn't need more than that.

  The spiral, as a symbol of infinity, is the foundation that threads the Vessels of every Exalted. The circle acts as a line of defence and blocking, which should prevent the ritual from shining in the perception of colleagues without special skills or creatures cursed by the Other Side. After a moment's thought, he drew a second and third circle, bleeding again from his finger, the second one already, and then carefully bandaged himself. In this way, he hoped to shield his ritual action as much as possible. Perhaps it would have been more correct to carry out the ritual in nature or in a distant garage, but Igor had no garage, and it was easier to run into an angry patrol outside the ft than in the ft itself.

  The combination of vegetables-berries-fruits-grass should, in his understanding and expression of will, symbolise life and the fullness of that life, make the effect of bodily amplification after the disintegration of the disposable Vessel adjusted to vitality and regeneration. Well, or turn him into a vegetable if he performed the ritual incorrectly, but Igor did not doubt himself. Even if he made a mistake, he would be able to avoid a backsh, his Gift helped him to understand his Tablet and its limits better. As well as his own.

  He wanted to cope to the best of his ability, powering up the ritual circle and creating two fragile Vessels for himself at once. First for one, and then for two. There would also be one st unspent charge left, just in case. He wanted to, but logic and reason told him it was better to start small and behave more modestly, cautiously, and prudently. He could try the heavier variants of the ritual ter, but it would be good to make the first attempt not even successful, but at least not a complete failure. He sat down in the circle of the ritual, with his bare arse directly on the spiral - bare because his clothes, from the point of view of conceptual symbolism, were both a cage and a protection, shielding him from part of the powers granted by the ritual. He hesitated for about a minute and a half, then spat out the first Vessel directly onto the spiral and the ring that closed it.

  The world had shifted; its ws, so familiar, less and less meaningful every day, had retreated before the will of the Exalted One, and the world had changed as well. A world in which another world was formed, a piece of reality, outlined by a circle, and in this slightly different world, slightly different ws apply. This is, after all, the essence of bone engraving or spirit alteration, the essence of ritual, the essence of active skill, as such. In the here and now, the world has changed. It is just that with the spiritual Tablet, the centre of change becomes the Exalted One himself, and the bone mosaic is revealed not inside the body and soul of the ‘wizard’, but in the zone of action of the ritual trait. This understanding is so simple it is even a little funny, though it seemed to him that without his Gift, it would be far from easy to understand. Not to recognise or logically guess, but to understand.

  He clutched a cy bowl filled with pure mineral water and wine in equal proportions, but without blood. Blood was not allowed to be added, even though it only helped in the spiral and circle drawing stages. Into this bowl he pours the second Vessel, emptying it, but, at the same time, forcing the force to impregnate the liquid inside the bowl. And this liquid begins to shine, to glow, shining even through the rapidly cracking bowl. The earthenware does not fall apart, though it should; water and wine do not flow through the cracks in it, though they should. But to whom should they? To the familiar rational world and the ws of physics? But here, its logic means nothing; here, the world w belongs to Igor and his Tablet, his bones, on which the new w was drawn.

  Wine and water, wine and water merged together, turning into a small, quail's egg-sized drop of warm sunlight, turning into honey and the smell of flowers. Actually, the bathroom smelled like a meadow of flowers, and it was not because the air freshener was leaking. The boy brings the bowl to his face in a leisurely, even solemn manner, for his movements are also part of the ritual action. The time of day, the position of the stars, and the calendar holidays of different calendars. Any aspect and w of reality can influence rituals, any such w can be used to one's advantage if one has enough skill, enough understanding, and the will to impose that understanding.

  The drop is like honey and a pill at the same time, like a soft caramel candy that has melted in the heat. The drop stings the mouth cavity with sweetness, hiding in the stomach, but before reaching it, it loses its matter, spreads in the body with pure light. This light comes up to the Spiral, it pulsates to the beat of the drawn spiral, which gradually heats up under Igor's arse. And, for a moment, he realised - he had held it, he had managed, he had made it! The fragile Vessel was the st in the line, but it was as if on its own. It could be emptied and crumbled, releasing the power of life and health into the body, or it could be kept for as long as you deemed necessary, spending full-fledged Vessels at first.

  And it is also clear why it is called ‘fragile’: even in the inner ocean, this bowl-vessel seems to reflect in a mirror a real cup, scattered with small shards. The cracks are visible, they are obvious, and it is equally obvious that only the charge of force filling the Vessel prevents the walls from crumbling into shards, turning to dust, and that dust from filling Igor's body with life. With a quiet groan, he fell back on the cold tile, finally spoiling the drawing, which was now just paint with blood. He y like that for at least ten minutes, listening to the sounds of water running down the riser, letting himself recover a little.

