Chapter 3

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The inaudible rustle, the rustle of a nocturnal bird's wing, the hovering feather that dropped gently to the floor - the visitor was just as unnoticeable, just as relentless and unstoppable. There were few strong creatures in this city, but there were none at all who could match the night visitor in the art of silent movement.

Not to say that the guest approached with malicious intentions, though he did not rule it out, but the habit of coming uninvited and not letting others' eyes catch his appearance until he allowed it was one of those little things that not only did no harm but proved very useful in many cases.

Shift the weight from one foot to the other, step forward and slightly to the side, carefully move the foot to the left, away from the fragile area of cold-frozen tiles, step forward again, and put the ear to the chimney, barely smoky with the smoke from the lit fireplace. It is warm and cozy inside, with plenty of delicious food and booze; no guests are expected there, but a guest has come uninvited and unasked. However, this kind of guest is difficult to throw out the door, despite his impolite behavior.

By putting his ear to the chimney, the guest turns to hear. His index of perception is quite high, and some skills are aimed at hearing far more than a human can hear. Hearing brings other people's words, other people's breath, and the beating of other people's hearts. He can stop them today - breaths, hearts, and words - stop them forever, and he wishes so very much. However, we all often do what we need to do rather than what we sincerely dream of. Guest, like anyone living under the gaze of the Eternal Sisters, was well aware that this truth applies to him too. He too, had to do what he did not want to do all too often.

The guest listens, catching with all his essence what he has heard and waiting for the most opportune moment to enter the house, at the risk of incurring the wrath of those who have settled within these walls today. These people are not so simple and may well cause trouble even for the night visitor if it comes to a fight. The guest is in no doubt of their victory, having faced a similar, or even stronger, opponent on more than one occasion, but the guest remains cautious despite this confidence.

His wounds had long since healed, but the memory of what neglecting even the most seemingly pathetic opponent could lead to was firmly embedded in the depths of his mind, not hurrying to leave him after all this time. A second, a second, and there the guest was ready to rush forward. He was ready to hold a conversation that could end in any way possible. In a moment, he would be off the chimney and dashing down to the barely ajar window of the next room to make another dash from it.

He is about to take the necessary step, paying for it with other people's lives, when from behind, where just a moment ago there was nothing but night darkness and a cold wind, comes a quiet, cheerful, and slightly conspiratorial voice:

"Well, what is there?"

The most important mosquito in the anthill looked more impressive than a previous couple of bloodsuckers. It was not even in its appearance but in the manner of its movement and the experience that oozed in its every step. The creature had firsthand knowledge of what it was like to be hunted. It was because the creature had survived enough unpleasant situations in its existence to have been the result of careless decisions that this town had been the order of the day.

Not out of kindness, compassion, or even fear, but from the ability to link cause and effect, the bloodsuckers in Arenam rarely create the usual critter savagery. The main bedbug is weak, if only against the backdrop of the truly mighty creatures. And weakness always forces one to choose other, longer and more troublesome but safer paths. The creature didn't hate humans or even despise them, come to think of it. The bloodsucker genuinely saw no reason why it should despise or hate food, perceiving the picture of the world in an extremely peculiar way. Don't wolves hate a herd of cows that can trample on even a savage predator in droves? He was thinking along the same lines.

However, he kept his thoughts to himself, preferring to speak to the food that inhabited Arenam, not in a language of force he lacked for such vocabulary but in terms of coin and services. For the magistrate, having cooperative creatures on hand proved an extremely lucrative investment. Bloodsuckers were unwilling to eliminate rivals or kill the enemies of their patrons, on the logical assumption that they would be redundant once their work was done. That is, they did not kill under orders at all. And when they killed without orders, they tried not to leave any corpses behind.

But the amulet market held by the bloodsuckers was far more lucrative, and due to the nature of the creatures, it was automatically smuggled and not taxed into the capital. To complete the picture, they could hire silent, nimble creatures as spies and scouts. They wouldn't shed any blood, but they'd be willing to get dirt on them, as the City Hall was in as strong a position as possible, with all the merchants and the few noblemen in the city fist-pumped by the clerks. So what if the creatures also got their hands on the same dirt?

I suppose they had originally intended, if not to clean them up, then to force them out of Arenam - they weren't much use, but they were enough of a problem. But they managed to wriggle out of it. Very gently and almost tenderly pressing the same compromising evidence on the respected Burgomaster. If they are spying on your enemies, what makes you think they are not also spying on you? No threats were uttered, no. And yet the creatures have been allowed to remain within the city walls, just as they have been allowed to occupy the niche of traders of illegal magic.

Maybe they were about to be stabbed in the back when they bumped heads with the then-owners of said business. Except that the magistrates were not soldiers or adventurers to know how dangerous a fed-up creature attacking suddenly and without restraint could be. Gang warfare didn't happen, as all the people undesirable to the new shadow masters stopped living in one single night. That must have impressed the officials, forcing them to slow down on eliminating problematic allies.

And then it became unprofitable to eliminate them, for streams of gold and silver coins restrain far more reliably than shackles and promises. Did the humans know that the creatures listened to them and only respected maximum order as long as they themselves wished? They guessed. Just as they knew they'd manage to steal enough to retire and leave Arenam's problems to their hapless replacements.

