CHAPTER 1
There was a nuclear war. A few years from now, world we knew, it's gone. Just gone. There were survivors. Here, there. Nobody even knew who started it. It was the machines. After this terrible atomic war, killer robots have taken over the earth.
They say it got smart, a new order of intelligence. Then it saw all people as a threat, not just the ones on the other side. Decided our fate in a microsecond: extermination. They bring death and total destruction to all living things. The survivors managed to hide underground. They fight guerrilla war against the machines. With the help of their talented leaders, the human resistance is closing in on victory. However, to destroy resistance plans, machines send to the past a monstrous killer cyborg. His mission, to eliminate key leaders of human resistance, and speed up creating of machines. Machines build Time Displacement Equipment to send the cyborg to the past, however, due to an error, the cyborg is not sent to the past, but to a parallel dimension. This parallel world, unlike our own, is green, filled with magic, dragons, demi-humans, and humans — the perfect description of a medieval-like magical world from pre-war books that was destroyed in the atomic fire. Unlike the world from books, this world is not fictional, it's real and parallel to our world.
FIRST DAY
ROYAL CAPITAL OF LUGUNICA, MARKET SQUARE, 3:48 AM.
On the stone wall of the buildings that stretched along the forgotten alley with moonlit facades, which flowed like a river into the sea, into the market square of the capital, was a scribbled inscription: "History is dead". Authorship of the inscription quite possibly belonged to some merchant, who had traveled the world, and seen a lot. Or perhaps, it belongs to some thug, who doing his rounds of the grounds, decided to decorate the wall with a pun. In truth, it is possible that man who wrote these words, knew, them to be true.
The stone buildings topped with triangular roofs were lit by lone lanterns powered by magic crystals. The wooden rows of merchants shops were kept clean, and in the stone-paved square, the warm summer wind had scattered the mountain of rubbish that the day's merchants had left behind and nailed the remains of yellowed papers to the disfigured inscription on the wall.
The market square once served as a park because of the fountain with benches located in the centre of the square. However, as the city and population grew, the situation changed dramatically. With the appearance of huge numbers of merchants from all over the kingdom - the former square-park became Mecca for the merchants, who travel to the royal capital, to sell their goods. In search of new impressions, guests of the capital flocked here. And one of the main attractions of this square, which attracted everyone, was the unique view of the Royal Castle standing on top of the high plateau, which opened up from below, where a square for traders was arranged. However, when the sun was setting, and dusk was failing, people on the market could finish their work/entertainment program, by contemplating the magnificent sight of the glittering lights of the city, which were going up to the top of the plateau that hosted the castle. From the bottom to the top of the plateau, the clear outlines of the noblemen's houses, as if drawn with a chisel, loomed with their lights against the velvet-black sky. The picture may not be as dynamic as the lavish balls in the palaces of the aristocracy, but it is no less exciting.
The advantages of this place are that no matter what your social status is, after sunset you have the opportunity to enjoy this unique view, unless the sky becomes overcast due to rain and the plateau is invisible to the eyes of city residents.
Leon Caspar Valante reached into the right pocket of his coat, pulling out earplugs. The earplugs freed their owner from extraneous sounds, which bothered him even at night, preventing him from feeling completely at ease. This was something Leon especially liked. The dragon carriage slowly trundled through the streets of the capital towards the market square. Leon whipped the earth dragon, the carriage picked up speed, and Leon's thoughts were drowned out by the roar of the earth dragon. Damn earplugs! Well, they are light, almost weightless, but they let through all the extraneous sounds. He would need to buy the kind they used to make. They might be more expensive, but you could be sure there would be no extraneous noises.
Coachmen and riders, of course, were not supposed to plug their ears with earplugs while on the job. So what of it, damn it? What is more important for a normal man: good hearing or the garbage you haul around all day? If they noticed he was bringing earplugs to work, he'd be out of a job again. Although, naturally, he saw such work as fit for the grave. But what can you do? You have to eat. Then there's that damn landlord. And the dragon, too.
He earns quite well now. But the dragon has a good appetite too. And Leon himself is no weakling—he never weighed less than a hundred kilos, even in the worst of times. But, regardless of everything, hauling garbage from one end of the city to the other is not the job he had dreamed of. He left his real job exactly twenty years ago. Back then, he was a mercenary in the Star Paths Guild, protecting merchant caravans from bandits and other troubles, working for almost ten years. It turned out that the Star Paths Guild had run its course. He himself entered a dark period. First, a leg injury from a battle with bandits who robbed their caravan. Then a divorce. He was, of course, immediately kicked out of the guild. The few savings he had left ended up in the pockets of luckier card-playing partners. After that, fate tossed him around thoroughly. Sometimes he got lucky, but more often he was shoved face-first into, well, you know what. And who is he now? A cleaner. Pardon, a waste disposal specialist of the royal capital at your service. He even got this disgraceful position through connections. An old comrade from his past job put in a good word for him.
