by Dmitry Bilik
Bumpkin had said that the devils settled in groups of five or six. I had enough charges for three time rewinds. That meant I’d need to follow the ancient maxim of divide and conquer.
To be honest, the prospect kind of agitated me. I’d been in maybe four fights my entire life, but now I’d have to kill — or more accurately, exterminate. After all, devils aren’t the same as human beings, are they? Still, this felt a bit like having to kill a cow or a lamb. No matter how much you love a nice piece of steak, when they give you a knife and bring you toward an innocent grazing animal, your hands will begin to shake.
I took the metro to Culture Park and got off before the St. Trinity. Instead of subsiding, my anxiety kept mounting — until an inspired thought struck me. If it were true that devils usually went for drunks, prostitutes, deviants and other society misfits, maybe I should kill two birds with one stone?
I looked around and spotted a small bar. It was one of those outdated places that looked like it had frozen at some point in the mid-1990s. The only thing that kept it going was the regulars.
When I walked inside, my suspicions were confirmed. Shabby wooden tables, threadbare curved-back chairs, an ancient TV mounted over the bar, and a bored bartender.
“What can I get you?” he asked.
There were no other waitstaff. Great. I leafed through the faded menu. Ordering brandy here would be more trouble than it was worth. It was most likely dodgy as hell: if it didn’t blind you, it might turn you into some semblance of a city fountain disgorging bile and puke. Safer to get vodka.
“Twenty grams of Beluga and a pickle plate.”
The bartender nodded, jotted the order down on a slip of paper, and took it to the kitchen. Less than five minutes later, I received a plate loaded with pickles, cherry tomatoes, wild onions, sauerkraut, and marinated garlic. The chilled vodka had been expertly decanted into a round-bellied carafe. Of course, at $15 it wasn’t even close to being economical. That was the price range of a restaurant, not a low-class booze hole like this one.
Then it dawned on me that I hadn’t smoked all day.
My hand acted like it belonged to a trained monkey, reaching for my pocket on its own. Talk about reflexes! A mere thought of a smoke was enough to undo all my good work.
No way. Had I had that twenty-minute jog for nothing?
I poured out a shot of vodka, gulped it, chased it down with a pickle, then began to munch on wild onions.
A deceptive warmth spread throughout my body. I looked at my watch. I still had time but I shouldn’t drag it out. I wasn’t here to have a good time, but to get pissed quickly.
I polished off three more shots in about three minutes and left the pickle plate unfinished. I must have set a record for speed in drinking alcohol. In any case, the bartender watched me leave with a surprised expression on his face. OK, all set, time to go hunting.
I made sure to leave my jacket unzipped so I’d be able to pull my knife out fast, especially because I didn’t feel the cold anyway. It was either my Korl blood or the vodka coursing through my veins. I passed a few rows of gloomy five-story apartment blocks and headed to the industrial zone where the river was.
I walked at a leisurely pace, as though I were just out for a stroll. I even noticed a small sand beach in the distance. Still, I doubted that anyone would be out for a swim in the icy-cold waters of the Oka right now.
I reached the water supply canal where I faced a simple choice: a wooded area to the right or the industrial zone to the left. I scratched my head and opted for the wooded area. Somehow I didn’t think these creatures would choose the industrial zone — they were far too lazy to even watch others work. No: they would probably choose Mother Nature.
The alcohol started to take effect. It wasn’t that I was hammered. I mean, really, with six or seven ounces of vodka? Give me a break.
Still, my body felt weak. I moved more uncertainly — you could say I began to stagger a little.
That’s when the devil and I spotted each other simultaneously. He was tiny — half my height — and black with floppy ears, long fur, and beady red eyes.
He obviously intended to beat it, and even took a few steps to the side, but then my acting talent took over. I pretended to stumble and dropped to the road, hiccupping loudly for good measure. The little devil stopped and began to wag his tail as though summoning someone.
Good boy. Come to daddy now.
And he really wanted to approach me, he did. Aw, the poor thing was trembling. He stamped his hooves, looked around, and squawked loudly a few times. And then he just waited.
Soon, three more devils joined him. Damn, I wasn’t counting on such a crowd. But it was too late to scram. Watching them dart toward me, I realized that I wouldn’t escape anyway. They’d just catch me and have their way with me.
I bent down, like an earth mage trying to gather strength from the asphalt, while reaching for my knife. Now it was time for a little dance.
It’s true what they say: the first impression is the strongest. And I liked that little devil, just like he liked me. That little fool was constantly trying to lunge forward, impatient for his friends to catch up with him. Now he was in the home stretch, just a few steps ahead of the others.
I had no fighting experience. I’d sparred with Hunter a few times, but that was probably all I could brag about — except for my old-days training with Uncle Denis. But I got lucky. I stood up abruptly and took a step forward, pointing my knife in front of me.