Paradoxically, no doubt, but the creatures did far more for the city and the safety of its inhabitants than all humans combined. And they were still the same creatures, utterly ruthless and alien creatures who saw humans as their cattle. Well, or rented for a time. They kept the shadow brethren in check by not letting them press too much. They sponsored a few shops and lodges distributing food to the poor as their main fodder base, for that matter. They also beat out the unintelligent and intelligent behemoths that occasionally hit the city walls and did so far faster than the lazy guards were unwilling to get under the claws and fangs of the monsters. They had a network of informants consisting of the same vagrants, poor citizens, and artisans. And while few really important secrets might interest the mighty, there were very few things that did not come to the attention of the nocturnal bloodsuckers.

Many of the townspeople, when they were in trouble and had no chance of getting out or of saving their loved ones, went not to their criminals but to the agents of the creatures, asking for help. And, more surprisingly, they were rarely. Loans were given at a slightly less predatory interest rate, for example, and in other aspects, they were just as good. Help with money for your daughter's treatment in exchange for a portion of your blood once a month? You will almost stop gaining experience for a long time, and your health will suffer, but your offspring will live. And if one of the 'willing diners' is unable or unwilling to restrain their instincts by draining you completely, your family will be paid not a small compensation.

There could have been a conflict with the bandits. But it did not come to bloodshed. There weren't many brave souls who volunteered to be servants or fodder for the creatures, and not everyone would be accepted. The bloodsuckers preferred to work with the not squeamish, cautious, and not religious people who were very, very tightly held by the balls.

They are now few, but every year the number of debtors grows due to a gradually gaining reputation. And the day is not far off when the creatures will stage another night of the long knives, squeezing another slice of power. A small one, which they will pay with gold and goods, convincing them of the benefits of their proposed strategies... quieted down again for a while. It won't be long, not long at all, but it will be if they don't shortchange them.

Another amusing thing was the response of the bandits: not wanting to clash with the bloodsuckers but not intending to lose their dough, they loosened the grip on their "clientele's" necks a little. At the very least, the debt pits had become much more bearable, and their requests for help were answered not with swearing and beatings but with that very help. They are not fools in charge, even if they are sometimes worse bastards than the creatures. Therefore, they are quick to use advantageous tactics learned from their rivals.

The whole situation and the web of intrigue are far more complex than it first appears, with factors such as guards, merchants, and the same magistrate overseeing his fiefdom, but the basic paradigm does not change. Before me stands a real wolf in sheep's clothing, and looking at his actions, I begin to understand why people are afraid of the same Fiends. If the inhabitants of Hells act in exactly the same way, only with greater skill, then their intrigues will have truly dire consequences.

All these thoughts swirled in my head as the bloodsucker himself turned sharply in my direction, raising his blood-covered hands in readiness to attack. There was still a little more than zero chance that there wouldn't be a fight tonight, though, and I was nearly shivering with the urge to smear the creature on the roof of the tavern.

I hate ticks, bedbugs, mosquitoes, and other fucking nasties.

My interlocutor was rather confused precisely because it had been a long time since he had met someone who had beaten him on his turf, that is, in quiet penetration and stealth. He would have found an answer very quickly, but I had no time and no desire to organize a pathetic skirmish, and as a victim for trolling, this man was not suitable at all. He was too quiet and used to talking from all sorts of positions; I couldn't piss him off quickly, and slow and thoughtful trolling required a proper environment.

"What, nothing interesting?" I continue the previous sentence with another. Without letting him speak, I made him an offer he couldn't refuse. "Then let's go have a little chat."

It's worth clarifying that I'm not only wrapped in stealth at this point, remaining visible only visually, but I've also cast my own shadow far away, making the creature's sensory skills perceive me as a blank spot. Anyway, if I wanted to make an impression, I succeeded without too much difficulty. Now they wouldn't talk to me from a position of strength - the creature was a scum, not an idiot.

He'd come to talk from the start since the strange adventurers had found out about the vampires in town but hadn't even tried to complain to the guards in three days (three of the tavern attendants had shared rumors with all kinds of personalities and only one had done so for money rather than art), it was a good reason to take the plunge. He judged the likelihood of us immediately attacking the bloodsucker to be low, and he considered our general level of danger to be low. The latter he was recalculating right now, which was obvious.

They didn't intend to set us up or to stick us with crime any more than necessary, no. Such tactics are successful and understandable, but only when you can control the one you are setting up. What if evil men from the Eternal Eyes caught us? And we might tell them about the evil mosquito who lives in Arenam and who's been leading us to do wrong.

If my visions were to be believed, we were going to be used as couriers to deliver rare reagents for those same amulets. It wasn't illegal, but it was a controlled commodity. It wasn't sold in large quantities to just anyone. And we could have bought it and delivered it without too much trouble - both we and the bloodsucker had the maneuver to scam it, but an arrangement could always be made.

Steps of Shadows carried me to a vacant chair, and the creature seriously considered just running away and not coming in. Thing thought about it but decided not to retreat, after all. A hand gesture, and now the four remaining bloodsuckers were already slowly approaching the tavern in case their "father" needed support forces.

The bloodsucker himself got in by the same route he had originally planned. Through the window into the next room and from there into our room. First, he planned to sneak in and greet us, already inside the mansion. At the same time a test of composure and, if composure failed, an opportunity to attack, freeing himself up (if he'd been charged for the massacre). Now he, sensibly assessing my level, politely knocked.