  "Yeah, this isn't that." The ancient quote helps to recall the sound of his voice, to break the blissful meditative silence. "It was very close to failure. I wouldn't have died, but I would have sat on the toilet for a long time - the extra force I couldn't suppress would have gone into the intestinal flora. Not enough to die of a complete digestive upset, but it would have been unpleasant. I'm good. I can have cookies."

  Instead of biscuits, the young man decided not to talk to himself anymore, because it was already a kind of Spanish shame. He began to clean the bathroom from the traces of his ritual, to wash off his fatigue, and just enjoy life. In the end, he was gd to see that the speed of the new skill was very high. The ratio of filling the scale per one use is excellent. Moreover, the first two units he took were not at all for the ritual, but for the preparation of reagents for it, as well as through purely theoretical thinking up the plot and mystery of the ritual.

  Light Touch of Primordial Powers: Grant Fragile Chalice and Bodily Might: 7/100

  Five units of understanding for one application. Another two for preparation. Igor quite consciously used the simplest version he could come up with. Just one additional vessel, an extremely simple body enhancement, no additional ritual blocks, if we don’t count the masking circle in triple duplication. Hmm... Come to think of it, this is not the simplest option, yes. And again, this brings him to the question of the influence of the Gift, even both Gifts, as he now understands. One is for the accelerated development of the Tablets and an extremely deep understanding of them, the second is for improving work with the Vessels, the ability to more fully control the internal energy, relying on those Vessels. And what is the basis for his energy charges? Why, it is the Spiral! That is why he so easily accepted and perceived the work with the free force released by the Spiral!

  There is such an idea that without such Gifts, even just preparing a ritual would take not three and a half hours for processing and another half of this time for inventing a sacrament, but a week and a half of hellishly persistent work. Or work to the extreme of stubbornness.

  Well, it’s better for Igor to be Igor, and not some Oleg, right?

  * * *

  The new business from Eugene caught Igor preparing the third ritual of the bowl, as he had already done the first two, at the same time spending Fragile Vessels, checking the regeneration, and accelerated reflexes. If in the first case everything worked just fine, and deeply cut fingers healed without leaving scars in a minute and a half, the second ritual was easier, but there were some mistakes. Actually, when Igor started to check the accelerated reflexes, he realized this mistake when he almost dislocated his shoulder by jerking his arm too quickly in an attempt to tear off the petals of a dried parsley stalk tossed into the air. Yes, yes, reaction speed is there, body speed has also increased a bit, but strength, strength he did not take into account in his sacrament, nor did he take into account the ability to synchronize reflexes and body perception.

  He had to wait for the end of about half an hour of buff lying in bed as a jellyfish, afraid to scratch his nose to avoid accidentally poking his eye out. At the same time, he thought about the third variant of the ritual. And he came up with it! But just before he started working, he received a call from a comrade and an offer to go for a walk along a very amusing tourist route. Igor thought about it and agreed, starting to prepare the ritual. Not in the third form, which had not been tested yet, but in the well-proven first form, with an emphasis on survivability. He even ran to the shop for fruit, buying a bottle of wine at the same time and looking longingly at the amount of payment. The money didn't get any more, and he started to eat much more, trying to maintain a healthy diet. And when he would have to spend money on ritual practice, it was just sadness.

  He finished the ritual without any problems, washed and changed his clothes, meditated a little, used both spiritual Tablets, and left the apartment in the dark. It was winter, it was getting dark early, and the weather was very cloudy all day, with snow falling and blizzards rising. He had to dress warmly, he didn't do much disguising, he didn't even put on makeup, he just wrapped his face with a scarf and pulled heavy gsses without dioptrics over his eyes, as if he were cospying Dani fucking Bagrov. Lately, he has rarely walked down the street. Too often, police started asking for documents and the reason for the walk, and on indignation, they took them away, packed, sometimes with slightly beaten kidneys. And sometimes not even slightly. In this respect, the alliance with Eugene, who had the right to travel back and forth regurly for work, backed up by a certificate, was very useful for Igor.

  The two acquaintances were waiting for him in an inconspicuous square, close to the railroad, so that his ear could hear the sound of distant trains, which were cheerfully humming their horns, shattering the silence of the night. The only light they had was a small and dimly blinking fshlight, the battery of which seemed to have gone cold and now needed repcing. In this light, even the eyesight, enhanced by the half-closed Step, could barely distinguish a homemade map drawn in pencil on paper. And the map was copied from a real cadastral plot, which Zhenya had access to thanks to a very fortunate coincidence.

