image [https://i.quotev.com/kddpjgz5htuq.jpg]
At five in the morning, I was awakened by a terrifying roar that grew louder somewhere high in the sky. The moment the sound reached its peak, a supersonic shockwave rolled over the roofs of the surrounding buildings, making the windows rattle in their frames.
image [https://i.quotev.com/rl7dzxveowqa.jpg]
"Quite the alarm clock!" the thought flashed through my head as my body instinctively rolled under the bed, bracing for another explosion that never came.
Fatigue and sleep instantly vanished from my consciousness under the onslaught of a horse dose of adrenaline, which would continue to course through my veins for a long time. It seemed like I wouldn't be able to fall asleep again and finish my sweet morning dream today. May Cthulhu devour those damn imperial soldiers with their wake-up calls! I'm starting to miss the calls from John's clients.
"Missile or fighter jet?" I began to ponder aloud, catching my breath. This bad habit of a confirmed bachelor calmed my nerves and allowed me to gather my thoughts. "Judging by the noise, it's more likely a fighter jet. I definitely didn't hear such a sound from the missiles back then at the hospital. Maybe the soundproofing was better there? Dagon damn them! I forgot to put up a shield... Now some other gift will arrive, and I'll be gone."
The belated air raid siren confirmed my fears. I needed to get out of the dorm immediately. This panel box would collapse just as easily from the first hit as the hospital building. And my "personal shield," which I hastily began to form in my aura, wouldn't help here.
Throwing on my jacket, I ran out into the corridor. Frightened students, dressed in whatever they could grab, rushed out of their rooms, following my route. Primal fear was visible in their eyes, and their pale faces seemed almost transparent in the dim light of the corridor lamps. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who decided that it would be safer in the yard than in this house-trap. Some, however, ran to the basement, but I didn't try to convince them of the futility of this endeavor. Everyone is the architect of their own happiness, and neither their nor my option offered complete safety.
Once in the yard, I dashed towards the park. The asphalt under my feet was cold and damp from the morning dew, and the air was heavy and stale from the smoke that drifted from the commercial part of the city. I knew a cozy place in our park that resembled a trench – a small hollow under the roots of an old oak tree, hidden from prying eyes by dense lilac bushes for years. They were unlikely to target the park specifically, and even if something random landed, there would be a place to hide. I had no desire to search the internet for the location of the local bomb shelter and check if it was usable.
I wasn't alone in the park. Hundreds of people, frightened and confused by the morning raid, sought refuge among the trees. Parents held their children tightly in their arms, wrapping them in warm blankets, elderly people sat on benches, staring into space, and young people nervously scrolled through news feeds on their phones. In everyone's eyes, there was a wild cocktail of fear, despair, and some unspoken rage directed at the enemy. Even the birds seemed to have fallen silent, sensing the general anxiety and tension. The park, which was usually an oasis of peace and children's laughter, had turned into a haven for grieving souls seeking even a drop of hope in this chaos.
image [https://i.quotev.com/7ivebx3hhfya.jpg]
Around six in the morning, a cruise missile flew by in the distance. Although it made less noise than the morning "alarm clock," it instantly knocked me out of meditation. A wave of panic swept through the people, some began to pray loudly, others called their relatives.
At seven, the alarm was finally canceled, and feeling the gazes of hundreds of tired eyes on me, I returned to the dormitory. There were still a few hours until the courier arrived with my order, so I decided to go to the ATM.
Stepping outside, I immediately felt how the city had changed. The morning raid had left its mark: broken windows, facades of buildings scarred by shrapnel, fallen trees. The air was heavy with smoke and fumes, and the silence was broken only by the distant sirens of fire engines and ambulances.
As expected, there was a huge queue at the ATM. People of different ages, social statuses, and nationalities stood side by side, united by a common misfortune. Everyone was in a hurry to withdraw cash while they still had the opportunity. But there was no panic or quarrels. On the contrary, there was a strange sense of solidarity, a desire to support each other during this difficult time. Someone offered water to an elderly lady, someone shared the latest news, and someone simply stood silently, lost in their thoughts. In the queue, I learned that the morning missile had hit commercial warehouses, causing a fire that had bankrupted many local merchants – their insurance didn't cover fires caused by military actions.
On the way back, I saw queues near the shops as well. People were taking out groceries in full carts, loaded to the brim with cereals, canned food, water. But there were no looters or fights over food. Even in this situation, people retained their humanity.
image [https://i.quotev.com/ie2cqrwnzcwa.jpg]
Returning to the dormitory and having a quick breakfast of sandwiches with cured sausage that John had kindly left for me in the fridge, I set off for the nearest market. I was afraid to take the scooter – it was unknown when the system would transfer me to the next task, and I didn't want to cause a road accident. No problem, the market is only three metro stops away from me.
Going down into the subway, I felt the temperature drop sharply. It was cool and damp here, and the air seemed stagnant and permeated with the smell of fear. People were lying on unfolded blankets at the metro stations, which had turned into improvised bomb shelters – the alarm had recently ended, and the station was a reliable shelter for residents of the nearest streets. Some slept, curled up, some talked quietly with their neighbors, or simply sat, staring into space, with an expression of boundless fatigue and despair on their faces.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
The market was crowded. Sellers were trying to get rid of their goods quickly to freely leave the capital, and buyers were stocking up on food. Finding animal sellers was not difficult. There were an unusually large number of them today, and the prices of their goods were low. Logical. You can't take a large animal far with you. Choosing the sickest pig and arranging delivery, I went for groceries.
Food prices had risen, and the selection had become meager. Fresh meat and lard were still at their previous levels, but chicken had become significantly more expensive. As I later learned in another queue, one of the missiles had hit a poultry farm of one of the largest meat suppliers in the city.