"It's open," I answer the knock, happy that all the bastards have gathered here.

If things, as they always do with me, turn into a brawl, I won't have to catch them all over Arenam.

We'll solve the problems all at once.

Outwardly, if you remove the illusion of the appearance of a simple and unremarkable townsman, the creature was far less humanlike than its children. Its physique was still humanoid, but I could see in the shadows the ribs that had grown into one solid bone, the extra vertebrae in its backbone, and, most importantly, the distorted face, which had more predatory and unhuman features than those of its younger siblings.

Oh yes, we should also add detail such as the much larger number of needle fangs and a deformed jaw, which caused him to have to use some kind of skill just to speak properly. Now, for example, he didn't see any point in doing so since we had 'figured him out', and the strength and blood he had saved might be needed quite soon.

He was ready to negotiate, ready either to buy our silence, to talk about an alliance, or even to cautiously hint that it was in his power to spread information about our team since we were clearly hiding from someone in the backwater Arenam. Like any decent businessman, he had several plans and strategies for dealing with the situation. I was a witness to this from my unscrambled clairvoyance.

The question is, do I even want to negotiate with this creature? I can prevent a leak without clearing out all the witnesses, but then again. Is it worth sweeping them out? As ugly as the creature before me was, as terrible as his deepest desires were, driven by an unquenchable Thirst, he was doing a lot of good. He's just doing it to make it easier for him to eat people, indeed. But if I kill him, it won't be long before the city is in the middle of another gang war. And all sorts of monsters, of which there are many on Alurei, even in the relatively clean areas, would start taking bloody tribute.

The principle of the lesser evil, in all its glory, thank you for the good quotes, Mr. Sapkowski. True, the choice here is not between a greater or lesser evil but between a crowd of smaller ones or one big one, preventing someone else's evil from sprouting in the place. Come on, Kostya, do what a true Hero would do - fight Evil in the flesh. Real Evil with no reticences or excuses, without the slightest admixture of anything human. You know, the right kind of Evil, the kind that scares children forever and ever.

Strike down Evil, and the blood spilled will only be the consequence of another evil, already with a small letter. You, Hero, were summoned here to slaughter and burn these very kinds of spawn, not ordinary bandits, thieving officials, and the rest of your brethren. Leave them to the locals. They are used to it. They know what not to do with it. They are not stupid. They will figure out for themselves who should live, who should pay, who should die, and who should rule. That is no longer your concern, Hero.

Except I have the disadvantage of breaking into places I wasn't called.

The silence was becoming increasingly fearful and tense. I didn't release the slightest shade of my intentions into reality, carefully deceiving all sorts of gut feelings and premonitions, not giving myself away with sudden movements... but there was something about my silence that made both myself and the bloodsucker know instantly that there would be a fight.

Behind me are Hans and Losius, and behind them, Taria is wiping her revolver with a cloth. The four bloodsuckers are almost under the windows of the tavern. They can sense our blood beating in our veins, just as they can sense the blood of those sleeping in the sweet and slightly induced dreams of the innkeeper, his family, and his workers. In fact, every single person in the quarter is sweet asleep and in no hurry to wake up, and the guards, just today, for some reason, do not want to patrol the place. All conditions for the coming battle.

"Tell me, man, answer me one question." I begin in a light-hearted tone, gradually letting my disguise drain away, revealing my real face, which is also not quite human. "Has there ever been one moment in your life, even once, when you felt empathy? Not for the people you ate, but just for any other being. Even your own children?"

The creature did not pick up the thread of the exchange of rhetorical phrases except to complain silently that he should not have agreed to negotiate. He had to get out of town. Whether he had mistaken me for a rival (I looked like one!) or some kind of hunter, I did not know.

Maybe he had already heard similar words from other, less fortunate interlocutors, or maybe he had seen something in my absent gaze or heard something in my words. I somehow didn't ask about it, just let it attack, investing the equivalent of a dozen people's lives in that attack. The creature came to the negotiation satiated to the brim.

A few dozen thin plates of what had become a tangible and very sharp blood-red essence turned into small rhomboids of throwing projectiles. An attack worthy of even the strongest of epics - not very massive, but extremely armor-piercing, capable of taking down a single scratch, turning all the blood in the victim's body against its owner. The bloody blades were followed by a swarm of throwing projectiles, some of which were well enchanted or simply flew on unpredictable trajectories, threatening to strike from the side.

I didn't even move, remaining completely still. One could say I was overwhelmed by the gravity of the decision I was making. Instead of me, Losius reacted, having managed to speed up his consciousness to a sufficiently high level for a successful reaction. The celestial blue unfolded like the bud of a miraculous flower, gently circling me with just a bit of unbearable clarity burning my eyes, then turned into an indestructible dome, into which both blood projectiles and magic blades crashed one after the other. A few paltry drops of poisonous blood did manage to penetrate the barrier, but they fell to the side, leaving a hissing stain on the floor.

The bloodsucker didn't wait for a reaction to his attack, getting away before the projectiles had even crossed the distance between us. Some version of a blink that didn't work through Astral but with space itself. Like buying a ticket to be transported from one place to another, where the money was the same blood essence. The deadly creature was good at picking its battles, not rushing to fight just for the sake of fighting.