  "You need to change the locks on the archives, fuckers." That was all he said when asked if he'd get his ass if the owner of the plot he was interested in suddenly died a couple days ter. "And yeah, you sure as hell aren't going to be able to add on Vessel quickly for us.... okay, Vasya, a Shot, a Shot, more?

  "No, not an option." Igor refused again, trying not to let irritation into his voice, and already regretting the fact that he had bragged about his new skill, knowing perfectly well that the extra Vessel would become visible as soon as they were near the power of the Other Side. "It's not poncey or greedy, it's a real waste of time and risk. I almost killed myself a couple times, barely practicing the overy of that shit on my own. Compared to the Spiritual Foundation, the Bone Tablets are fucking difficult to use."

  Apparently, his very emotional speech managed to convince the naturally distrustful man, and Vas-Vasya didn't give a shit at all, because the main thing for him was to have vodka and the standard blessings of the protection and shine. There was no vodka, by the way, so the homeless drank alternately hawthorn tincture and some brandy, and very expensive, judging by the brand. He ate all this splendor with condensed milk, eating directly from the can with an iron spoon, disregarding the ws of biology and the vulnerability of the pancreas, which, from such behavior, had to leave the chat room faster than money from the purse of a gambler. Despite such non-serious behavior, he watched and listened attentively, asked questions exclusively on business, and at the same time made extremely useful suggestions.

  "Storozhkin Mikhail Petrovich, seventy-ninth year of birth, divorced once, married, not a member, not involved. The man, despite his surname, was not a watchman, but just a logistician who kept something in that kindergarten. I don't know what it was, I didn't ask him, but he had a whole group of movers working under him, who often worked nights as watchmen. Including there, in the kindergarten." Crunching his neck, Zhenya let anger show on his previously almost impassive face. "A third of those men disappeared, and a third left town. Well, so they called back, answered, and put a status on VK. Obviously, left mostly those who have no connections and retives that could have raised the arm, what a fucking coincidence, eh! The remaining third had hardly seen their boss for the st few weeks, as if he'd been drinking, or owed someone else money, and had set them all up at the same time. And there's a well-traveled track leading to his dacha. He's also recently ordered a truckload of bricks, rubble, and cement. Like he's building a fucking shed. No, he's building, he was building before all this fucking shit. Only the shed ain't grown, as you can see, and the new batch of building materials just got delivered four days ago. You know what I mean?"

  "Aha, my man, we understand." Having burped heartily, Vas-Vas puts the third can of condensed milk into the bag on his side, which he, like the bottles, does not throw away, but not in order not to leave traces, but to sell it for money. "He's become a demonic beast, killing people alive. And now we should send him to God's judgment. An autodafe, you know."

  Igor only shakes his head in response to Vasily's uncharacteristically high erudition, especially when he starts swearing. Meanwhile, the discussion smoothly turns to the operation itself. Approaches to the dacha, which stands, quite successfully, on the outskirts, the route of departure, the yout of the building, and all that. Oh yes, another important detail was that the suspect's dacha did not smell of Iznanka. According to Zhenya, he would have missed it if he hadn't deliberately tried to listen to it, when yesterday he walked along the road, while he was bringing an acquaintance a magarich for a borrowed perforator. Zhenya had his own perforator, and it was not even broken, although he said otherwise.... but it was very necessary to find an excuse to walk by and “sniff the air”. Now, by the way, the suspect had gone to town, having left just an hour and a half ago, when Igor was still preparing to leave the apartment.

  "There's always the possibility that he's as normal as we are. But I can smell it. He's a scumbag." Igor didn't want to kill an innocent man, but a lot of circumstantial evidence was perfect for this case. "We go in, check the gut of the house, if there are creatures, we leave, and then wait for him to arrive and bury him there. If there's nothing. Well, I'll personally leave the money on the table for the broken door and get the hell out of here. I just don't believe I'll have to. But I don't just believe it, I'm fucking sure of it!"

  Yeah, the eternal question of whether to go “where” or to kill “who” is a philosophical dilemma.

  SpoilerT.N. The author used the sng words "run away" and "kill", which are spelled and sound the same.

  [colpse]They all sensed the barely discernible abomination of the Inside Out already in the courtyard, having deftly climbed over the fence, fortunately, there were snowdrifts here too. In this background, Igor seemed to sense not only the hallucinations typical of the Other Side about the icy water in which dead bodies float, but also a hint of damp earth, and some stone chips on top. However, this could well have been psychosomatics, self-conviction... right up until the moment when Zhenya, who was busily moving forward, bending closer to the snow, was grabbed by the colr by Vas-Vas, pulling him back with all his strength. The protection almost worked, because the body of the electromagician was thrown into the air! To the silent, but at the same time obscene surprise and indignation, the homeless man only pointed his finger at his feet. And when none of his companions noticed anything again, he tapped his forehead with his knuckles, pointing to a pair of concrete cylinders almost hidden under the snow, on the visible parts of which strange and painful to the eye symbols were visible. Characteristically, there was no background from them, unless you leaned very close.