Getting up at one in the morning. Just the thought of it makes your hair stand on end. Dragging yourself out on your cart to collect the leftovers from others' feasts, and then not being able to get rid of the smell that follows you all day like the cursed spirit of a rotting beast.
He jerked the dragon's reins sharply towards himself. The last few meters before entering the square were ahead, and he needed to slow down. The cart's wheels began to creak unpleasantly, causing the whole cart to shake, and the reins in Leon's hands vibrated. Leon directed his cart towards the parking area at the marketplace and suddenly froze in surprise, nearly crashing into a stationary cart without dragons that had suddenly appeared in his path. The astonishment he felt at the sight of this obstacle quickly turned into irritation. Of course, someone had decided to ruin his already unpleasant task. Next to this cart, a boy was standing cheekily, and not just any boy, but a human boy, calmly peeing right on the cart. The boy, with an unusual white complexion and sanpaku black eyes, had long, unkempt gray-blue hair with pink tips fluttering in the wind. He wore a tattered uniform, with chains gleaming on his wrists and neck. A large yellow earring dangled from his left ear, and his elongated tongue, with a silver ring on the right side, nonchalantly stuck out towards Leon. Clearly a rebel, or whatever they're called. Leon yanked the reins sharply and brought the dragon cart to a stop. The brat didn't even flinch, despite Leon's cart approaching so closely it almost hit him. Leon looked back, expecting the boy to at least jump aside. No such luck. The boy continued his business, paying no attention to the massive cart that nearly hit him. Moreover, he managed to splash the rear wheel of Leon's cart. Leon was stunned by such audacity. Irritated, he yanked the reins again. The sound of the cart's bells, warning of its movement, pierced the silence, seemingly drawing the attention of the entire area. "The brat must have soiled his pants by now," thought Leon and looked back again. But the boy didn't even twitch. Completely ignoring the cumbersome cart, he continued his carefree activity. Not only that, he managed to splash the cart's wheels again.
Furious, Leon pulled the reins, turning the cart, and the youth didn't even think to get out of the way. "Idiot, I swear. If I see him again, I'll show him how to behave properly." A sign on the back of the cart read: "This property is under the protection of the Guild of Archers and Swordsmen." And it wasn't just empty boasting. Although Leon only carried a bow bought from a blacksmith for a few gold coins and had only ever shot at practice targets, drawing the bowstring and shooting an arrow wasn't that hard. He crossed the cobblestone, heading to the waste collection point. He plunged back into his thoughts once again.
Del had just begun to calm down when he suddenly remembered how he started carrying a weapon with him. It wasn't just because knife fights and gang disputes had become commonplace in the city. He himself had once gotten into a nasty situation. This happened about two or three weeks after he started the job. At night, around the same time, and even in this very part of the city. He was lifting a garbage bag to dump its contents into the cart when something hit the back of the cart with a dull thud. The city guard told him it was the work of bandits. Maybe. What he saw with his own eyes was enough: the body of an eighteen-year-old boy slashed with a knife, his stomach ripped open, and his entrails spilled onto the wheel cover. After that, Leon never went to work without a weapon. The royal capital is full of bandits. And, by the way, humans are no better than demi-humans. He glanced back once more, but the boy was no longer visible. Leon walked along the wall that led him to a dead end, where wooden trash bins stood. He turned around to load the first bin. Only then did he begin to gradually calm down. 'You've become weak, Leon,' flashed through his mind. That night he took longer than usual to carry out his duties, often getting distracted and looking back—just in case.
When the clumsy cart approached the square, Rachins Hoffman (hereafter Chin) was just busy with his indecent act. Inside, he froze, his heart stopped: like a wildgram at a hunter's aim. And then it hit him: this was no ordinary dirty cart, it was fate itself testing his endurance. How steadfast could he stand when this juggernaut, filled to the brim with troubles, was rushing at him? He didn't care about it. He could even splash it. Just like that.
Tucking his dignity back into his pants, he heard the loud ringing of bells. Without showing a drop of fear, though he did pinch his finger while tightening the laces on his pants, he continued to stand unperturbed.
It all felt like a conspiracy against him. 'A conspiracy of fate,' pulsed through his inflamed brain. First, they give him this disgusting, stinking garbage cart. Then they deafen him with an unbearable howl, and now someone invisible is trying to crush his finger. Well, take that! See? They picked the wrong guy. It was as if everyone had conspired to ruin his day. The ground seemed to sway and slip away from under his feet. But no way! He felt like a cool guy, riding a flying dragon. A dragon, deftly dodging through the air, and he, a true professional, confidently carving his path in the sky. But no matter how hard he tried, the ground got the better of him. It suddenly came up to his face and painfully slapped his cheek. Sparks flew from his eyes, and he heard his own groan as if from afar. Bruises spread across his forehead. Chin forced himself to smirk. His buddies were rolling with laughter. At him, of course. Some friends they were. The short Canberly, a scoundrel if ever there was one, though unmatched in a fight. He even had a fitting nickname—Can. And the big Ton in light clothes with an orange belt around his waist that squeezed his belly. Pals, basically. His own guys, sure. But he was fed up with them. Today he would teach one of them a lesson.