Taria, who was instantly on her feet, muttered quietly. She had no time to use the Valerium. Losius, already glowing with the energy of Heaven and clutching his beloved sword, scrambled up from his chair. And Hans didn't swear. He instantly retreated into the Path and dropped straight into the retreat route of the five creatures already running away from the tavern.

If they were surprised, they didn't show it, striking from three directions at once, hoping to sweep the enemy out of the way without slowing down or wasting time. Three extremely easy-to-execute streams of boiling bloody slurry that could penetrate almost any defense. If such a combination, sure to be repeatedly practiced, had struck a single point of the recent Celestial Blossom, the defense might not have been able to withstand such a concentrated cumulative projectile. A mere human, albeit in alchemically reinforced armor, would have been vaporized, blown across the unfortunate rooftop by the outgoing vapor of bloody mincemeat.

The man swung his arm as if trying to strain to move an imaginary rock, and all three projectiles changed direction abruptly, circling the lone figure at the sides. These blood spells were relatively simple, and yet the blood still reached for blood - like most such magic, these spells had a self-targeting mode on living creatures. But somehow, despite said homing, all three streams flew along some different trajectory, as if they couldn't turn away from the path they'd laid out.

Hans was clearly having a hard time with this street magic, but the bloodsuckers stopped running, having to slow down for a second attack. There was nothing he could do against a pile of throwing iron and two foes darting into close combat. Still, the creatures were moving much faster than the tracker and seemed to be speeding up even more, burning through more and more of their accumulated reserves. When they went into full power, I would have to intervene since I was the only one who could slow those things down.

The tracker did not tempt fate by trying to deflect these blows as well. He retreated back onto the path and emerged already behind the creatures, which they were only to be happy about. They had no intention of fighting back, fully trusting their patron who had given the order to retreat without delay. A couple of dropped daggers and a bloody blot spat out by a lagging bloodsucker, that's all they left the retreating man.

In place of the frail and unfit for direct confrontation Hans emerged from the blink Losius shining as brightly as ever. Heaven did not simply radiate from his figure but literally embraced their child, enveloping him in impenetrable armor that had no weight or inertia at all. The boy would not last long in such a mode - his reserve would drain very quickly. He has a bit of a short temper with his body, but not too much of a problem as the threat of sinking too deep into the realm. I had to save my comrade in training a couple of times, casting a haze of Shadow over him and ridding him of his dysfunctional state of mind and essence. Heaven is safer than Shadow, but by no means as safe as it may seem at first glance. Another thing is that breakthroughs of this realm are far less likely to result in devastating casualties, and hence it has a "light" connotation in the public mind

The five creatures acted in surprising coordination again - two struck with magic, and three, including the patriarch, grew dagger claws and tried to strike at close range. The latter, given the weakness of the creatures in front of Heaven, could have been a mistake, but the magic attack... A whole cloud of bloody slurry whose main purpose was not to damage but to destabilize the enemy's magical techniques and strengthen their allies. The suddenly out-of-control (or simply weakened) Heaven and the concentrated attacks of the Claws probably wouldn't have given Losius a moment to recover, despite the advantages Heaven had over the bloodsuckers. Speed, onslaught, suddenness, and monstrous power, available only seconds at a time, flowing through his fingers with each blow. I seemed to understand exactly how these things fought. I mean, I'd guessed or even known before, but now I understood.

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Even the bloody Thirst had stopped clogging my foresight, making the picture of events incredibly clear. I still didn't move, still sitting in the chair stood in the middle of the already empty room. Was my awareness of future events that kept me from interfering... or was it the influence of my Mentor perks? Whatever it was, Taria had saved the situation masterfully, as she had done so many times before.

Valerium in her hands struck the target with some kind of mind-numbing mixture of planar energies, among which I sensed predominantly celestial shades. The blow might have been overpowered, or the creature might still have reacted to the hit, but the girl had hit one of the individuals busy supporting the red cloud. I doubt he'd regenerate the cranium exploded with the same red cloud. I mean, someone stronger, like that head man, might have recovered with a bit of luck, but not this guy. By the way, the one I spoke to the other day, Kaas.

The unsteady magic could not penetrate Lossius' defenses, so he broke the distance with a swift sword, knocking away two more of the blood streams that were trying to slow him down. He followed with a battering ram of pure Heaven, scorching the patriarch who approached him, forcing him to change his vector. The creature pushed off literally out of the air, almost soaring to step into the back of the Duelist, who was now carving up the two remaining foes. Swordplay, swordsmanship, flashes of Heaven, and barriers of the same energy deflecting the worst blows allowed him to dominate the fight with the twin bloodsuckers.

It all had to end the moment the main bloodsucker attacked straight out of thin air, creating a real spear of blood that immediately had to wrap itself in a ribbon, seep under the hugging shield and strike at the defenseless flesh. I saw it almost in my head, as he probably did. Reality proved different when the night and frosty air turned white before my eyes, murky and damp, shrinking the creature into a cocoon of strange mist that obscured not only vision but the bloodsucker's strange magic as well. The halo of evaporating essence that enveloped its counterpart, the armor of Heaven, seemed to fade and weaken, dragging the creature into the mist and stripping it of its protection and power. The stolen life reserves began to dwindle as if they were evaporating.