  Vas-Vas scooped up a couple of handfuls of fresh snow and threw it between the cones, allowing them to examine some invisible and immaterial thread that became real only at the moment of contact with material snowfkes. At that moment, both of Vasily's comrades looked at him with genuine respect and even greater bewilderment, like, how did he even notice this crap? He just shook his head, whispering why he was so cool, and they were just noobs in a high-level location.

  "You know, ds, seven years ago they liked to set up tripwires from sharp fishing line, so it could hurt us. Those who are homeless." Judging by the fact that the bearded man's face was obviously distorted even through his beard, he finds it unpleasant to remember those years. "I got into the habit, you see, of looking under my feet and going around narrow pces, like these cobblestones. Or first, poking with a stick."

  "Oh, right, I remember," Evgeny admitted, frowning his masked face. "They even put someone in a juvenile prison, I think. When a motorcyclist's head was cut off on a country road."

  Here, even Igor remembered. Fortunately, the whole city was buzzing about that incident, since only a recently graduated student died, which is why they still remembered him within the walls of the university. Only his head was not cut off, but "only" his neck was broken. However, nostalgia for the old days did not prevent them from busily calcuting the signal threads, as well as counting the concrete cylinders that took the suspect's dacha into an almost ideal circle. Here, the suspect smoothly flowed into the category of accused, and then those sentenced to death in absentia. The sentence in absentia to death gradually gave way to a painful execution, as soon as the detective-prosecutors finally got into the house. By the way, according to Evgeny, there was an arm, but only on the door, while the three Exalted Ones entered through the window, simply pulling the frame out of the groove with shining white fingers. With three pairs of hands, not such a difficult task.

  It was dark inside, thick curtains covered every scrap of free space, and the material of the window and walls somehow blocked the flow of the inside abomination. Such a "stench" hit them in the face that the spinning of the Spiral in the chests of the three accelerated in half a turn. After exchanging gnces, they decisively sent Vas-Vas forward. Fortunately, he did not argue, he was eager to fight. The small room, lit only by their fshlights, was littered with garbage, clothes, a rge number of rags and other household utensils, and a thin yer of either sand or brick chips. And stains. Everywhere, there were stains of brownish dirt, cy, or something like that. Evgeny silently adjusted the holster on his belt, but did not take out his weapon. Against stone creatures, even bullets enhanced by radiance are of little use, and the man of flesh and blood has not yet returned.

  They made a lot of noise, so they expected an attack at any moment and, therefore, were not surprised when the attack followed. The door was just swinging open when Vasily, armed with two hammers, struck his blows. The head of the statue, much better made, even the face was visible, did not fly apart and did not even crack much, despite the fsh of whiteness. Dressed in a shabby house dress, this statue had wider shapes, taking up almost the entire doorway. As if the one from whom the measurements for the creature were taken suffered from excess weight, well, or enjoyed it. The blow of the fist, or rather, a solid stone thickening, covered with sharp pieces of brick chips, fell into emptiness. Taking into account experience, the homeless man began an evasive maneuver even before they began to beat him.

  The hum of air cut through by the blow of his hand was accompanied by another blow of the hammer, already under the knee, which made the statue-killer fall down on one knee. At the same time, it pierced the floor and went into it with the same knee. The weight in the statue was so much that it was even scary to imagine that it would fall right on you. Zhenya broke out from behind the back of Vasily, who had retreated a little, and spped his lightning-covered palm on the hulk's head, putting in what seemed to be a full vessel. And, this time, he took into account the past experience, readjusting the attack properly, because the head was literally blown apart like a watermelon by a rifle bullet. Apparently, the statue didn't stop moving, and even threw another not-so-smart punch that sent the electro-magician reeling backwards, before it fell on its stomach, finally punching through the floorboards. There was so much weight in it that the floor began to sag, threatening to fall into the basement or under the ground.

  A moment more, and the crowbar went straight into the cone-shaped head of the partially intangible creature that pounced on Igor, trying to grab him, standing too close to the wall. He didn't just expect it, but waited and longed for it, having previously concentrated the white shine in his crowbar and literally slicing off the cone of the head. As the white-coloured lightsaber - he felt like Master fucking Yoda. The creature froze in the middle of the wall, as if fused to it, losing its ghostliness and entering a persistent diffusion with the material of the barrier. The attack of two other creatures was also met with dignity. Everyone knew what to expect, and no one was surprised anymore. Vas-Vas grabbed by the throat and dragged him into the wall, but the tter, stumbling like a sheep, pulled the stenoz on himself, demonstrating strong physical conditioning, pulling the enemy out and breaking him in three blows.

