* * *

  The world had already changed in a familiar way, distorted and opened up in a new way, but now Stepan was ready and only, figuratively speaking, shrugged his ghostly shoulders, getting used to the new format of sensations. This time he didn't waste so much time crawling in circles, immediately, to put it allegorically again, he stood on crutches and moved away from his clearing. He cast only a single gnce at the body left in the care of the multitude of spirits, checking everything could be checked and finding it satisfactory. The spirits that he had not summoned st time, the spirits that monitored his health and aura, as well as the potions he had drunk before entering the world of subtle spheres and bought for the accumuted store currency.

  The concoctions were of the kind that cssical mages rather than savage shamans mixed for themselves, which was why he had to pay a surcharge. Nothing that he couldn't try to brew himself, albeit weaker, from analogs and in a different doctrine, but to succeed he, who had no specialized potions knowledge, only fragments from several other talents, would have to spend almost a month. No, his time was worth more, and it was better to spend a little more than to torture himself for the same amount of time. He had almost burned himself out while preparing, but he must stop on time because a dozen years would pass and he would still be preparing for the first time. The potions he had bought were not of a strengthening nature and did not improve shamanic techniques or understanding of the spiritual world. Even though they existed in a huge assortment, Stepan consciously avoided them, intending to develop only his abilities, which has a positive effect on the disclosure of personal potential and, more importantly, is not screw with the potential to waste. It was too easy to get used to getting addicted to alchemical supports. No, if it were a matter of battle and survival, Stepan would have used everything he had, disregarding a healthy lifestyle and articles for drug possession and distribution. But he had originally started it all for the sake of development and progress, so why should he limit this development? He did everything in his power and even a little more on purpose to make himself as safe as possible from all sides, but not to create hothouse conditions in which it would not be possible to develop.

  In conventional terms, Stepan, wanting to learn to swim, refused to put on a life preserver, as well as an inftable vest, armbands, and underpants, limiting himself to a piece of foam pstic in his teeth, but leaving a couple of professional lifeguards swimming three meters away from him, as well as a resuscitation team and an underwater commando with a harpoon, in case of an unwanted shark. Doing less is an overly irresponsible risk, and doing more is analogous to swimming in a vest, armbands, life preserver and still sitting on a mattress. You can do it that way, but why, if you don't learn anything, only waste your energy? For the sake of new impressions? Yeah, just take and organize a travel company, which will carry all comers around the world of spirits for a good price. Hot tickets, family offers, and teach the spirit guards to take the form of sexy models in bikinis. And then call themselves the Malibu Shamans!

  His thoughts, habitually foolish, jumping from topic to topic, swarmed in his head, because the transition to a new way of thinking was confusing emotions and feelings, even if there was no body to regute them. His feelings and thoughts did not prevent him from going around the clearing in a circle and, at the st moment, to step outside. In this space, his power over the surrounding reality was much lower than in the clearing, and the world itself had become not so much dimmer as more unstable, more noticeable were the currents of ether and the currents of forces that were trying to pick up the poor shaman and carry him away on their wings like Ellie, perhaps even returning him somewhere in the Kansas area. Stepan could have resisted, he easily could have, but near his coordinate, very close and far at the same time, there were two cool-looking jellyfish guards, and in the center of the main spiritual node there was a resting Fugitive. With such an oversight, there was simply no point in limiting himself to minimal steps, especially since he had already mastered moving and orienting himself in this world.

  No, he didn't immediately jump into the current, he walked around a bit more and looked from the side at the built line of defense. He even ran into some small spirits of evil and dark orientation. A cssic leech, quite insignificant, would have been death and destruction for an average shaman's apprentice in his situation without cover. The same dilemma of a fish on dry nd or a beast underwater as mortals falling into the spirit world feel. Under such conditions, even those entities that a shaman can effortlessly swaddle in reality can easily become a deadly surprise. The jellyfish didn't have time to intervene, as Stepan shifted into himself, releasing the spirit armor over his vulnerable body, so familiar and even easier to control than when he was in his body, forcing the spirit into the stone hardness of the protection, and then embracing the leech with it, grasping it with his grip and sprouting cws, tearing the attacker to shreds.

  In the real world, he couldn't manipute his spiritual transformation so easily, but here it came out reflexively. He didn't have to use his third hand, just his active defense. He smiled. He didn't understand how but repced a smile with a grin. One fleeting wish, and he sees himself, his naked and exposed spirit in the form he took in that instant. It is still possible to recognize Stepan in him, but he is transparently ghostly, covered with a yer of shimmering steel-gray protection, and behind his back - though this is subjective, for he has no back at all - there is a combat limb folded into itself in the form of a mantis scythe, a crab's cw, or a beast's paw. Another effort of will, an appeal to his own knowledge, and then he was covered by a weightless haze of the same steel-gray spiritual shadow, concealing his appearance and the characteristic markings of his spirit. A second effort, and now the shroud, which had hitherto been asleep, also went with him, hiding the necessary parts of his aura.

  In his normal state, he cannot change and regute so much, only hide or reveal his own giftedness, or close himself off completely, becoming an empty space. But now he is not in a body, he is in a new state of being and in such a state there are, despite the dangers, undeniable advantages. Such as a deeper understanding of any properties of his own aura and spirit. Not without difficulties, but he, using the shroud and the skill of spiritual manipution managed to blur his own aura, to make it not only less noticeable in general, but categorically unrecognizable, not leaving characteristic markers-traces-prints. It was a trick he had long ago invented and theorized, but he could not perform it before, and now, he could not do it either in a normal body, not even in a weak sembnce. The influence of flesh was still too strong. But it would become weaker the more the young man became accustomed to such abilities, the more he shrouded his spirit in a new, more developed format.

  When he was done with the disguise and ensured both jellyfish didn't think of him as someone else, Stepan “stepped forward” letting one of the currents wash over him, yielded to its pressure, and let himself be carried higher, farther, farther, but at the same time not deeper, because in the depths of the spiritual world, where the pressure of reality was no longer evident. The spheres merged with each other directly, one could encounter too much shit. No, no, the first exit will be on the surface, maximum at the end will be a couple of shallow and controlled dives. So the current carried Stepan, wrapped in his own battle tentacle and watching the world. He could see Upper Lyady quite clearly. He knew what the spiritual world looked like in the reflection of the vilge, but he didn't linger there, letting himself be carried further. The reflection of the etheric current from the mighty Dantra was more serious, and he had to make a conscious and noticeable effort not to fall into it. In an instant, some beast-like thing struck from below, or from his own spiritual pocket, or from the vector of a dimension absent in normal perception, but it came out suddenly, even, rather, SUDDENLY. Stepan still has time to look at his opponent, a sort of four-legged mix of a ferret and a dog, and even manages to strike towards him and put up a defense.

  The cw's counter-strike catches only the streams of ether left at the site of the creature's impetuous jerk, the defense meets it with spikes and its own blow, but the entity only mockingly wiggles, openly funting itself and coming at Stepan from the unprotected side. He has no time for anything else and prepares to lose a chunk of his ripped-out spiritual body as the guards have spoken their weighty word. No, his jellyfish were not like the guards from the cartoon about Bremen Musicians, they turned out to be really fast and damn competent. Following to the st the shaman's orders not to get involved in his battles until the danger of serious injury was obvious, they struck simultaneously and much faster than this agile ferret-saurus.

  A single jellyfish tentacle darted forward, weaving through the space of the dimension at an unimaginable angle, barely touching the spirit that hadn't even noticed the attack. The spirit was immediately electrocuted, poisoned, chilled, and a few other unrecognized effects, depriving it of movement and escape, a moment ter the jellyfishes were already tearing the beast apart in a combined movement. Calmly, quickly, without heat, and even without going off their measured steaming near-and-distant Stepan. That was a real level! The young man somehow immediately realized that even in the real world he could restrain and force more dangerous spirits to obedience. Here and now, if at least one of the jellyfish tried to finish him off, he would be killed immediately and without options. 'Fish on nd', the shaman reminded himself again and again. This is all a consequence of the paradox of the spiritual world in retion to the shaman, not Stepan, who is such a miserable asshole.