Here the creature, at once in the place of its victims, screamed, shrieking in fear and rage, as if a whole cloud of mosquitoes had buzzed as if the chitinous shields of a legion of insects had rattled. Hestia, upon learning that a fight was expected, declared that she would not wait for it in a vulnerable physical body, spreading out across the square in advance. It was she who provided the dreams for all comers, not my Dreams, which, after a recent conversation, I did not even want to touch any time soon.

Meanwhile, the bloodsuckers had another irreparable loss. This time secured by Hans. The same girl, who had been in the company of the now-deceased Kaas on that ill-fated night, was also in the "magic squad". And after her partner's death, she immediately interrupted the cloud of suspended matter that had become useless, growing claws and preparing to strike at the right moment. She even had time to ramp up her abilities to the maximum, but that's about it.

Hans emerged from another trail he had blazed through the air, dropping a small vial of a potion densely infused with the guts of a couple of interesting monsters on top of the creature. The flame and light in these reagents were so bright that the bloodsucker flashed like a match and burned out instantly. This fire could not burn for long, for that was its nature - instantaneous and short. It burned for less than a second! But even that second was not long enough for the creature to have only legs above the knees and charred bones. The bloodsuckers did not turn to ashes, despite the myths.

In a particularly cunning twist, the last of the ladies on the enemy team, who appeared to be second in strength just behind the main man, managed to dodge another shot from Valerium, from the still sticking out of Taria's window, dodge the poke of the sword and arrow of heavenly magic, bounce aside and watch as the third of five failed to replicate her maneuver. Losius's blow pierced her chest through, and the creature itself, apparently out of habit, tried to ignore the wound and gobble up the idiot who thought that a simple sword could reliably kill a night hunter.

The idiot let almost all his remaining reserve pass through this sword, fading and apparently deciding not to abuse the planar power, and the bloodsucker's torso simply evaporated. The still-moving arms, legs, and a chunk of its head fell to the ground but quickly ceased to show any sign of life. Such damage could not be repaired even by much older members of their species.

The patriarch was about to give up - he'd used that red halo for nothing, draining almost all the life out of his body. The Mist could not have taken that life directly from the clinging bloodsucker... as quickly. But now, the desperate jerks of the bloodsucker, still sinking deeper into the swirling fog, were agonizing. Starving to death before his very eyes, he seemed incapable of doing anything about it. Let's leave Hestia her toy, I guess.

The last lady, on the other hand, did not have the worst chance of survival - not even trying to fight or help her dying father. She had run away with all her might. She had expended the least of her blood during the fight, so she was now expending leftovers at an enormous rate as the rush was over. A small and almost harmless cloud of blood, serving more as a distraction and a trick than an attack, forced a tired Losius to retreat, at the same time, covering the fugitive from Taria's gunfire. And then there was a long, almost full-powered teleport enhanced by some sort of amulet. None other than one of those that those freaks were trading with.

She jumped a long way - about two hundred meters - and started running away at once. Alas, all her speed did not help mask the trail by which she had been found. Hans tried to repeat the same trick with the potion as last time, but the creature was ready for it, easily knocking the vial aside. Hans was ready for it, and so this vial was empty.

The main attack was made with a short bone blade, more an overgrowth dagger than a sword. This toy he had to make after the trailblazer's trusty blade had been dissolved by the acid of one nasty monster, despite alchemical fortification. The new weapon had been enchanted with alchemy and imbued with Heaven enough to make the bloodsucker recoil from it as if it were incandescent. Though if it had been incandescent, there would have been far less danger to her.

The distance broke, and only some very deep instinct, mixed with experience, saved the creature from getting caught in another cloud of momentarily thickened fog. The creature made a dash for the wall, knocked down another vial of flame with a throwing needle, and kicked the tracker who had tried to get closer, causing him to retreat and try on another - now the last because there would be no more strength - teleport...

To be trapped in a small cloud of grey dust, literally representing the purest stasis. She could only move her eyes and think grim thoughts, for that was all she was allowed to do. A human would suffocate in such a trap, but bloodsuckers are tougher folk. The bewildered Hans could only stare at me strangely as I stopped the finishing blow. First, the potion I had thrown served not only as a cage but as good armor, and there was no time to make a new blade for him. Second, I think I've figured out what I'm going to do with the future carnage after we leave Arenam and the bloodsuckers are dead.

A moment, and I find Losius beside me, still holding a minimal fleur of Heaven. I wrinkle my nose in disapproval, and it's not because I don't like the power. I wouldn't want him to overstretch himself. After all, my luck, which allows me to win time after time in a planar version of Russian roulette using a magazine gun, he doesn't have. Another moment and the almost weightless figure of the Taria, who zeroed out her weight lower to the snow beside the aristocrat. After Hestia had finished off the patriarch and showed her presence here with a misty silhouette, the alleyway had become a bit crowded.

With a barely audible hum, the cocoon holding the bloodsucker down disappeared, and she was on her feet, looking around us almost calmly. She was much less frightened, though - since she hadn't been nailed down, she was still needed for something. And if she was needed, she could even play what cards she had left. And she would agree to anything and everything not to terminate her existence. And she will serve until she can be sure that betrayal and revenge will not threaten her life.

And no, she will not avenge our humiliation and defeat, nor will she avenge her dead comrades-in-arms. No, she wants to kill us because we, the meat, allowed ourselves to stand against her and win. She may not have realized it herself, but it was in the very nature of the ugliness that replaced her usual human or even monstrous soul.