  Wall climbers are fragile, no comparison to statues in robes.

  The third managed to grab Zhenya and drag her into the wall, but at the very st moment, his hands slipped, unable to hold on to the sagging protection, allowing him to free himself. The lightning bolt in the cone broke off a piece of concrete, crumbly like sandstone, but did not kill the twitching creature. There was a second of silence, during which the raking carcass tried to get up, and then the enemy attacked again, making him wonder how much of this stuff could have accumuted here. About whether they'd been overconfident when the three of them had come here in the first pce. About whether they'd ever get back out into the fresh air.

  The two statues collided in the doorway, simply taking out the jamb with their bodies, demolishing it along with part of the wall, but losing manoeuvrability. Hammer blows, a poke with a crowbar, a couple of small lightning bolts in the already appeared chips and potholes, fshes of white colour, and this pair did not st even five seconds of active battle. The piles of stone piled on top of the still reeling super-beast, pinning it even more firmly to the floor, but it was impossible to finish it off again. Another statue flew into the widened opening, and crawlers came out of the walls and floor, again showing their annoying immateriality.

  Three small white lightning bolts strike at the points where the creatures change from leaky form to solid form, strike without missing, and after... and after... and then the wall cuts them through. Igor choked on his admiring swearword. Someone had done a lot of homework, preparing for another round. One creature was split in half, ceasing to exist, and two more had their long arms cut off. The fourth one successfully grabbed Igor under his knees, trying to drag him down to the floor, which had become as shaky as a swamp. The young man simply jumped, making the statue's fingers slip on the soapy gss of the protection, and then struck the heels of his boots strictly into the cone-head of the creature that appeared from its hiding pce. There was a fsh, a thudding, and aching pain in his heels, but the cone under his feet turned ft.

  Again, the statues were tearing through not a door, but just an ever-widening breach in the wall. Again, the crawlers are coming through the walls, trying to pull them apart, not to let them gather, not to let them act. And they were beating with crowbars, hammers, and, at times, powerful swearing, little by little losing protection after protection. The first yer of Vasily's armour fell off, followed by the first and the second yer of Zhenya's armour, when one more ‘fat’ statue piled on him, which was broken down with great difficulty in three hands. There was a trump card for Igor. The sculptor had more than one copy of the improved wall-crawler, which resembled the old Slender, and one of these copies was obviously kept at home. The creature struck through the ceiling, and wisely, slipping the guy's neck into a loop and lifting him upwards, trying to drag him away.

  Igor almost let himself be surprised, not immediately realising to break the noose, which was not even tight thanks to the protection. But while he was in free fall, a third ‘fat one’, dressed in some kind of overalls of a car repairman, broke past his partners and hit him with two hands at once, like a ball, sending the young man flying straight against the wall. Immediately, two yers of protection just slipped away. Moreover, towards the white shine of the defensive-attacking aegis from those fists struck like a brown sandy fog, which tried to chew through the protection and, in the case of the first yer, successfully coped, getting stuck only in the second.

  Never understood the rules of baseball. A zy thought ran through Igor's mind as he tried to get out of the hole in the wall he had punched with his body and got stuck in it. Or was it not baseball, but curling?

  He was just getting out, trying to reach the crowbar as well, when the fucking Slender reminded him of himself, grabbing not his body but the hood of his jacket. The protection actually applied to clothes, too, especially after the modification that had taken pce on the seventy-fifth unit of the scale, but it was much weaker. And his jacket was quite strong. Once again, the creature repeated the trick of its counterpart, throwing the young man into the wall. This room, by the way, was just as dark, full of rubbish and junk, so he oriented himself on the shine of his ability. The third protection, almost untouched, withstood, and Igor fell on his feet, charging with a left hook into the filing abomination, barely visible in the shimmering shine of his fists.

  If he had been a boxer or any other fan of hand-to-hand combat, he would have been able to cope, but he wasn't. The creature dodged and struck deftly, even gracefully, with its long cw-like fingers. Igor didn't have time to count the fingers, but there were more than five of them, and he received an academic sp. The young man, even with the protection, was simply blown away, knocking him off his feet and throwing him far away into the darkness. In that darkness, he was met by another blow, a heavy and powerful blow! The monster hit so hard that if it weren't for the protection's decay effect, which helped hold back the single jab, he could have spat out his own liver. But as it was, he just flew away, already without the amulet, hitting his back against the wall and hearing an unpleasant crunch. In the barely visible flicker of the fist, silent figures were approaching him, and not two, but more.