  But even though he did not show any fear and apprehension, and the spirits in general behaved indifferently about what was happening, but still the guy was gd that he had chosen the most reliable of the possible and avaible spiritual guards, and then also bound them with additional restrictions in several yers, and all willingly and without coercion, so that the return was maximum. No, there were stronger spirits among the avaible, but all of them did not fit something, either by specialization, aspects, bad character, or refusal of a more dense contract and the likelihood of fraud. Not to say that with the jellyfishes he felt as if he were behind a stone wall of alien power, but a certain calm awareness of the power behind him helped. It also provoked him to take risks, but Stepan fought it as resolutely as he fought his own ziness.

  The river's current, combined with the etheric current, allowed him to travel quickly and comfortably, though a couple of times he almost dived deeper. Each time, the neckce helped him, acting as an instantaneously activated float, pulling him back to the lower spheres, closer to Reality. He didn't activate it a second time, however, and instead spent nearly a third of his reserve to escape the maelstrom of ether and swim from the edge of the hole to deeper water. It hadn't been easy, not even heavy, but he'd made it, and the adventure hadn't ended so quickly. No, even if it had ended, it would have been only because the Fugitive would have pulled the contractor back into his body, but it was still pleasant - he managed it, he did it himself, he was a good man. The System in this state was in a kind of hibernation mode, apparently having decided to give out all the rewards after returning to the body, although Stepan realized at that moment that he could summon the status and get the reward for the accomplishment right now. But he didn't, clearly understanding and realizing that he wouldn't be able to assimite knowledge and keep in the necessary state of consciousness at the same time, that it would be a real risk, close to suicide. He didn't even bother to check whether the level increase had happened to him or whether he had gained free knowledge, he just noted the exact time and went on his way.

  The shaman swam out of the river flow, or rather, fell out of it, onto the part of the ether that was responsible for the shore, but it was unreal to recognize these pces, too much distortion, too much incomprehensible. Somehow orienting himself, he picked up another current coming from the river, not towards it, taking off somewhere else. After a few more encounters with small and aggressive spirits he resolved on his own, getting more and more comfortable with his new setup. On one more occasion, when something evil and saturated with scalding fmes almost floated by, he wrapped himself in the shroud, and the spirit that had already headed towards him slowed down, flew in circles and went about its business. However, then his jellyfish started worried, and also lost sight of their employer. Between them there was a tense dialog, which was reduced to the idea of "do not do so without warning, boss," with which Stepan, after a little thought, agreed. Yes, and he did not like the full Shroud in this mode. He was completely cut off from the world of spirits, almost locked in a newly created pocket, and even without the slightest inflow of strength. It became difficult to even just think, and he, if he had not already been a little prepared, could well just freeze, fall asleep gradually suffocating himself in the arms of his own property.

  He came to the vilge suddenly, even though it was twice or three times rger than Lyadya and could be considered a small town by medieval standards, with a popution of half a thousand at least, not counting those who just passed by. The earthling's spirit flew around, observed the dim and barely distinguishable figures of people, the patterns of magical protections on the rgest buildings woven into something resembling artistic representations of electrical circuits, looked at the small temple of Fertile from afar, and did not approach. But he noticed a small drama in the form of two human figures dragging a smaller figure into the forest, another figure, also not particurly rge, already dragging a smaller figure. cooling down and giving up the st drops of energy to the world around them. It was not possible to see more, it was very difficult to act on reality from such a position and state, spirits need a shaman or a magical source to transition to reality, but Stepan was not a spirit, but a shaman. A double blow with a tentacle with a cwed palm at the end, and both of the brutes already managed to tear off the sluggishly twitching victim's clothes and tactilely evaluate her charms, sharply arching their backs, trying with their hands to find their hearts, which had stopped beating. Of course, it would have stopped beating if Stepan, having somehow saved a third of his reserve, had managed to tear out the parts of their aura that were responsible for the heart.

  He hung in meditation, trying to suppress the strange feelings (there wasn't much negativity from the murder of the two rapists) and marveling at his sudden impulsiveness, until the figure, which turned out, not surprisingly, to be female and, according to his perception of the real world, even pretty, first kicked the still twitching bodies, and then knelt down and prayed so fervently that her spirit, teeming with feeling and will, cast visible glimmers, as if the candle were trembling, sending gratitude and faith to the object of worship. To whom exactly, as, it was not clear, but certainly not to Stepan, which made him feel very offended for a brief moment, so offended that he almost cried, catching himself in time to regain control of his emotions. His body was gone, and his hormones weren't spewing out, but he was more stunned than he'd been by teenage love and breakups. Though, he had never really felt emotions at such an age, which was why they called him an emotionless chump and a radish.

  Leaving the girl saved by the will of divine providence to beg for forgiveness, he went to meet the currents of the ether again and was carried away somewhere else, again closer to Dantra, and from there down the real stream. There, hovering at the very boundary between this mega-stream and the more stable part of the spiritual world, the boy replenished his strength, thinking over his actions once more. Still, he became more impulsive in this state, more prone to risk and impulses of the soul, as if drunk or under some kind of drug. Whether it was the effect of the freed and happy spiritual body, or he was really used to restraining his physical desires, here it was not biology and hormones, but something higher. Knowledge said that the problem was typical for all adepts of shamanism and just those who liked to leave the body without leaving the chat room, but still he was a little disappointed in himself because he expected help from the spiritual transformation in this direction. Overcoming the attack of self-deprecating and self-compassionate mood, he consoled himself with the fact simple shamans after the first, well, second, experience of such practices should have been emotionally overwhelmed.

  The new journey along the river and its etheric reflection were much more difficult because he was again attacked unsuccessfully, now by water spirits, looking like a cloud of misty body in the first case and a rge amorphous blob in the second. He managed to fend off the first blow, awkwardly but effectively swung the second, ripping out a chunk of misty body and forcing the mist to flee. The third blow was exempry in its active defense, throwing the spirit right into the tentacles of the guard. He missed the fact he was no longer holding himself in the correct awareness of the current, having fallen a couple of yers down at once. The spirits, which only protected his life, silently and with incredible grace followed him, seeming to feel even better here, and he experienced all the delights of being a frog at great depths.

  He tried to swim out twice, but the first time he almost fell in deeper, where he would have had to evacuate far away, and in doing so he baited something rge and strong enough for his jellyfish to engage in a brief and intense battle without waiting for contact, quickly tearing something incomprehensible and evil to shreds. The second run was almost successful, and he even saw images of a very rge and beautiful city, with high stone walls, gorgeous architecture, and even more gorgeous slums, but the city was full of not only beauty, but also magic, and on the magic he ran into some kind of signal network, or protection from river spirits, which was located in the river port, or rather on one of the docked ships. Judging by the fact that here the etheric currents became furious, for it was at this point that Dantra merged with her younger sister, Mtra, that was the first of Stepan's visits to the center of local life, the glorious Free City of Dantmark.

  Maybe it was a good thing he'd stumbled upon a simple river-spirit defense when he'd ducked out so unluckily, because there was a lot of magic in the city, and he could have stumbled into something more dangerous. This defense was so weak that even his reflexive strengthening of his spiritual body was enough to avoid injury. The shaman, who had not yet stabilized his position on the yer of high spheres closest to me, immediately fell again. This time he did not try to escape from the stream at any cost, concentrating on getting used to it, as well as on the occasional attacking small spirits that occasionally disturbed him, but most of his efforts were spent on keeping himself at the right level of the depth of the High Sphere. The jellyfish that covered him were doing a fine job of keeping him from distracting or injuring his charge, and Stepan was experiencing a world that was still new to him.