For the umpteenth time this evening, have we ignored the rules of decorum, not wanting to shake the air with empty words? It's obvious that I, and these guys, have no respect for tradition and the rules of pathos at all. Well, we are supposed to be the villains here, and the bloodsuckers are doubly so, for they are creatures in general. In every sense of the term, yes.

The Ring flashed particularly brightly on my finger, and I activated it on the recoiled creature. It was clearly sensing something, and it even tensed, either to jump or to make one last desperate attack, but it was already out of time - I was moving at my full speed. There was a barely perceptible flash of the mythical artifact's activation, and the bloodsucker's body fell to the ground, kicking its legs in convulsions of sheer ecstasy.

For their species, sex as we know it has no function - their bodies are built differently. Blood, on the other hand, is an incomparable pleasure for bloodsuckers. And the stronger the blood, the greater the pleasure they get. Even the most run-down vagabond will give them more pleasure than any drug I know of. Also, species-specific - their essence allows such streams of other people's essences, which is what gives the feeling of happiness, to be endured and absorbed.

Even if she were given some kind of deity to drink right now, the bundle of feelings she was experiencing would not be a third or a thousandth as satisfying as the subjugation effect of the Ring. For a good thirty seconds, she had been convulsing in what combined the orgasm of her human memory and the ecstasy of the blood she was drinking from the creature's memory.

Hestia didn't react at all. Taria looked surprised, Losius with mild disgust, but not at me, but at the convulsing bloodsucker. And only Hans grunted, holding back his laughter and masquerading as a normal cough, clapped me on the shoulder, and declared, not trying to hide his smile:

"And I knew from the moment I met the green one that you had strange tastes after all!" Another chuckle. "I'm not judging, don't think..."

When he meets my gaze, without the usual disguise of stealing a shadow, which makes me look "a little" creepy, he shuts up and takes a serious look. Then he draws a surprisingly accurate conclusion.

"You're up to something, aren't you?"

"Yeah. I am Up. To something. Yes."

I answered, while at the same time rummaging through my waist bag for the right vials. I told everyone present what role the bloodsuckers played in the city and why their demise would not only be unnecessary publicity for us but also trouble for the city. It was the only reason that Losius had agreed to talk to the creatures at all, instead of going to their lair ourselves and burning everything there.

I'm not even going to give the ring-altered creature a word right now. I just grabbed her by the collar, lifted her, and leaned her back against the wall so she wouldn't fall. Her eyes are filled with surprise, incomprehension, and an almost painful desire to be near me and please me. The creatures are incapable of light feelings, incapable of feelings in the usual sense at all. The wild mixture of scraps of available emotions, aspirations, and experiences seemed almost painful to my clairvoyance - her "love" was distorted, alien, and foreign. And she was still the one with the experience of being human, which makes it much easier to embody the ring effect, but what would happen if I foolishly decided to subdue a devilish woman from some Hell? I hate to even touch the creature, but once you've started, you've got to finish.

"I don't care who you are or what your name is," I speak calmly, without threats or unnecessary insults. "We will soon leave Arenam, and you will stay here. You will continue to do what your patron did - consolidate power, seek allies, gather debtors, and simply partners. I'm not forbidding you to do anything. But. If you want to see me at least once more, you will make sure that locals see you as a standard of morality, that they are sincerely grateful to you, and that they come to you for protection and advice. Show yourself to be the one who keeps this town safe from trouble. Gobble up anyone who gets in your way to protect other people's lives. Stop pretending and become what your patron wanted to appear to the stupid herd: a guardian, a protector, and an executioner for those who would go against you. Don't change your modus operandi. Act in the same way, but now to be, not fooling your future dinner by pretending."

She listened intently, not moving or breathing. It seemed as if some strange and outlandish statue, woven of night shadows and snow-white marble, was frozen in front of my face. It, too, bore little resemblance to a human being, but with each passing second, its appearance grew more appealing without losing the aforementioned non-human strangeness.

"Drink who you want, fuck who you want, sell your body to whoever you want, but you will hold on to what your patron had. You hold on to it and then quietly and discreetly take over this town. I don't care how, but you do it. And then maybe I'll come back for you. If your progress is sufficient and your actions are right, I will contact you myself."

Not a moment of doubt, not a second of resentment, not a single attempt to question my orders. Apparently, she was even more affected by the Ring than my other victims. Was it because her mind was too irregular, unfit to experience the desires, thoughts, and aspirations invested by the ring? That's what the mythical bling had done, and it was harder to make sure there were no disruptions or dangerous thoughts.

"And so you don't die trying to do the impossible..."

I let go of her collar, but she's already firmly on her feet. Instead, I pull out a dozen powerful boosters at once, trying not to think about the fact that I'm wasting money with which I could stupidly buy all of Arenam and half its inhabitants. The flasks and vials crumble to dust, and the potions themselves cease to be materia again, becoming the very essence from which they were created.

Bloodsucker's eyes widen in amazement and shock, threatening to reach earthly anime standards - she can sense the power hidden in those clouds. She can't help but smell it, for the vast majority of her powers are very narrowly sharpened and extremely crude essentialism. This cocktail would kill an ordinary human, but a creature that can't help but absorb other people's souls in a very natural way... It will also kill her if done carelessly.