The blade entered the devil’s flesh as though the creature had no bones. We looked at each other in surprise for a couple of seconds, then all hell broke loose.
The other devils started such a racket like they were a bunch of marketwives accused of cheating. Three nimble shadows darted along the asphalt, nearly disappearing from view.
What was that now? Propelled by reflex, I kicked the poor wretch in front of me and pulled out the knife. The devil fell over on his side, still alive but obviously in no state to interact.
I managed to take a step back, trying to get into something that resembled the stance Hunter had shown me. And I immediately got it in the face and kidneys.
Very well. Now we’d see who’s the top guy here.
[ ∞ ]
I grabbed the creature’s hand — or rather, his paw — wrenched it, and stabbed him in the back. But I couldn’t dodge the jab in my side. Judging by the blinding pain, my adversary had clearly dealt me a flesh wound.
Grunting, I rolled onto my side with all the grace of a sliced squid and wielded the blade in front of me. Dang, they were fast!
As if it were shot from a catapult, a furry lump flashed before my eyes and latched on to my throat. I felt hot blood flowing down my chest. My limbs started to convulse. How revolting!
[ ∞ ]
The furry lump impaled itself on the knife which I was holding at the ready. The creature cried out, squealing and wriggling. But this time I managed to catch the devil by his tail, as the saying goes, and stabbed the creature blindly several times.
Your Short Blades skill has increased to level 4.
I swung round, readying myself for another attack. Still, the last devil bolted off like a bat out of hell, showing no intention of fighting.
Let him run. He’d take me to his kin, that’s all.
I walked around the battlefield. The second brute had died but the first one was still in agony. I shuddered. If you extracted all the adrenaline that was rushing through me, you’d have enough to fill several one-gallon jugs.
I braced myself, went over to the devil, shut my eyes and stabbed him in the chest.
Done. He was dead now. I wiped my forehead with my shaking, blood-soaked hands. My heart was beating on the double; my knees buckled.
I’d just killed three devils. I, who in his whole life had never hurt a fly (not counting mosquitoes and an occasional wasp), had just exterminated three living creatures.
I crumbled to the asphalt. I should have bought another bo
ttle of vodka to go. I was literally falling apart.
Had it not been for my wounds, I might be still sitting there now. As it were, I caught sight of a flashing notification:
Health: 33/45
I sure was wounded. So I shouldn’t be loafing around, really.
I stood up and took out my mirror. The reflection showed me the devils looking just like ordinary stray dogs: nameless mongrels with a touch of red in their coats.
I reopened the mission description. Could my memory be deceiving me? But no, it was there in black and white — or should I say, in binary digits?
Proof of completion: devils’ ears
Just then I felt the unmistakable taste of vodka and pickles rising in my throat. I managed to get to the closest bush before I puked.
That was better. I clenched my teeth, strode over to the devil, grabbed his ear and slashed it off, and then did the same to the other ear.
I slipped the rough, stubbly triangles into my jacket pocket. Don’t think, just do it, I repeated to myself. I went over to the second devil, cut off the ears, and headed to the third one. A second wave of nausea came over me. Now I vomited the soup that had been the result of the joint efforts of a human and a house goblin. But at least I now had it out of my system for good.
A feeling of detachment set in. It was like everything that had just happened to me was just an illusion. Like I’d been sitting at home watching an entertaining horror film.
The idea made me feel less burdened. I conjured Light, turning my hand into a powerful flashlight, and checked out my surroundings. The runaway devil had taken off for the wooded area, which ran along the canal. So I slowly plodded in that direction.
I was careful. I knew I shouldn’t rush. I only had two charge points left and I had to wait till they regenerated. So I wasn’t in a hurry to chase after the only survivor.
Still, my Zen idea of “he who understands life does not hurry” fell apart when I noticed that my Health was slowly but surely approaching zero. It was now at 29. If only I had bandages to dress my still-bleeding wounds!
But at least my available charges were now at 20: enough for two more rewinds. I decided not to drag things out and take a risk. Ultimately, if it turned out too dangerous, I could always scram. Then I’d get myself back home and bandage my war wounds while Bumpkin would watch anxiously, oohing and aahing. There was no way I was gonna die next to that reeking waste pipe of a stream.
No sooner did I think this than I heard a shriek in front of me. I stopped and conjured Light.
The structure in front of me looked like a cross between a beaver dam and a wickiup made with tree branches, the sort children build to play in. Two devils stood in front of it, yelling blue murder.
I waited a bit longer, but no more devils came out to join this charming pair. Which meant they had no backup. Good. In any case, they seemed to be expecting me.
I advanced uncertainly, trying to ignore the pain. The problem was, Hunter had taught me to defend but not to attack. So when I attacked I was about as graceful as a hippo on a balance beam.
I went for them like a typhoon on steroids but failed to even ruffle my foes’ feathers. They just dodged my attack, end of story.