  Igor did not wait to make contact with them, did not even curl up into a ball, releasing the force of the Shine in a deadly avanche. Once again concentrating the blow on the enemy, he almost does not damage the walls, although the ringing of a broken window and gssware is heard very clearly. The creatures, as st time, were illuminated from all sides and ground into rubble, both statues, the crawler, and Slender. A couple of seconds ter, Igor's eyes, slightly watering from the fsh, are tormented by another simir fsh, albeit a little weaker and not so directed. Sensibly assuming that he was not the only one who had a hard time, he activated a one-time explosion on Vas-Vas, taking out all those who pounced on his partners. With an unpleasant whistling wheeze, he casts another protection on himself, using a fragile Vessel.

  The protective skill covered the body, and then came the warmth and soft touches of ritual regeneration, like barely warm tea with honey to the tongue, instantly banishing most of the unpleasant sensations from a body that was at least bruised. Hopefully, his spine was intact, and more likely, his cracked ribs hadn't punctured his lungs. In his situation, going to the hospital..... with all the services flooding the city, he'd be asking some serious questions. He could always lie that he'd just fallen down the stairs - the injuries should look simir at first gnce. The carnage seemed to have subsided, and the noise in my ears had also decreased a little, so that he could hear the tired swearing of Vasily hitting the stone with a hammer, mentioning Schopenhauer, Schopen, Sharia, and Gaidaev's Shurik at the same time.

  "Is everyone alive?" He crifies, entering not through the door, but simply through a completely absent wall in pce of the "entry point". "Otherwise, I'm not sure about myself."

  "Can you walk, Hedgehog?" The attentive gaze of Zhenya, leaning tiredly against the broken-down statue, immediately noticed the unnaturally straight back and strange gait of the squad support, who nodded slightly in agreement, answering the question. "Well, then it's okay. You got off easy. Or you crapped yourself. If you need a sick leave or just want to see a taciturn doctor, tell me, I have contacts."

  For some time, they are motionless, breathing in the rainbow fog visible even in complete darkness, which illuminates nothing, but does not require light for identification. Even if there is no door to the Inside Out here, they have already scored quite a few, even a lot of ones, on the Step scale. Only, judging by the background of the Inside Out that has not diminished in any way in this pce, a breach, moreover, a stabilized and stable one, was still here, it could not not be. And by the way, they all made noise, made a lot of noise, so that only a fairly rge distance between the houses, the location of the accused's dacha on the outskirts, and also the fact that in winter only those who had no other housing lived here saved them from a visit from the neighbors. And what's strange, Zhenya never noticed the neighbors closest to this building, although he watched diligently. Darkness in the windows and yards covered with snow, not even dogs and other animals remained.

  Having cast another protection on Vasily, who had also lost all three yers and renewed his shine, Igor began to look out the window, expecting a visit from an anxious special forces group or the freak who had returned. None of them simply believed that he could not sense such a massacre in the pce of his power. The breach to the Other Side was found in the celr, and the stench and background there were such that even the Vessels accelerated by the spiral could not cope with the timely cleaning of the bodies. Especially the empty vessels, because his comrades had also spent everything, just like Igor. A workshop was also found. It was hidden in the veranda-extension, the walls of which were painted not even with signs, but with lines of dirt and pieces of brick stuck in there. There were also bodies there that had not yet completely petrified, five of them, filled with bricks and sand, bloated, almost bursting from the crap stuffed into them, and they were gradually turning into concrete and stone.

  Igor intuitively saw some kind of system in this. The inhabitants of the concrete jungle were likened to stone, like those living in cities made of concrete and brick, having a kinship with these materials. Born in concrete walls, living in them, city dwellers were most vulnerable to this type of transformation, if we are talking about the ектыащкьешщт of flesh into stone. The young man suspected that an attempt to turn someone who lived in a wooden house most of the time, or even all his life, into such a deadly statue would simply not work. But from such a victim, through the same or a simir ritual, it would be possible to make a cssic living scarecrow or a wooden man. Unpleasant thoughts, unpleasant examples of magic, a shadow of an unpleasant understanding of the desecrated concept behind them.

  The passage in the celr took up almost the entire wall, and the celr itself was completely cleared out, and a dder was lowered into it. Of course, the breach was stable and very strong. Such a flow of power was expelled from it that just being nearby made the spiral of Vessels in the chest spin like an industrial fan. And still, some kind of nauseating weakness was felt when this muck gradually settled in the body, drop by drop, not having time, despite even a conscious effort, to be washed out by the flow of power to the end. Closing required four, seven, and eleven Vessels in succession, which was downright pleasing, although suspicious. They were just enough, exactly right. A pleasant coincidence, of course, but some amount of paranoia made one doubt whether this was such a random coincidence.