  This pce-state was extremely close to the water sphere, but at the same time, the persistent presence of a reflection of the real world was still felt. It was as if he was floating in the colorful and rainbow-colored stream of a mighty river, penetrated by ethereal swirls, noting the predominance of water shades around, but he also saw pieces of the real world: houses and people, banks and watering holes, with animals coming to them, a spreading willow bending over the river, the enchanted bottom of a floating boat, dead bodies and blood given to the river after a bloody battle. The etheric whirlwinds, which could injure a simple shaman, did not harm him, with protection from transformation and fortitude of subtle bodies, but allowed him to replenish his strength faster and better, taking advantage of the high indicator in the “Spirit” characteristic. However, these forces had to be spent just as slowly, mercilessly squeezing out reserve after reserve in order to maintain the required degree of immersion and not colpse even deeper. There, where even the jellyfish will no longer be able to protect the shaman properly, and all that remains is to call the Fugitive to pull himself back out. But there are pces there, in the depths of the spheres, from which the Fugitive will not be able to pull out his shaman, no matter how hard he tries.

  The only thing that really pissed him off was the spirits, especially the brainless little ones, who were always trying to hit him. They sensed he was strong, but defenseless and alien to this pce, thus the perfect prey. Spirits stronger and smarter also attacked, but they either retreated, having met with a rebuff, realizing the stranger was still not so toothless, or they were torn to pieces by jellyfish. And with the little things he had to deal with himself, each time getting more and more accustomed to this kind of battle mode. He involuntarily imagined how both jellyfish, when fighting with that annoying dog-horse, punched their absent faces with a facepalm, looking at how their employer helplessly floundered in the streams of the force.

  Several times he found peculiar mole holes, leading, as it seemed to him, upward, closer to Reality. However, they did not look like holes at all. Sometimes it was a door, a hole, just a whirlpool turned inside out, and once it was a small boat inviting him to get into it and go wherever he wanted. The tter even tried to press on his brains. Still, paranoid Stepan coped with the mental blow of some frankly insidious and sharpened against shaman guests, though not without difficulty. In a fsh of anger that grew even thicker after he managed to capture the frustrated hunger of the pretend boat-gate predatory spirit from a very dark sphere of deception and with a tinge of not just aquatic focus, but pure depth. After thinking for a while, reflecting on another, more subtle and cunning tactic of influencing thinking through the spiritual body, causing the very aggression, as well as estimating the strength of this spirit. Stepan grinned with a distorted and fanged grin, giving orders to the jellyfish.

  It was a tentacle rape. And also an expnation for who was the boss of the gym, and who was just a wrong-headed soy cuckold. The two jellyfish, which had been following the shaman unnoticed and hiding their presence, turned out to be much more dangerous than a single shit, which, when it dropped its disguise, turned out to be not a boat at all, but some kind of fantasy-inspired underwater fishing fish. The spirit was humiliated, insulted, torn, and even eaten, and both jellyfish clearly did it not on orders, but with pleasure, almost with gusto. Probably some sort of conflict between their realms, especially since this individual seemed more suited to meeting in the sea rather than in Dantra's spiritual reflection. Jellyfish were not river creatures either, though. Stepan swam up to the nearer spheres using another exit not connected to water. In his perception looked like a rope dder hanging in the middle of the ether currents. It even wobbled and twitched after this ether current, but neither close scrutiny, nor scanning by all means avaible in such a state did not show a trick, and that's why the shaman went up. In fact, of course, it was not a staircase, but an image of such, an imprint of condensed ether, and even passed through the prism of perception of the human mind. Each shaman would see this image in his way, although the rope dder would still prevail, just differing in small things, like the color of the rope and the type of fiber.

  The ascent, due to the rightly chosen tunnel, proceeded without cost or danger, even too easily, because in the end the current literally pushed him higher and higher, directly into the real world. If the witnesses had been around, they would have been surprised to see a strange and blurred humanoid silhouette appear out of thin air, with an underwater Kraken tentacle sticking out of its back and swearing in several nguages. For better or worse, there were no witnesses around, so Stepan, who began to lose reserve rapidly after the fall into reality, dived a little deeper with the same swearing, ceasing to bleed power into the surrounding space. Still, without a body and in a creaturely world, the spiritual traveler, unfit for such extreme conditions, had some chances of ending his out-of-body adventure early, if not dead.

  This time he was oriented better, and the young man suspected he had inadvertently unlocked or even enhanced one or more talents, which made it so easy for him to adjust to changes in his surroundings. It couldn't be compared to the full assimition of knowledge, true, but even such a fragmentary and instinctive touch to the system base gave some very tangible advantages. All these thoughts didn't stop him from enjoying the scenery around him, the view of another, much rger and more beautiful city - albeit one with traces of a not-so-old battle - and the sea. coast. Stepan, who had left Dantra's reflection just in time, did not even think of approaching the sea, because it would be much harder to get out of its etheric reflection, mighty and vast, than from the image of even the mightiest river. The sea ether is not so turbulent, but it is very vast and confusing, one can wander there without beacons for a long time, and its main beacon, the body, and the clearing can be distinguished from here with considerable difficulty. And what is the use of knowing the exact direction, if there is no possibility to overcome the resistance of the higher spheres and move in that very direction?

  Instead of going for a swim or getting closer to the very magical city, where there would surely be a lot of protection, Stepan started to explore the surroundings look for various interesting things in the nearby reflections and space around the city, and to have fun. The occupation is dangerous because in such a state the shaman's sense of time floats and it is easy to get so carried away that you do not even notice the death of his body. Death from exhaustion. Easy, it was true, but not for the Earthman, who had a real system clock, pumped up to two. That's what he needed, an accurate knowledge of time and dates, which could not be blocked and which could not be forgotten, unless it was on purpose. His body, stuffed with special alchemy, supported by a good dozen specific spirits and the same number of unkind spirits, and even recently doubled its corporeality, could survive for a week or two without food and water, only on the prepared support. It could also st three, but with no guarantee, so Stepan estimated a decade and a half for his adventure. He's being over-insured.

  And, by the way, he had already lost three days. Time flowed strangely in this state, his consciousness was too focused on one thing, and it was quite possible to spend seven hours and thirty-two minutes just watching a cherry blossom. A cherry tree that blossomed in winter and gave berries at the same time, whose color was reflected in the higher realms, even though the cherry tree had long ago been burned by lightning and in Reality there was only a rotted piece of bckened trunk as thick as a man's leg. The cherry tree still blossomed and bore fruit, as if it had awakened spirituality in itself at the moment of the element's strike and, having died physically, had no time to realize it spiritually, and continued its existence in a new form.

  Stepan even carefully plucked a few petals and berries with his working limb, bringing each flower or berry just as carefully to one of the reflected segments of the belt. Every fifth tablet contained not only standard defenses and incantations but also a kind of storage for those reagents, which in the real world can not exist at all. He couldn't help but taste one berry, having checked it beforehand, feeling as if it was not even the taste, but the very concept of cherry taste as such, its idealized image. It seemed to him for a moment that in this chance encounter with the tree that refused to die, in the very image of the cherry, there was something else, something important, like a sign from above, but he was unable to catch the elusive thought.

  For the next few days, Stepan searched for different bright pces and found a couple of wild sources of magic, from one of which he even recharged himself, having made an agreement with its keeper, also a spirit, rather stupid, but strong and good-natured. How could he not be good-natured, if behind the back of Stepan, who had come to speak, hung the jellyfish spirits. He also met another spirit of the natural sphere, neither light nor dark, but neutral, looking like a tree creeping slowly on its own roots, with a lush, blue crown and a puffy face. Stepan had just fought off a couple of rge leeches, multiplying the agile creatures by zero on his own, and didn't immediately notice that the tree trunk he was approaching was a kind of sapient. The negotiations were surprisingly friendly, even if the spirit did not agree to join Stepan's retinue, but gave him a couple of acorn-like fruits, also spiritual. A valuable reagent and an opportunity to pnt somewhere these little trees that grow only in the spiritual world, then prune the harvest from them. And for the spirit the opportunity to collect parental tax from these seedlings, feeding itself. They parted mutually satisfied with each other.