Having done my shopping, I returned to the dormitory. I needed to print out a stencil for the ritual and meet the couriers. In my past life, I would have had to draw everything by hand, carving runes and hexagrams into the ground, but here I could create a template in a graphics editor and simply print it on paper. Progress works wonders and saves a lot of time.
By two in the afternoon, everything was ready. The couriers had delivered the orders, and I, taking Masha's body with the magic ring from its hiding place and loading everything needed for the ritual into it, set off for the abandoned construction site – the perfect place for the ritual.
On the way, I held quartz crystals in my hand, filling them with mana. Previously, this wouldn't work in this world, but now mana freely accumulated in the crystals.
The site was exactly what I needed. A cracked foundation and walls one and a half meters high – enough to hide the ritual from prying eyes, and not enough to attract unwanted guests. Homeless people disliked this place – the ruins didn't have a covered basement or a ceiling to protect from the rain.
Spreading out the stencil, I began to prepare a special mixture: silver powder, colloidal silver, wallpaper glue (instead of a thickener), artificial mixed with my own blood. Later, I would have to drip myself with saline, as I had overdone it a bit with the last ingredient. But a mage's blood is the best conductor of energy, even in a diluted state, and the stakes in this ritual were too high to skimp.
Just as I finished my preparations, the "sacrifice" arrived – the same sick pig from the market. After paying, I led the animal to the ritual site.
Finally, everything was prepared: four quartz crystals charged with my mana took their places at the edges of the six-pointed star, which was cut out of paper and glued to the stone slab of the foundation with a mana-conducting substance. Its edges reflected the dim light of the lantern I had placed nearby, scattering multi-colored sparks from the glued small crystals of amethyst and obsidian. The sacrificial pig and the trophy mana stone – in two other corners, me with the staff in the center and Masha's body next to me. I removed the spatial ring and magical clothes from her – such powerful artifacts could interfere with the ritual, creating unpredictable energy flows. I replaced her clothes with a simple linen shroud that covered her intimate parts so as not to attract my attention and allow me to work calmly.
image [https://i.quotev.com/3tib5jngmfxq.jpg]
I don't like sacrifices, but at this stage, my own power wouldn't be enough for such a powerful ritual. A life for a life – a cruel law of magic that you can't escape from. Not with such a meager supply of mana, at least.
Having healed the wound on the girl's chest, I decided to begin. This pentagram was used in Babylon to return the newly deceased from the other world, whose souls had not yet departed and whose bodies had not yet grown cold. My main hope was in the stasis property of the spatial ring, which stopped time for objects inside.
"Rise!" Placing the staff on Masha's body and surrounding both of us with a thin film of prana, I uttered the key word.
Magical energies rushed from the vertices of the hexagram to its center, simultaneously filling the signs of the ancient alphabet that intertwined around the sides and diagonals of the hexagon. The surrounding space filled with an otherworldly glow, the crystals began to melt, turning into a viscous liquid that pulsed in time with my words, and the sacrificial animal, which never woke up from its magical sleep, began to wither, turning into a dried-up mummy.
Wasting no time, I released my mana into the staff, pulling Masha's soul out of the dark obsidian stone. The stone resisted, cracking as if unwilling to let go of its captive, and finally shattered into a multitude of shards when I pushed the soul out with a sharp push.
Ignoring the loss of the valuable artifact, I continued the ritual. The soul particles, resembling a shimmering sphere of silver light, returned to their place in Masha's body, and now the main thing was to start all the functions of the organism. Synchronizing the mental shell with the neurons of the brain and launching electrical signals in the cortex and subcortex, I proceeded to resuscitation. But the energy I had gathered wasn't enough to start the heart. The signs on the pentagram went out, and Masha wasn't breathing. I had fiddled with the stone for too long.
But I wasn't going to give up. I had a few more minutes while the soul remained in the body. I began to perform chest compressions and artificial respiration. Three presses on the chest, then a breath... nothing. In desperation, I even hit the girl's chest with my fist and, leaning down for another breath, felt her breath. And then I received a resounding slap.
"You killed me!" Masha screamed angrily. "For what?!"
"Yeah, I pierced your heart with this staff," I smiled, raising my broken companion to eye level, assessing the damage, and hiding it in the spatial ring. Instead, I took out the robe the girl had worn in the dungeon and handed it to her. "It had to be done, get dressed, I'll turn away for now."
"What? You even undressed me on top of everything? Pervert! I'll…" the girl stammered as she changed.
But the girl didn't have time to finish her monologue. In the silence that reigned after the ritual and was broken only by my companion's monologue, the sounds of heavy footsteps and muffled but coarse voices suddenly reached our ears. Someone was approaching our shelter, and intuition told me that this didn't bode well.
"Freeze! Hands behind your head!" came a sharp shout, and three police officers in bulletproof vests and with assault rifles at the ready burst into the part of the site where I had been conducting the ritual. Their faces were tense, their eyes alert, and their fingers nervously stroked the triggers.
image [https://i.quotev.com/d536rywvl5ga.jpg]
I raised my hands, feeling the blood run cold in my veins. Masha, who had just returned from the other world a couple of minutes ago, huddled against me in fear, seeking protection. Her eyes were wide with terror, and her body was trembling as if from the cold.
"What's going on here?" asked one of the police officers, glancing around the construction site, covered with the burned-out ritual diagram, the dried-up mummy of a pig, and the two of us – a guy in a strange robe, with a cut wrist, and a half-naked girl who hadn't had time to properly put on her suit.
I was frantically trying to squeeze a plausible and logical explanation out of my exhausted brain when Masha abruptly pushed me away and shouted, "Arrest him! This bastard killed me!"