  To close or not to close – that is the question.

  They all remembered how they had been squeezed out st time, and they also understood that they could have made enough noise for someone to call the appropriate services. And they were nervous, very nervous and extremely zealous tely, he just doesn’t recognize his own w enforcement agencies. The solution to this issue was postponed for a very serious reason. The one who owned the dacha, the workshop, and the passage to the Other Side showed up. The quiet sound of the engine as his Lada parked near the gate, and then the quick and dexterous figure began to perform some strange maniputions with the gate. He was probably removing the trap, although Igor didn’t notice it. He didn’t feel it. Having removed the trap, he rushed to the car. At this point, Zhenya almost attacked. It seemed to him that the freak noticed the destruction in the house, but no, he returned. He returned, dragging a limply hanging body on his shoulder.

  Igor thought fleetingly that their commander had very cleverly decided to enter the house from the back, which is why the broken windows and slightly colpsed wall were simply not visible in such darkness. And the thin beam of the fshlight only illuminated the road through the snow-covered yard, in which there were concrete cylinder posts, clearly not only a signaling system, but also an analogue of anti-personnel mines. At least anti-personnel mines. The freak was approaching quickly, even very quickly, unnaturally lightly walking on the snow, as if gliding over it like a weightless feather. And then, when he almost approached the door, Igor felt the power of the Other Side in him, felt the reverse spiral that spat out poisonous, frozen abomination into the surrounding world. There were four vessels in him. Not one, not two, not three, but only one less than in Igor himself! And also, obviously, since the young man sensed his opponent, he too sensed him, just as he sensed Evgeny, who had disappeared around the corner of the house.

  Then everything happened very quickly and swiftly, without epic battles and difficult fights against the powerful dark magician. Here, Mikhail Petrovich, with one smooth movement, throws off the body hanging on his shoulder, stepping aside, at the same time quickly taking out a sawed-off shotgun from under his coat, and with his other hand throwing a lump of brown sparkling dust, or even small rubble. The blow of magic flows along the protection, spshing powerlessly over it, trying to penetrate the eyes, ears, and mouth of Zhenya, who stepped right through the blow. The sawed-off shotgun does not have time to roar, as sharp and fast cps are heard - the Exalted One, armed with a pistol, under the acceleration of the Shine, puts the entire clip into the target. Twice, the bullets hit the head covered by the hat, tearing off rge pieces, illuminating the courtyard with fshes. The rest pierce the chest and peritoneum, also causing unusually powerful injuries, accompanied by fshes of light.

  And the enemy, clearly dangerous and deadly, capable of giving a good fight to all three invaders, especially in the pce of his power, where he can feed from the breach to the Other Side, while the three guests are only weakened by that breach... he simply falls dead. No clever tricks or blows from the st of his strength. Just an ambush, an attack, a successful liquidation, and also a very good reminder to always wear protection. Igor decided to heed this hint of fate and not forget to renew his protection at all times, especially when leaving the house. The four vessels in the bastard's body fred up for the st time and crumbled into dust, finally dying out.

  "A whore, apparently." The shooter, bending over the body thrown to the ground, voices his observations to his companions who have approached. "Dead, of course. Looks like her lungs are all clogged with cy and sand. We need to check the car and drive it here. Come on, let's hurry."

  "They could have heard the shooting." Igor objects reasonably, shrugging from the piercing cold wind, the increasing snowfall, and the sight of the dead body of another innocent, well, retively, person, chewed up by the millstones of the coming changes. "Let’s say he cleared out all the nearby houses, some people don’t even go to their dachas in winter, but there are residential houses here. We saw lights in the windows."

  "That's right. There is, but not nearby. Even if they heard, not everyone will understand, and if they do, they won't say where the shots came from." The businesslike expnations didn't stop Evgeny from quickly and with considerable cynicism burying the woman's body in snow, and then heading for the car. Fortunately, the gates were already open. "Well, the cops will come here. And we hid the car and closed it. The snow is already falling like a wall, the tire tracks will be covered in half an hour. We won't turn on the lights, the broken windows are not visible from the threshold, and the cops won't go around all the houses even now. They're not that fucked with turpentine... I think."

  Igor would have been fine without the st crification, but he didn't argue. He found himself in the minority because the silent Vas-Vas was clearly determined to close the breach. And the guy was consumed by greed, so much loot and "exp". Then again, the next person to enter the house could easily become a creature. With such a harsh background of cold shit, a couple of hours could be enough for an ordinary person to lost some marbles. And a day would be enough to start mutating into a monster or turning into an "evil version" of the pyer, like the degenerate he had just killed. In general, the guy began to help drive the car and at the same time carefully watched so as not to leave traces and his fingerprints. One of his gloves had torn at some point, exposing his skin.