"Don't move," I order briefly as she reflexively reached for the cloud I was controlling.

It's hard to describe how difficult it is to keep that whole cauldron of essences from dissipating. And it's not just me who needs to hold it in! A blow of my dagger and a deep cut appeared on my forearm, and I willed myself to stop it from starting to heal. Instead, I pour my blood into the cloud of the essence.

Drop by drop, second by second, until instead of a golden cloud, there was about a third of a glass of incredibly red liquid in the air, which hurt to look at, and from which sparks of the same red color flew off now and then. One had just burned a hole in the sleeve of my reinforced cloak, capable of reflecting crossbow bolts.

I put my palms together in a boat, then bring them forward, straight to the bloodsucker's face, and, looking into the tortured eyes, I calmly command:

"Drink."

I was able to bring it to its senses at the very last moment. After it had absorbed blood that had turned into a deadly poison, and licked my palms clean at the same time, it went into a fit of indigestion, trying to digest the undigestible. If I'd left it alone, at best it would have turned into a pile of ashes, as earthly vampires were supposed to do. At worst, there would have been an explosion and a cloud of radioactive mutagenic dust, which would have salted not a nest of bloodsuckers but half of Arenam.

I had to use essentialism and, writhing in disgust, help the essence of the creature assimilate the essence in its body. I was tired and wasted half my reserve and three hours, but I still managed it. And the bloodsucker, who not only had advanced her racial talents but had also snatched up a fair share of the original potion perks, had raised her level of awesomeness all at once. Now she alone is worth not just the entire five of the bloodsuckers but two fives as old and strong as her former master. She'll be the one to give me a hard time forcing me to use Aegis and Formus if she can get the upper hand.

I left the stunned creature on the ground to assess the change in her, and I went to bed, taking my team with me, including Hestia, who had reassembled into a human body. And no, if the others were going to go to sleep (it was still six hours before morning), I was going to sleep in another sense. The words "Cassie, who has no friends" were frightening, of course, but here I had to back up my body against any possible dangers. I just hope that the abomination, who was sincerely trying to "be nice" didn't get it wrong because I don't know how it would have interpreted my orders. I may have to check on her activities from time to time. And if she starts acting crazy, I'll just kill her.

"Why didn't you give the potions to us, but you gave them to the bitch?" Taria asked, laying her head on the pillow. "You told me so much about how dangerous it was to mix so much of that stuff."

"I feel pity for you," I answered, closing my eyes. "I'll close the rank, and then I'll get to work on the potions for all of us."

Why-why? Because I am not sure what side effects they will have after the first months of life with seething essence in their souls. After a couple of years of observing the greenlings who have had the privilege of receiving my gift, of being a victim of experiments on sentient beings, then I will think. I'm already questioning my humanity here! I don't want to turn you into vicious fucks!

The dream was greeted by the usual amount of dreams and daydreams, to which I was equally unconcerned. There was little sign of the massacre outside the inn, apart from a couple of dozen shattered tiles and the snow that had melted on the rooftops. But a little work on those who might have decided that a lone bloodsucker, long enough to hide the fact that she was the only one left in the nest, could be put to rest and then divide the markets for their amulets. At the very least, to keep things from descending into carnage - she, once reinforced, can make all her enemies laugh right now, but it will be a bloodbath.

Add a little more caution to the bandits, reduce the aristocracy's arrogance a little, and increase the greed of the officials so they don't cut up the chicken with the golden eggs ripped from the grandfather. A slight grease the attention of the guards, who are already corrupt to the hilt, so they don't get too rowdy if my personal creature decides to eliminate a rival or two.

Caution was already habitually at its maximum, causing me to spend more time, energy, and nerves, which did not add to my good-naturedness either. Nothing adds to my good cheer as of late. No, I'm not complaining, and I'm even glad that I managed to find that man with a degree in necromancy instead of sexual orientation. At the very least, he knew a lot and could answer a lot of questions. And he was just as eager to kill my enemy as I was.

But it is pissing me off so much.

Maybe we should spend another year or two fucking orcs and goblins before it's too late. I could even stockpile female brigands and have Hestia work them too, so there would be some racial diversity. And with luck, I could find some elves somewhere... ...and I could never leave that camp and have fun for the rest of eternity. If I could just find some idiot to do my work with Yoke for me... Outsource the job, so to speak.

The Dream had once again diluted the familiar purple splendor with the grey ashes of Death, but I didn't think to complain. For one thing, I respected other people's desire for safety and reassurance. Secondly, I was fed up with the monotonous scenery of an unreal world created by the shards of deeds not committed by anyone. In general, I was not going to indignantly demand an end to the spoiling of the scenery or any other similar nonsense.

"I see you've made it to Kraj." I calmly affirm, just to start a conversation.

"That, I suppose, is obvious." This cheeky face answers me.

After completing the ritual of greeting, we slowly moved on to discussing our plans. The sudden appearance of an enemy of both of us, who would not let the necromancer go even after his "death" and who would not let me go until I was dead, united us more securely than any exercise in teamdilding. I didn't trust this murky type with Dr. Mengele's tendencies. He didn't trust another dreamwalker, much less one who was indirectly responsible for his conflict with Weaver.