  Time passed, and with each hour it became easier and easier to keep concentration, to maintain his existence, to feel his body and the totems created in the clearing more and more clearly and vividly. He was even beginning to think cautiously that he might be able to return by himself, by pointing at this radar, thus saving the Fugitive's summons and then repeating the expedition once more. Sooner than expected. But all good things have to come to an end, every light streak is followed by a dark one, and sometimes such a zebra ends with a horse's ass that is no longer striped. Such a moment came for Stepan, although, as it is customary to say in the cssics, nothing portended trouble.

  * * *

  He found the strange pce by chance, it was very well disguised, but at this very moment his disguise had loosened, so Stepan's spirit felt some disturbance and an inflow of power from somewhere outside. He zily turned around and changed the direction of movement, jumping from one current to another, without the awkward rolls of a pregnant seal in the desert. Walking-swimming-crawling-moving on the sensed power, expecting to meet another spiritual pnt or the rookery of some spirit useful for communication, he did not forget about the possibility of running into another trap. The guard jellyfish, fed by his power, floated phlegmatically behind his back in maximum stealth mode. His combat limb switched to the cwed and fearsome hand mode as if Freddy Krueger had grown a few extra elbow joints, and all his perceptions were diligently looking for a threat.

  He did not immediately find the almost missing entrance, even its trace, assuming that it was no longer a trap, but just an accidental and spontaneous spiritual pocket formed around, say, some mole hole or just a specific source. He was wrong, though he was right. It was indeed a pce of power, a spiritual pocket cutting off a part of the territory of the spheres from the general currents, but it was not created naturally and not due to spontaneous fluctuations. This thing had been created, made by hand and with a lot of care, no worse than Stepan himself had put effort into the creation of his clearing.

  Well, or rather, it’s still worse, because the young man would not have allowed such crap.

  Maybe.

  Or, on the contrary, it’s better, because Stepan could not repeat part of what he saw.

  More likely.

  The pce looked like another clearing, both forested and, probably, plucked from a small forest somewhere reflected in the spheres, but at the same time, it was soaked in the spirit of the steppe, the grassy sea, and the dry, mighty wind. The totem standing in the center was not bad, though it was retively fresh and obviously made with mistakes. Even though Stepan only knew the base of this direction, he had the basic css skills developed up to the limit. This pce was dedicated to the wind, only to it, mostly of its steppe shades, although there were hot desert dry winds, and cold winter blizzards too, but the basis, the basis was the wind. It was felt that this pce was created not at once, but gradually, little by little, that protective and guarding constructions were built here, but there was no order in them, everything was done too unevenly. The young man had an absurd idea, as if this pce had been created by an experienced and strong shaman, but at the same time in his free time from the main tasks, while most of the practice and development took pce on a more suitable site. This understanding was evident in the types of bound spirits, in the marks of the calls, in the traces left behind - not a hidden secret boratory, but simply a pce where one could test one's own theories and not take resources away from the main totems, especially if they were now occupied by older colleagues and retives.

  It is quite logical, especially if you have all your retives talking to spirits and you do not want to show your personal research in front of them, or even just interfere. Such an image came out, persistent and, quite possibly, wrong. And he did not doubt even for a moment that the creator of this pce was not weaker, if not stronger than Stepan. Even though his connection with the spirits was very strong, though somewhat one-sided, even though he had a strong skill in working with various directions of shamanic art, his experience, and erudition were not enough to understand the important things. Stepan himself could create the same pockets in the spiritual world only a little worse, the clearing was an example to him, but he had not tried to transfer them so completely to the spirit world yet, there was no need. He hadn't tried it, but he certainly wouldn't allow such a blunder as closing a pocket with a standard contour with a basic, albeit masterfully executed seal forbidding all outsiders to enter.

  This trick is good when the basis of the totem remains in the material world, literally a cssic for any shaman who respects himself and his bor, but it is quite a different matter if at best the totem anchor remains in the real world, and the working сдд room is moved to the spiritual pocket and the upper yers of the reflection of the spheres. A useful idea, clearly lumped in with a much more advanced design. Stepan saw some solutions that were simply excessive for this totem, and some could not be fully realized. Another part, also not a small part, he did not recognize at all and did not even always suspect that it was possible - he cked the understanding of wind and control over spirits to make such effects. Apparently, this pce had been created with the intention of channeling the essence from a farther point, from somewhere within the city limits of what was known as the Pearl of the Seaside. It was there that the power of the shaman or shamans was based, and here it was, a small boratory for school projects, nothing more.

  But here's the thing. If the seal and the forbidding line on the entrance to the pocket were the envy of all self-taught people, but this was not the real world, but damn spheres, even if they were the closest to the damned Reality! Hungry and very dangerous nasty spirits, which Stepan had kept away from his clearing with a specific circle-in-a-circle, as well as predatory spirits-chipmunks specializing in eating such stuff, did not break through the forbidding seal, they simply gnawed through the walls of the pocket and got inside. Judging by their organization, this pack was commanded by someone advanced and savvy enough not to disturb the protections and defenders of the totems, slowly eating the power and offerings from this pocket, preventing the spirits sleeping in the totem from activating and unleashing a steppe hurricane on the scavengers. And then it was too te because the surrounding power began to belong not to the keepers of the totem, who lived in it permanently and not only come at the call of the shaman, leaning on this totem. No, now the surrounding territory and the rest of the pocket belonged to some disgusting shit, which also blocked the signal from the totem and gradually finished the deliciousness, taking advantage of the absence. Here in less than a couple of weeks, or better, a couple of months, - it is impossible to cope - the owner, who either found a new occupation or simply got normal access to the main call support and forgot about the once-done pce.

  That's why Stepan, who was intentionally not looking for anything or anyone, without any approximate images or coordinates of this pce, felt the drain of strength. The once sturdy pocket had already fallen into almost complete disrepair, and rather than repairing all the damage, it would be easier to burn the pce and then create a new pce, only by moving the totem with the spirits. The totem and its inhabitants/, were the only things that had not been damaged or not too badly. Yes, the spirits in the totem who woke up te because of a malfunctioning arm system and the effects of the scavenger couldn't even scream for help or go outside, but barricade all the doors and keep the invaders out - why not? This is one of the purposes of such a totem in case of working inside the spiritual pocket. Sooner or ter, the shaman will come to the pce where the material anchor stands in the forest, come out of the body, go down to the pocket, realize everything that has happened.... and either destroy the nasty carrion or they bite him. But okay, he's overreacting, a moron wouldn't have created such a thing, he would have killed himself before, and a clever shaman wouldn't get out of his body without protection and guarding spirits like his jellyfish, and he could take someone with him to look after his body too.

  All these thoughts and understanding of the situation went through the head of Stepan, who literally fell into the pocket and literally in seconds was sucked through the hole gnawed in the defense. The accelerated and panicked consciousness surpassed the limits of the human body, making him think impossibly fast. But not faster than the very nasty spirits began to raise their heads from all corners of the meadow that had been eaten and soiled, as if after a picnic in the performance of some swine bull. Some of them had four limbs and a rge hippopotamus-like mouth, though they didn't seem too big compared to Stepan, some of them looked like blotches and puddles of slop, and some of them looked like dead and rotten chickens. Their leader resembled a shapeless cloud of dirty-brown and festering foul power, evoking distant associations with some kind of mushroom or slug. And the whole coterie gave the sudden guest a very unpleasant look.

  The sudden guest reached out with his will to the neckce, which had been forged by sweat and blood, and where about half of the tablets shone with a light that was invisible in the material world, but dazzling in the spiritual world. The light spirits, the good spirits who had invested their power, influence, and their will in these ptes, could be proud of themselves. When Stepan released the shadow of this will, covering the entire internal structure of the pocket with this light, the bulk of the trifle was literally burned and vaporized. Even the condition of the clearing seems to improve a little. The main slug, visibly stunned by a pre-prepared spiritual strike, specially sharpened against the spirits of dark and evil spheres, got a hit from a fighting grip, again, and finally died in a squirm, forcing Stepan to freeze for a few seconds and burn out the crap that had fallen on his ghostly hand. Even the spiritual matter of this thing was quite toxic and unpleasant, literally staining thin bodies with its abomination. He managed, of course, he couldn't help it, he managed just in time to react to the new danger, the danger having warned him of its attack in advance.