But little did they know that I was different.
[ ∞ ]
The devil leaped aside, surprised at my changing direction mid-flight, but I still managed to stab him. Sorry, old boy, that’s exactly how these things happen.
I pushed aside the mortally wounded enemy and turned to the devils’ lair. The last surviving devil raced at me like mad — but either his instinct for self-preservation wasn’t working or he was simply stupid. He stubbornly stood his ground, trying to strike back at me.
I performed the only trick movement I knew, which Hunter had just shown me without actually teaching me how to do it. Miraculously, my enemy fell for it. He stuck his neck out, finding himself within my reach. I took a wild swing, ripping his shoulder to pieces.
Screeching, the devil lunged forward, ramming me with his tiny horned head and knocking me down. Unfortunately, in doing so he impaled himself on my knife.
I pushed his body off me and sat up, waiting. There was no sign of any more devils. Unhurriedly I removed my foes’ ears and stood by the entrance to the lair. The last thing I wanted to do was go in, but I had no choice.
I activated Light and saw a wide burrow under the wickiup.
Using my hand to light the way, I started to lower myself slowly. When I was in about three yards, the space widened. This was a real den, rather big and riddled with side tunnels. I stopped in the first chamber and looked around. The only thing I saw was a huge heap of rags on the ground. When I sniffed, the heap rustled.
“W-w-w-ho’s th-th-there?” the rag heap asked in a good Russian.
“It’s me,” I answered for lack of a more intelligent response.
“P-p-p-please unt-t-t-ie me.”
“And you are... ?”
“Exc-c-cuse my manners. I’m Litius.”
A belated name tag appeared over the heap:
Litius
???
Mentate
???
???
I frowned. I’d heard about Mentalists, but a Mentate?
Just as I reached out to the rags in which my new friend was wrapped, I very nearly gave up the ghost in the best horror film tradition. Something rocketed out of a distant chamber and went for me. Actually, I knew who it was: the queen, the female devil the others had been protecting.
Caught by surprise, I thrust out both of my hands: one still casting Light and the other with the knife. Remarkably, it worked. The queen recoiled and went to cower somewhere in the darkness.
Without taking my eyes off the darkening chambers, I cautiously proceeded to untie Litius. Which explained why I didn’t immediately look at my new friend’s face.
As soon as I threw aside the rags, I was faced with a tied-up... well, I don’t know how to say it. A human cheetah?
He had a long, thick tail, large hind legs, human hands that had four plump fingers, and a cat face. A lean, muscular beast.
I froze in surprise. “How did you end up here, man?”
“You s-s-see, I was looking for some b-b-b-blood moon st-st-stones. But those rascals had stolen some of them. So I had to find them. But they t-t-t-ricked me and attacked me on the sly, all of t-t-them, then dragged me here. If you free me, dear s-s-sir, I’ll r-r-reward you handsomely.”
Reward you handsomely? That’s what I like to hear!
I cut his bonds loose. Litius crouched on his hind legs, rubbing his hands.
You’ve restored freedom to a Player who is neutral to you.
+50 karma points. Current level: -30. You gravitate to the Dark Side.
“Th-th-thank you.”
“The queen is still in there,” I said, pointing down the cave.
“H-h-hold on.”
He dashed into the darkness. Soon I heard a scream that made my blood run cold. A moment later it went quiet. After another couple of minutes, Litius reemerged, stepping noiselessly along the earthen floor.
“Th-th-the stones,” he announced, showing me some red pebbles. In his other hand, which he held out to me, were the devil’s ears.
I accepted his gift and shoved it in my pocket. “Cool. Should we get out of here?”
“Y-y-yes.”
When we got outside, I stretched, kneading my numb back, and turned to Litius. “By the way, what’s a Mentate?”
That was obviously the wrong thing to say, because in an instant Litius’ calm face turned into the anxious expression of a predator. He drew himself up to his full height and leaped at me.
Chapter 11
IN RUSSIA, lots of people seem to think that strong male friendships should start off with a fight. That was probably Litius’ opinion too. Judging by his next actions, he definitely wanted to bond with me.
What do you feel when you see a 220-pound feline, all sinew and muscle, pounce on you? Fe
ar? Despair? Panic? Probably all of those things at once. I mean, a human being has precious little to offer against an animal. In a fight between man and beast, it’s the sharpest claws and the strongest teeth that decide the outcome.
Of course, that only applies to ordinary people, not Korls endowed with the Time Master development branch. I had my own trick up my sleeve. But only one, if the number of charges was any indication. So I needed to be alert.
Litius was nimble — amazingly, devilishly, phenomenally nimble. I envied his grace, the deadly beauty of a human cat. He would spring, landing on his hands, then touch his hind legs down and immediately kick off again, tearing toward me — or rather, directly into me.