  They approached the closing of the breach a little calmer. The rising blizzard, which one wanted to call a storm, reliably hid their presence. Now the question was how to get home. It would snow so much that they would only dig him out in the spring, and Igor is not Vas-Vas, he will not come to life after that with curses and demands to pour him some vodka. It was not difficult to go down to the celr, but to look into the breach... it looked like a very ordinary mine tunnel of some kind, but it was filled with complete horror. And there, at the end of the tunnel, one could see the shimmer of a strange glow, from which one's head began to hurt.

  "What was in that tunnel, Zhenya?" Igor asks, not taking his anxious gaze off the dark mouth. "In the abandoned building. You climbed in there. At first, I didn’t ask, but now, I can’t hold my interest."

  "It was creepy there." At first, it seemed to him that this would be the end of his older comrade's answer, but he scratched his chin hidden under his mask and continued with more specific descriptions. "It's like there's a whole world there. I'm climbing out of that passage... and around me, fucking forest. Something like our park, but... overgrown, creepy, bitch, like my ex. And just, well, different. Like in a mirror, fuck. Like it's both familiar and not. And it's crushing. The Other Side, bitch, it's crushing. And it seemed to me that they were waiting there. Not for me, but for that freak. There was something there, incomprehensible and waiting, fuck. I was so scared that I turned around and run, almost pissing myself. There really is... The Other Side. The world inside out. Fuck it, I'm not going there again."

  Igor only nodded, looking into the darkness of the tunnel, but thought that with two sets of reinforcements and in company, it would be possible to try to look there. Carefully, barely, but possible. After all, it was not for nothing that the very structure of their Lots opened up the opportunity for them not only to close, but also to stabilize such passages? It was clearly provided for the opportunity to go to these dungeons for pumping. Only the level, that is, the Step for such a thing, should be noticeably higher than the current one, and the pce was not the most suitable for the first expedition. And therefore, Igor did not say anything, just as he did not suggest it. He silently, along with everyone, began to pour Vessels first into destabilization, and then into closing the breach. Vas-Vas, there, was generally silent the whole time, only drilling the passage with a heavy and angry gaze, and yet it seemed that nothing could upset him.

  By the time they finally poured in the third wave of power, emptying the Vessels, they could be squeezed out. Igor had to empty all five at once, temporarily removing the useful shine from his allies and himself. If any creature had been nearby, even the most insignificant one, it would have easily chewed them up, without rushing. The power, however, made up for the torment they had endured, since so much rainbow mist hit them that for a moment Igor felt as if he had gotten lost in that mist. Even with the division into three parts, he felt like a balloon, slowly and inexorably infted by a huge pump. But at least he didn't burst - that's a lot.

  Step: 0 [973/1000]

  The loot also fell in good numbers. Five "Dim Lanterns", and two of them with bone foundation, twelve "Tiny Marks of Valor", three more "Small", five "Quietest Echo of Pure Knowledge", and one "Quiet Echo of Pure Knowledge", which was more effective and acted noticeably longer than the weaker options. And could not help Igor in any way, because its effect was lost against the background of the already existing Gift. The list of received rewards was completed by two polyhedral dodecahedra, dull gray, heavy as lead, called "Thin Shroud". These polyhedra could, if activated by dripping blood on them, cover the active spirals of the Vessels and not allow the user to be seen as the Exalted One. Here, Igor immediately understood that he would definitely get one of these things, no matter what the price. Fortunately, this thing has a very long-sting effect, until all the edges decay, turning the polyhedron into a perfect sphere.

  "I need one of the Shrouds." He said quietly, while the other two tried to catch their breath, for they, due to the smaller number of Vessels, were exhausted by the closure even more than Igor. "The Marks wouldn't hurt either, but I'm ready to give up the Lanterns completely, I don't need them for now."

  "I don't care, dear fellows, take it all, just leave two hundred for a hangover cure." Vasily was in his element, which caused a slight smile from the whole company, including even Vasily himself. "I would have gone for a walk while it's fresh outside. Otherwise, I'll take a nap right here."

  So they went their separate ways, slipping out of the dead house, leaving traces of clearly paranormal activity and a pile of corpses for those who find all this splendor.

  Something told Igor that such stories were happening all over the city right now, more and more often every day, and would happen even more often.

  He didn’t like this prospect; he didn’t like it at all, but he still wasn’t able to change anything.

  * * *