  "THIEF! “Naturally, it wasn’t a scream, but rather an image conveying an angry and furious desire to punish the asshole that they took him for, making Stepan somehow suddenly realize that he now probably doesn’t look anywhere in an advantageous position. "SCOUNDREL! SAMASH-AVUR!"

  The st image had no analog in the nguages known to Stepan, but was still understandable, meaning something like "a very dishonest and evil speaker with spirits, not honoring the good w and ready for any lowliness, whose pce is at the trine or at least in the cesspool", and it had the coloring with which they say a heavy swear in the face. The attack was no less heavy. And it was not something there, but a full-fledged and specialized attack of the spiritual body, specially for the world of spirits honed and for the battle with fellow shamans in the bodiless state designed. It could have scared the shit out of others, if not killed or maimed them, but Stepan, with his resistance of subtle bodies and his mastery of spiritual form already honed by the omnipotent system, was only slightly shaken when he reflexively strengthened himself with protection and extinguished the alien spiritual fist.

  The young man turned and looked around, focusing his attention on the master of this pce, whom he already disliked for his bad habit of doing first and thinking ter, and doing it in an extremely aggressive attacking form. He focused and realized, with a slight surprise, that his colleague was not the master of this pce, but the very real mistress. The images of the spiritual body were not always clear and correct, and he had made sure that he was not remembered, recognized or imprinted, but this dy either did not know how to disguise herself, which was unlikely, or did not think it necessary. A beautiful, snting girl, not so much traditional Asian as Mongolian in appearance, came into his spiritual perception. She literally reeked of the power of Steppes, Winds, Night skies, and the Midday sun; she bore multiple marks of old contracts, and her whole body seemed to glow with signs drawn on her spiritually ghostly body.

  Some of those marks were clearly duplicates of the reinforcing ritual patterns she had made on herself before leaving her body, reflecting her real image, which also included a few amulets, feathers, and stones like his own, dragged along with him on his journey through the spheres. Some of the other parts of the patterns were either embedded in her essence or left here in the spirit world by other spirits, and these markings were literally six-meter neon letters that told those who wished and could see that this maiden had some VIP connections with the blood and power of her family. Yes, a maiden, at most five years older than Stepan, and for some reason it seemed to him that she was not a pure steppe, but a mestizo, but her blood had not weakened a bit, as well as the connection with the spirits. The child of two shamanic dynasties? He's near Morgrave's reflection now, not in the depths of the steppes..... it would seem. Yes, and the signal-link from her main ancestral stronghold is coming from within the city limits... it seems.

  It's so bad luck.

  It’s literally out of nothing.

  Okay, Stepan, show all your galntry and nip this conflict in the bud, even if you do twist this miracle, but what about the consequences? he thought, as he drew in his grayish smoke-covered figure and active defense and even an attacking hand, trying to show himself, well, peaceful. Here, in the spirit world, he is definitely stronger, and in the real world, he can compete with her too, both in characteristics and in knowledge and skills, and the tter will definitely be in his favor. Though she has more reserve and control, it seems, is also better, but the superiority is not drastic. He see in her image some elements unfamiliar to him, but his call school is still more solid, will not yield in anything, and in many respects will surpass. The System gives him a literally perfect version of any direction of development, and it is also customized for him. This feeling of superiority calmed him down a little because his nerves were still shaky. His spiritual state was affecting him.

  "You're wrong, your defense here was..." He had just begun to speak, sending images not with the blows of the storm wind and the jab of a heavy spear, but rather with the grinding of steel and rusted gears, the rustle of leaves falling in te fall, but he was not allowed to finish, and it seemed that he was not even listening, only his successful repulsion of the previous attack was enough. "You fucking bitch!"

  The shaman had spoken somewhat undiplomatically, but in his defense, this child of someone's hot interracial love affair had seized control of her totem and tried to pummel Stepan with the rest of her power here. No, she might have had a chance if this pce was still hers or had retained a bit more of her power, but after the visit of the Evil Hoarders, her grip on the territory and the rest of her pocket was tenuous, to say the least. And she kicked as if she still owned the pce outright. Stepan twisted himself as if twisting into a knot and attacking simply sending a counter-spiritual wave from the point of his stay. And the totem-supported strike, which was supposed to py a fun game of "find yourself between two millstones" with the earthling, just fell apart. If the guy pressed a little harder, so even the rollback could hurt the asshole, but he's damn kind! He can't just start ripping out bitches' nostrils, especially if there's a misunderstanding like this. It was the fact that he was now sincerely seen as the vilin in this story and forced to look for a way out of the situation, and not to hit back or flee. Especially since they would be looking for him afterward, and there would be no way to get rid of them, especially if the whole coven was looking for him.

  "HOW DARE YOU! INSULT! GUILTY ONE!" Holy admins, why the fuck doesn't she shut the fuck up and give this pce a test. Her skills would be enough to figure out how this shit happened, even if she could talk to the spirits in the totem, but no, we can always bme Stepan, he's the fucking baldest! "YOU'RE EVIL! SAMASH AVOUR! YOU BROUGHT YOUR FILTHY KHAO-TASH HERE! DESTROYED! ROBBERY! AND WAITED. waited for me. YOU CAN'T TAKE ME TALAAT KHANUR!"

  Again insults, again unfamiliar terms, intuitively understood through the attachment of images, which, by the way, brought funny thoughts about using the spiritual world as an ideal means of transtion. Although, it is nailing with a video card. Well, the Khao-Tkhash are the very Nasty Hoarders, that is, not just evil, but also as nasty spirits as possible, which is even disgusting to call because it's not much use, and you'll get dirty. It's easier to get a normal curser. And the st expression is cssic "dishonorable stranger, horse thief, cattle fucker and deceiver", just as if on the forums, just that intimate retions with his mother did not mention. And yes, apparently he was misunderstood again, what a surprise, what a fucking surprise!

  Stepan could said a lot. Mostly unprintable otherwordly swearing. But it's not fun for him, especially after the mare thought something very bad. Yeah, the evil shaman had come to her personal stash, ruined it, baited it with a distress signal from her panicked spirits, - probably the victims sitting in the totem had managed to get through to the shaman a little earlier, just when the power was starting to drain out of her pocket - and now he was standing there, insolent. He standing there, ready to fight in the spirit world, and skillfully using against her her own pce of power, which no longer belonged to her and contained too many imprints left by her. Stepan swore to himself, of course, but he recognized that in such a situation he would probably think bad things about such a guest.

  And then he'd kill the fucking stranger.

  Problems with communication kill. A poor and innocent earthling could verify this truth in practice.

  Right here, right now.

  Because the shamaness realized that she was in a very delicate and disadvantageous position had somehow once again gone quiet and called in the heavy artillery. Given all the marks on her spirit, which, it seemed, had been inherited, it would have been surprising if she had no defenders. In fact, her short call was directed not in the distance, but quite close, letting out "from behind" the invisibly following guard hiding in her shadow like his jellyfish waiting for his orders or a dangerous moment. A strong spirit.It was a full Elder, no less, though weaker, definitely weaker, than Dreamwalker, but in the same league, and purely martial. Wind, the embodiment of it, the embodiment of wind angry and tender, mightily whipping and tenderly embracing. Attack and defense, even some maintenance of life in one bottle. Whoever put such a miracle to her, even if it was she herself, but the defender was chosen for the glory. And this miracle-juice, aggressively vibrating and howling through the rocks all around the nearest spheres, scaring away the little things, crawled towards Stepan still hanging motionless.

  "NOW I HAVE TO ASK! WITH THE WILL AND POWER OF THE KHAO-ESSAI! YOU ANSWER!" Power over the guardian spirit she'd summoned and commanded in the name of long-standing family bargains, but she didn't have time to finish her pathos. "YOU'RE TAL...."