But he had information, connections, and vast experience, and I, for my part, had the strength and ability to confront a foe that he had failed to stand up to and would not be able to fight again for a long time. I listened to his story, which was more like a very dry essay than a tale of a truly terrible battle, and was impressed by the arsenal of the enemy.

An old, very old, and extremely dangerous creature, the history of which has long been lost to the ages. According to Caspian Bargloor, who had managed to gather information before its "demise", only deities, preferably working in pairs, could make this abomination retreat and hide. Those gods whose aspect was either Darkness or Death gave the creature a good beating. The problem was that Sia'shel'maai, Weaver, protector of Dreamers, giver of Dreams and Deception, who drew her power from the Dream, simply refused to speak of the creature. Not out of fear, but apparently because the creature itself was either her adept or, far more likely, had regularly and for millennia made sacrifices to this goddess.

Trying to get through to the Great Sleeper was a task that only the Weaver could accomplish, but not ordinary people - this entity had long since given a damn even to Dreams, not to mention the material world. And the prayers of the inhabitants of reality are not so much ignored, but he simply can not hear them. The creature could not be removed from its native element, although there were several times when some really strong entities took up the cause.

Most of the information was obtained by Caspian from the library of a small clan that had fled the Empire of Arms because of political differences with the ruling dynasty. They were not dreamers but very much in-demand healers and a bit of a druid. It was rumored that the ancestor of their dynasty was a half-elf, but Caspian thought this was nonsense. He even let his emotions run free and seemed almost alive when he asserted it. He dissected half a dozen of those Asians, including also two members of the main branch that had not destroyed their bodies in a suicide attack. There wasn't a trace of elven blood there. I didn't ask where he might have dissected the elves, just for the sake of sanity.

In the far-flung and multifaceted Empire of the Arms, if you're a clan representative, or, say, a member of a sect (their equivalent of magical guilds), you can afford almost anything you want. Give an outburst of agony (analogous to a curse of pain, but for healers) to a commoner who won't bow down. Caspian admitted that he wasn't a big fan of flashy and showy clothes by which his status could be recognized, but then he'd just finished an experiment (unsuccessful) and was a little pissed off.

First, he was nearly killed by the insulted members of the Onit Min Kalai clan, which translates as The Hand that Gives Life, for the physical and magical castration of three members of that hand. They'd nearly finished off Caspian in a small-town inn he'd rented for an experiment when his band of elite undead had arrived from the nearby woods. Well, the clan of the Life-Giving Hands was no more.

But their library, or rather the most valuable part of it, which had been taken from their homeland, remained. There was a book called "On Dreams and the Entities That Dwell There," written on human skin, which was a fine artifact of rare grade. He had a couple of dozen pages about the Weaver, who comes from nightmares and takes away those who he wants.

He always, you know, took what he wanted, and he wanted everything and lots of it.

The trace of this creature was lost some four hundred years ago after its will completely devastated the Imperial Palace of a Thousand Golden Monkeys. The Golden Monkeys, epically powerful golems, had failed to protect their owners. Had it not been for the personal dreamer of the Golden Lord's second son, who managed to shield the boy from the attack and teleport him away, the ruling dynasty would have disappeared that day.

There were not many confirmed instances of his interference, but there were plenty of indirect ones. A favorite tactic of his was to gain the support of a powerful mortal by doing him favors in return for selecting the materials and reagents he required. And he did it faithfully... for a while. But when his appetite grew or when the patron became wary of his own 'subordinate', there could be variations. But more often than not, that option was one - mopping up anyone who knew too much.

In the Empire of the Arms, something even rarer happened - one of the mighty and powerful inhabitants of reality not only found out about it but managed to either infuriate or interest it, which turned out to be bloodshed, casualties, and mysterious disappearances. On that day, if the patriotic writer who created the aforementioned book is to be believed, the creature received a tangible spit when it was nearly trapped under the blow of the Golden Dynasty's divine patron, Guanti Shai Motou, Lord of the Monkeys. In retaliation, the creature waited a couple of years and nearly decapitated the great empire, covering the palace with a mighty dome cap and summoning almost a thousand creatures from the Dreams. And had it not been for the personal re-introduction of the deity who covered the last heir, the Empire of the Arms might have been left headless.

There were other sources of information, but for the most part, they were repetitive, supplemented only by trivialities. But there was still enough information to draw conclusions and start thinking about a solution to the problem.

The Weaver's entire tactic is to swarm the enemy with an inordinate number of his creatures while simultaneously delivering monstrous blows of remote Dream magic. I questioned Barglore, and he did show me a recollection of his battle (continually in readiness to attack and, at the very least, to strike hard before being killed). Some of it I could repeat, but I didn't want to get my hands dirty in such an abomination, Some of it I didn't fully understand, but some of it I could have done myself. At the very least, his strange but monstrously effective attacks resembled clumps of mirror threads. He'd almost killed Hestia with that punch back in the Stone!

I'll adopt the technique if I understand the methodology of its creation correctly. The use of Edges and Soaring together, plus something else that is much stranger, is not entirely clear. But I have grasped the basis and can partly repeat it and partly rework it for myself.

My enemy's strength as well as his cruelty, cunning, and danger evoked involuntary respect and apprehension. I, - we, - would have to try hard to prove to him that even the biggest cabinets, at times, fall down.

Who better than a Hero to do the job of crushing another invincible and invulnerable behemoth?

Like it's something new.

* * *