  This made her less arrogant by the fact the spirit of winds, which pulled its airy grasping hands to the motionless Stepan, received a dozen stinging and really painful, not economical as it had been before, blows with stinging tentacles. Both jellyfish swam out "from behind" the shaman in the same way as the shaman's guard had done before, unhurriedly and majestically, showing at once who was a gosu and who a noob with a zero rating. But seriously, in pure strength, the shaman's guard was stronger than a single jellyfish and even both, with incredible cohesion working in pairs. Except that he was a combat-oriented spirit, but a universal one, whereas Stepan had bound the jellyfish to the treaty precisely for their exceptional suitability in combat against other spirits in their territory. And they also, completely powerless in the real world, struck suddenly for another's contract through their ward, at the st moment bypassing him with their tentacles. It was not for nothing that he had been frozen and motionless all this time - that was the move he had been preparing for, and if he had jerked, he would have been hit by his own missed guards.

  And now the spirit, which in a fair fight would have torn the two jellyfish or forced them to run away, had not had time to drop the poison, to burn it out before it hit the core of the spirit body. The terrifyingly mighty steppe wind suddenly somehow realized that he was about to be beaten, perhaps even kicked. In his weakened and damaged state he could at most st a few moments of the battle, without the strength to win or the will to retreat, because the contract to protect this girl bound him too tightly.

  The battle turned out to be brief and colorful, literally fifty heartbeats, but they were so rich! The shamaness, silent and concentrated, was obviously trying to call for help somewhere, and Stepan, realizing that the owners of such cn calls would try to get him from under the ground ter, having every chance to get him, did not let her fulfill the call, blocked, closed, wrapped her in a warm woolen bnket and strangled, strangled, strangled the cry for help that was becoming more and more desperate with each passing moment. He had underestimated her power, had overlooked her greater reserve and the power of blood-bound, albeit absent in spirits, contracts, and deals. And he hadn't wanted to spend too much of his strength, saving it for escape, and he'd saved it, the idiot! She pushed through his block with her patterns and a couple of reflected artifacts, literally burning them out and sending out several signals-cry for rescue at once. Most of them, two out of three, he intercepted.

  The first one was going by blood, probably to call out to Mom and Dad, but that wasn't fucking funny, considering all that the daughter could do at her retively young age. The second tried to find a connection to the main totem and pce of power, it was the most powerful and distant, but also intercepted more easily than the others. And the third, sent on the remnants of concentration after the young man, on the same remnants of concentration, intercepted the previous two, could not be held. It was a kind of call of the duty group, very expensive and not to be disturbed for nothing, intended for the most extreme case, as it was now from the point of view of the "ambushed" steppe girl. And so, to help the unfortunate damsel in distress and no less unfortunate beaten senior spirit came two more spirits, albeit smaller, but also on average stronger than jellyfish. And those were already spent power and lost the effect of surprise. Stepan, like the shamaness, didn't waste his strength and will on yelling, but mentally gave himself a failing grade in terms of paranoia, because he would have to prepare better next time if he was to have that next time. Worst of all, of course, he could call for backup, but it would take time, and he didn't have a powerful pce of power and a ready response team in the nearest city. They'll never make it, even if they start calling now! A minute, even less, but not in time, which at the speed of the ongoing battle is equal to an eternity, or even two.

  The d once again involuntarily and vaguely accelerated his perception, taking advantage of his spiritual perception, very quickly deciding what he should do. The smartest thing to do was to just forget about the jellyfish, leaving them to die while he activates the Fugitive and leaves. But even if he hid his aura, they would be looking for him anyway, and this bitch might have Senior Shamans in her family, or even Higher ones who would be able to detect his disguise. And he just didn't want to run away, accused of something I hadn't done. After all, running away would be an admission of guilt. He didn't want to abandon the guard faithfully performing their duties too.

  The moment stretched out to an obscene length, was over. Stepan was already issuing commands, ordering each jellyfish to move toward its opponent, pouring more of the cursed poison into the senior wind spirit, half alive and very exhausted. The one survived and was burning the poison out of him as Stepan tore at him, realizing that he literally had seconds to pull off his pn. A pn born from understanding the mechanics of how his guards' poison worked and a couple of exercises in dragging matter into the spiritual world, after which his chair had changed a lot. Well, the piece of furniture in the vilge house that he regurly shoved into the spiritual reflection of the world, not the medical term for feces.

  Stepan grasped the sluggishly resisting wind guard with his battle cw - his sluggish resistance could have killed him on the spot if the guard had been hit - and then put in.... not much, in fact, even a little less than a quarter of the reserve, pulling sharply and pushing the entity upward. It was partly intuitive, partly a reliance on the obviously received but not yet revealed knowledge from the System, which he scooped up by the very edge. If the spirit had been fine, the shaman would have been blown to dust at the 'approach' stage, but the spirit was not fine and he was simply thrown into Reality. Again, if he were fine, he would have returned very quickly, only having spent some of his strength due to the sudden movement into reality, not having had time to lock this strength and not let it spill out. But the spirit, what a pity, was not fine. And so he would have to first burn out the remnants of the poison, and thus lubricate the inertial trace of the channel Stepan had thrown him into Reality.

  By the time he can get back, the spirit will not have lost all of its strength, and he will be able to fight. But he's not gonna be able to burn it out and come back fast. That's one. Both jellyfish may be losing, but due to experience and cohesion they do it slowly and with dignity, so they'll give him plenty of time. That's two. The shamaness shocked by the victory that has slipped from her hands again, can't even help her strongest fighter back here. That's three. Stepan had deliberately destabilized the inertial trail but hadn't completely destroyed it. Even his knowledge was enough to realize that trying to summon the guardian again, even if it was through a blood cn contract connection, would be a very perishing idea. They were still in the spiritual pocket, already unstable and even more destabilized by the fight. If create a call-channel in opposition to the existing ones, it is quite possible to close this pocket, even if you do everything very carefully, not to mention the pressure with all your might. And his unwanted and sudden rival, although overly emotional, but still strong, very experienced and well-trained....

  "DEGENERATE!" The Earthman finished his thought, realizing that he had overestimated the erudition of this idiot, as well as her understanding of the workings of spiritual constructs, when she, without a backward thought in her stupid head, reached for the spirit that had just been banished, without a second thought, pouring more power into this counteraction to be sure that it would be enough while smiling victoriously in response to the animal horror that Stepan, who had no time to hide his emotions, had fshed. "YOU DUMB BITCH!!!"

  The shriek-image was not heroic and nowhere near manly, but Stepan was a bit consoled by the fact that this stupid horse squealed no less desperately. Still, it is hard not to squeal when right under you, in such a studied and seemingly retively calm area of the high spheres, long ago appropriated and became your support, located very close to the border of the real world, within walking distance of the main altar, opens DAMB ABYSS in the deep yers of the high spheres, exactly on the border of the almost disintegrated walls of the totem pocket. And you, due to the change of the currents of powers, rapidly emerged etheric whirlpool as if a pump sucking you into the total ASS, leaving bewildered and panicked spirits, which still had time to stop fighting and rush each to his ward, outside, because this hole smmed under the same pressure almost as soon as swallowed both shamans.

  It was good that it sucked him up in time, and did not cut off his spiritual body at the moment of the colpse of the gap, Stepan thought while he was rushing downward. It was just a passing thought, while involuntarily and with fright he was continuously broadcasting something quite different, suspiciously resembling all the stretching and stretching "BI-I-I-I-I-I-I-ITCH!". It was not just low yers of the spheres, no. It was something very, very deep, where there were no familiar reference points from the real world at all, only some very phantasmagoric images and a lot of hungry shit, which would obviously come to such a call and the glow of the souls of two stupid, tasty shamans. Stepan would have closed the images on himself, stopping to let everyone know about himself, but the girl was still desperately calling for help, not realizing that her call was only making things worse, attracting all those who might have missed the sudden visit of a walking burger and a vegan burger.

  Why vegan?

  Because this idiot is such a vegie!

  They were rushing along the breach closing after them, and the inevitable happened. The girl, who was much less oriented in this world and had neither an analog of spiritual transformation nor her defenders, involuntarily moved closer to the edge of the breach. Not only Stepan but she too could predict that she was about to be twisted nicely into spiritual mincemeat. To her credit, this fool did not stop fighting until the end, even though she was making things worse and worse for herself by her fluttering, bringing the end closer.

  And rightfully so! thought the young man, tearing off the spiritual neckce from his spiritual neck and wrapping it around the "normal" limb, making the fighting cw softer and tentacle-like, creating octopus-like suction cups. It's your punishment for your stupid and retarded demise! he swore sincerely to himself, turning to the spiritual transform and growing either flippers or fins, which allowed him to turn his fall in the epicenter of the pump into a directional movement. I hope you'll be spit on and pissed on by all your shamanic kin in the other world for being so fwed in life and death! He hoped, and then in a single jerk he put a part of his strength, simultaneously grabbing the shamaness a moment before the contact between her and the zone-wall-participant zone of spiritual destruction.

  A moment, and he presses her to his own back, wrapping her with his tentacle and active defense, and with his face and his working hand, in which he clutches the neckce, shining from the power it gives out, he smashes into the suddenly appeared barrier of pure light. Part of the neckce scatters with golden dust, wasting the invested power and will, but Stepan and the bag of shit and shitty character he had rescued were pushed back and even a little upwards from this barrier, under the sound image-excmation of the earthman, which conveyed a very meaningful and profound "Yuk!". A moment ter, when he twisted again and activated a new barrier, breaking the neckce and turning it into nothing, they both hit again, only now sideways, and the shamaness supported his philosophical maxim with an equally meaningful "UK!", which seemed to be swearing and not just an image-shout.

  They managed to escape, with the support of the very barrier that had thrown the Earthman and the sack of potatoes out of the breach and into the deepest part of the asshole.... somewhere not that deep and not so deep in the ass. Judging by the pressure of the currents, the intensity of reserve replenishment, and a bunch of other little things that the shaman's systemic knowledge-packed mind fished out at a great speed, they were in extremely dangerous shit, but not in shittest shit. Yes, it was scary and deadly. There is no argument here, but a well-prepared senior shaman might have traveled to such pces or deliberately descended here for valuable spiritual imagery and insight into the spirit world. Yes, all sorts of predatory and just temporarily decided to become predators, but among them, there is no chthonic destruction, which can eat half a continent unluckily yawning. Yes, the girl is just squeezed to zero and now, without the cover of her spirits, will quickly die, but he is full of strength, having spent less than a third of the reserve, and part of it has already been restored due to the intensity of local energy. He still has an intact belt and bracelets. However, if such restoration is applied two or three times, he would have to undergo a couple of procedures and buy the necessary potions in the store, paying for the connection to such a powerful socket and absorption of too-hard power.

  He tore the belt off himself, tossing it upward, and it, too, glowed, not with light, but as if it were an evening gloom. It a concealing and averting the eye with the very will that embodied invisibility and untouchability. The high-ranking barrier circle worked properly, and little by little the creatures trying to eat them either lost sight of them or couldn't bring themselves to want to cross the barrier line. Though, again, most of the creatures were no match for the weak leeches from the upper yers. They had brains and realized that the prey was near, that they just had to wait and it would be theirs. Stepan could hardly resist the urge to poke an obscene gesture outside the circuit, and only because this gesture together with the means of poking could be torn off his face.

  "Y-you will share my fate, Taat Khanur. Whatever you're pnning, you'll never get out of here. I will die but know that I will beg all these Khao. Asking for more pain for you." In the images of the steppe girl, who recoiled from him, there was only weariness and doomed pride. The remnants of the hatred that could no longer burn were extinguished under the cover of despair. "My mother will find them too, and they will not escape the wrath of Khao-Seakhar."

  That's it. At this point, Stepan broke down, because when he heard this stupid accusation and realized that the fucking, psychotic, semi-literate imbecile still had the opinion that he was a vilinous vilin who wouldn't even let her retreat from this pce using the means of evacuationю His ruff was completely blown off. Having estimated the amount of strength and safety margin remaining in the signs circling around their isnd of order, he slowly turned around and changed from the st effort to preserve the dignity of the looking-aware shamaness, and then he simply lost his temper.

  "You're as dumb as a log from my grandfather's house, a complete imbecile victim of falling headlong onto a rock at a young age, compared to whom even this four-fucking-damned log would be like a sage next to a dung fly rva, unable to imagine how fucking dumb you are." Seeing her indignation and the anger that fred up, he pushed with his spirit, not breaking his images into short slices, but giving them out in a steady stream, and he was getting much better at it. It was the effect of his many attributes and experience, so he shut her up halfway through. "Did you even ask me anything? Did you even fucking ask your spirits about what was even there? I, you idiot fucked with a poker, banged with a dle, dropped into a cesspool five times, ransomed a hundred times, twisted five hundred times, cast out of the goldsmiths in disgrace for being too shitty, appeared there because you closed your fucking circuit of protection of your stupid pocket! And the crowd of nasty spirits on the aspects of filth and rot banally ate the shell of the pocket, because it should be locked, bitch, completely, and not the node of the passage only, because pocket, you miserable with you mind and body nothingness, is in the high, fuck them in the fuck, spheres! The shell, the closing circuit, that fucking line of perception, you weak-minded disgrace of my profession! And while they ate your spirits, power, and offerings, your pocket. was disintegrating before it started to siphon the power into the background! I, bitch, got there by accident, I was attacked nasty spirit attracted by your underdeveloped call, and when I destroyed them, and even more, I retarded hearted tried not to spoil your totem, you swooped down on me like a fucking vulture, like an angry grandmother from the queue to the official, like a dog of the yard, from which a bone is taken away, and did not even let me say a word, went straight to fight! ENDLESSLY! STUPID! YOU! STUPID!"

  If at the beginning of his rant, she was still trying to make some sort of outrage, by the end it seemed to him that even her spirit form had gone a little pale and red at the same time. Well, whether that was a consequence of the exhaustion, combined with the obviously unhealthy pressure of the deep yer, he didn't know. The important thing was that she, who obviously didn't sense a lie - lying directly in such a state of being was quite difficult, and Stepan himself wasn't very good at it, and she wasn't even good at it - had a sharp attack of shame, and she sat down right there and changed position, leaning on the barrier-belt and trying not to burst into tears. Though, bitch, how one could sob in an out-of-body state, Stepan didn't understand and didn't consider this action possible.

  "I am guilty, honorable Khao-Seran, and my guilt is undeniable." She pulled herself together and assuming a posture more befitting her pride, she humbly addressed him. "I cannot and don't ask for forgiveness. It is only in my power to accept my fate. In the jaws of these Khao-Tresh for both of us. Forgive me if you can. Hate me with all your heart, for that is what I deserve."

  Stepan was even a little embarrassed because it was so sincere and, well, humble over the limit. He also suspected that this dummy had just mastered the skill of pretending in the speeches of spirits, in the direct exchange of images. Still, there are spirits, which calmly lie and deceive. Just for mortals it is much more difficult, for the same reasons “fish on nd”. In the material world, Stepan could lie when communicating with the called spirit. Although it is also very difficult and many spirits lie will still detect, even not necessarily strong spirits. Here and this one now, directly in every possible way demonstrates remorse. Though if he nails this asshole here as punishment, he won't get any understanding from her kin and the same mother, whom the daughter called with a complex term-image, outlining “a hereditary shamaness on the border between the elder and the higher, able to cross this border at the expense of old contracts on the blood of her family”.

  "All right, enough of this snotty bullshit." He couldn't take it first, he'd never managed to be pompous and majestic. №Like my grandfather used to say, everyone has the right to be a moron. And the situation was ambiguous, I realize that. Enough groveling here, come on, activate the beacon, and get out of here, while my circle-from-circle is still holding the defense. It'll let you through, that's why I made it, so I can escape like this if anything happens. Fuck, all this effort and it's all fucked up! Eh, damn luck!"

  Stepan distracted himself a little, not hurrying to let the shaman out of the trick, so that she wouldn't do something weird again, and began to examine the solid wall of the barrier. The nature of the circle-from-circle structure did not allow him to see and understand what was there on the other side, but what he managed to catch before the circle closed was enough to realize that they were waiting for them, the bastards, and the number of them had not decreased much, but at least not increased. And Stepan was not going to make another pathos fight, he had already had enough fun today, preferring to finish the expedition, especially since he had already earned at least one, but probably two levels. But only his thoughts were interrupted by a sobbing image of a crazy shaman, who looked at his perplexed image with an image, figuratively speaking, of a sad smile with tears in her eyes.

  "I cannot sense the White Chamber and the Hearth of Ancestral Spirits from this pce. It's too far and too dark. I can't feel Mother's Will. I can't reach the loyal Khao. I can't do anything, Honorable. And Mother is out of the house now, as is Father. She sensed trouble, she should have. But it all happened too fast. She won't make it. No matter how much I believe in my Mother, she'll never make it. If she had 2,000 more breaths. But she didn't." It was as if she were apologizing, sincerely asking forgiveness for something else that the shaman could not understand, though he very much recognized that this fool had something to apologize for. "I decided to go out into the world of Khao-tan today. I wanted to show both myself and her. To show that I am already worthy of trust and respect. Worthy to learn new knowledge. that my mother has not yet revealed to me. I don't want to destroy your hope. But I do not have the power to save us from a fatal fate. The Khao-Tresh will feast tonight. By me and you."

  He stares at her for a few minutes, probably even longer, and in front of his face, figuratively, thankfully speaking, it's as if there's a blue screen of death, with which he's trying to comprehend, to put the situation in his head. There she is. A hereditary shamaness in the eleventh generation, the child of two nations and two dynasties. Though she didn't mention her father, so he's probably weaker than her mother. She is not much older than him, she's in pure strength and some areas of skill, perhaps even better than he is, with all his System cheats. Predominantly due to a very wide pool of inherited contracts and all that came with them, but that doesn't negate the fact itself. And there she is. Her. Has no safety anchor in case she falls through the deep yers or loses her bearings among the etheric currents. Is that normal at all? Or had he, Stepan, grossly underestimated the extent of the value of having access to contracts like his Butterfly Runner? Or... or he just refuses to understand it.

  "Fuck, but how?" He couldn't stand it, not even shouting and throwing out images, but just asking with a completely deadpan look. "Well, okay, you can't feel the anchor, but contracts, contracts with dualistic spirits, on a bond of thin bodies? Chains-on-hooks with a blood bond and maternal warmth? Even an inverted thread on attraction in case contact with the spirit beacon is broken? Don't your family have any? I don't believe it!"

  "These khao are very fastidious and unruly. They are called and invoked for weeks sometimes. Only for the most important of rituals. To the most secret of invocations. Which are not held under the heavens, but under the cover of the khao-dwelling worlds." She expined with the same sad, doomed smile, seemingly resigned to putting herself into a trance so she wouldn't be so afraid to die. "My mother is Khao-Seahar. She can make such calls, but not me. I learned the invocations, I know the names of the Khao-Yat. But I was just too young to call them. It was. It was not yet time for me to go and speak to where and with those where these khao are needed. On this sad day, I just... just, uh. It was just a normal day. I just decided to check my little ahan-mayat where I called for khao on days when my Mother was busy and did not require help. No one would call Yat for nothing. No one would do such a ne-e-e-ik...."

  Her excuses, with which she tried to calm her colleague and expin to him why even with all the strength of her kind they were finished, were interrupted in a completely unseemly and not sublime way, when Stepan again showed his grasping tenderness, thrusting it under his own heart and pulling out the sphere of the still sleeping Fugitive, immersed in the motionless sphere, as if cast from amber. He withdrew deceptively calmly from the contract, in fact tensely watching the shamaness's every movement and image, preparing to attack in response to her attempt to take away his only chance for salvation. He almost begged her mentally, almost pleaded with her, Come on, you proud bitch, come on, you fucking bitch, attack, take it away, take it back, or at least try to, but she only shrank back and pierced her with such despair that even mockery was no longer an option.

  " I couldn't ask, but I am asking." She said only that, and her image assumed a kneeling posture, not so much humiliating to her as showing her reverence for him, which was how it felt. - My name is Singha, daughter of Maega, daughter of Maedra. My mother is Khao-Seahar of the tribe of the Free Winds under the banner of Hain Khan. I ask you to tell her the news of my end. To tell her my mistake and to tell her that I am sorry, very sorry. That I love her, my father, my brother and-- and that I'm sorry. This could be dangerous and I'm not asking you to come under her eyes and wrath in person. But at least send word. Through one of your kh-khaos, I beg of you. By letter. I don't want them not to know how. I don't want them to wonder... bme themselves.

  With every word she said, with every goddamn image, so sincere that you'd have to be fucking higher to tell a lie like that, it was as if the steam in his head was boiling harder and harder. His anger at her, such a fool, her mother, their whole family, the spirit world, the Autogoddess, this one out of habit, the whole world was reaching some crazy point. He wanted to just tear her apart right there. His emotions were rattled by his spiritual body, not his hormones, but his spirit also gave in to his anger. With a snarl worthy of a university cat Basileus Arnoldovich, who saw a competitor from the next street near his trough he got closer to this fatalist, who didn't even fucking try to hit him, while he was distracted. She didn't even fucking think about it. As he drew closer, he broke the sheath around the amber with the Fugitive Butterfly in an instant jamming it sharply into the center of the shamaness's chest.

  It pricked under his heart as if it were here, but it wasn't. It was in his real body that the Fugitive's counterpart disappeared, appearing in the body of this one, Tits, or whatever her name was. He grinned frantically, not visible under the yers of gray haze that blurred his face anyway, except that she caught the outline of his grin, and breathed his words into her face. Surprisingly calm, even a little indifferent, as if he'd decided to talk about the weather, not about life and death and the canonicity of the next Marvel reboot.Злая сиська

  "Activate the link and get out of my sight, you silly shit." He's feeling pretty tired right now, and he's got a lot of work ahead of him. "Now. The circle-from-the-circle is barely a third of its strength left."

  "Y-you... I won't forget, I swear by all the hao, I won't forget." Quietly, but truly moved, she says, pressing her hands under her sor plexus and beginning to melt, reaching for her body through all the barriers as if they were not there at all, as if her spirit were here and not quite here, only to be there a moment ter. "State your name, honorable Khao-Seran. Whoever your retives and kin are. My kind and my blood. I, all of us, will pay for your life as best we can."

  He interrupted her, though, because the barrier didn't just shudder, no, someone nearly made the circle-from-the-circle colpse, in one fell swoop draining as it were not all the remaining reserves of spiritual will and power. Stepan pushed the spiritual force into the still somewhat connected spirit, forcing it to more actively carry the rescued one the fuck out of here, back to her house or wherever she decided to call. And in her wake, there was a shout-image released with full spiritual power!

  "FUCK OFF, YOU STUPID BITCH!" In these images all his worries, his anger at her, at himself, for having decided to save this idiot and to stay here, for her blindness, for her cims, for the whole situation, which was stupid to the extreme, and for the adventures he had found in the middle of nowhere. "FUCK YOU AND LET HORSE FUCKED YOU THERE!"

  It wasn't a curse in any form, of course, he'd tracked it down separately, though he'd thought about trying to use the pure power of his spirit and the witchcraft that the bits of knowledge had given him to pull off such a malefic, that was too fucking me, he should be higher than that. He'd rather make fun of dwarves than do such petty shit. But truth be told, the main reason was that there was no time for a good curse anymore, and the petty stuff would be undone by her mom or dad, whoever they were. Nothing, the pnet, even this one, seemed to be round, he would meet this Angry Tit around the corner, tell her all and everything, for her deeds, her promises, her love of striking and then thinking, as well as for COMPLIANCE OF FUCKING SAFETY TECHNIQUES FOR RISKY CALLS!

  SpoilerT. N. There's some wordpy. So, Singha got such a nickname.

  [colpse]