Ton and Kan were performing a wild dance around the untouched beer bottles lined up by the wall. Chin knew that the guys were separated from him by millions and millions of miles, but he heard their idiotic shouts as if they were only ten yards away. A battle song emanated from the magical metia.
They had all started together in the tavern. Chin remembered how they had jerked around near the stage, waving their arms, building momentum, and then took to the streets. The rowdy travelers at the dragon barn had really fired them up.
One of those travelers, who had drawn particular attention from Kan for his bold antics, was suddenly thrown from his earth dragon when it bucked unexpectedly. The others quickly scattered. Fueled by alcohol and an easy victory, the trio was driven to seek new adventures. Together, they wandered the city on foot—like sharks hunting for prey... Until they unexpectedly found themselves in this square.
A groan escaped from Chin. Or was it a chuckle? Sometimes you can't tell if you're groaning or laughing. Kan and Ton had started to fight. They moved towards each other, sizing up for the first blow. The bottles were about to be smashed. What a disgrace, especially since he was so thirsty. He crawled towards them.
Lead clouds were gathering over the square. Lightning flashed. Leon had no desire to get soaked to the bone, so he hurried to finish his cleaning. Not making it to the cart with the last bag's contents, he dumped it right onto the road. The next lightning flash lit up the sky above. He imagined the city's news headlines: 'Royal Capital Waste Disposal Specialist Killed by Lightning.' No way, he thought, better hurry up. Leon slapped the dragon's sides, but it only snorted and refused to move. Moreover, even the earplugs didn't help against the sound of the sparks.
The last thing he needed was to get stuck in the middle of the night in this deserted square, miles from home, with a long ride ahead in the dark.
He yanked the reins again sharply. To no avail.
Damn it!
If only the dragon would snap out of it.
Then something seemed to jolt him. Goosebumps ran down his spine. He realized that the dragon could save its master even in emergency situations, and there was no reason for it to freeze up, especially in such a situation. There was a strange tension in the air. Leon slammed his fist against the side of the cart with force. This was a pile of crap, not a cart!
Leon grew more and more furious, cursing the damned dragon cart with all his might, but what happened in the next second couldn't be explained by the dragon's stupor. An incandescent fireball flared up above the cart, and it was as if thousands of bright flashes simultaneously exploded in Leon's face. He tried once more to yank the reins. Useless. It seemed the dragon's strength had run out. A massive, searing orb broke through the cloud cover and swirled around the cart. Who knows what kind of phenomenon this was, but it was terrifying to watch. Acting on an unconscious instinct, Leon dropped the reins, took out his earplugs, and removed his hat. He was wearing leather boots. Apparently, leather is a good insulator. It would be good to understand if it really is an insulator or not. For the love of the dragon, he didn't want to get roasted in this strange fire!
The air was filled with crackling and whistling, reminiscent of radio interference when tuning a receiver. With each passing second, the noise intensified, turning into a deep hum like the powerful drone of a transformer.
More than anything, Leon wanted to jump out of the cart and run without looking back, but something told him: don't move, that's certain death. The lightning dancing around the cart was unusual—tongues of cold flames licked the cabin, white and blood-red flashes flared up very close. The glow of the lights and the flickering discharges merged into an unbearably bright whirlwind of energy. Leon felt his hair start to move on his head as if lifted by the wind. A moment later, his hair stood on end. And all these hair-raising phenomena weren't just because he was scared, although he was terrified at first, but he had quickly composed himself. The thing was, the air inside the cart suddenly became electrified, like it does after a thunderstorm, and filled with the smell of ozone.
Leon's ears were ringing. The blinding ball exploded into thousands of scarlet flames, and something emerged in its center amid the roar and hum of mysterious forces.
Another pressure surge, and the glass of the nearest buildings shattered. Leon barely managed to duck to avoid the rain of shards hitting his face. Air whistled out of the windows. Everything began to calm down little by little.
Leon slowly straightened up and began to feel for cuts. Nothing serious, it seemed. Just the ear ringing—like from a concussion. He pressed his palms against his ears a few times. It didn't help. His throat was dry—he couldn't swallow. But all of this was trivial. He couldn't take his eyes off the ragged, foggy cloud that had formed at the explosion site. In the very center of the cloud, where there had been nothing before, darkened the outline of a figure. And then he felt real fear.
He realized that death had come for him. Leon had no doubt: he was witnessing a supernatural phenomenon. He had no reason to hope for the mercy of whoever had come from the other side—Leon Caspar Valante had sinned enough in his life. Well, he would have to meet death with dignity.
Leon forced himself to look at the thing moving, coming from the other world.
He saw the creature breathing. The indistinct contours slowly gained sharpness, revealing the figure of a naked man. Thick black hair, neatly combed back, was still smoking. The body was covered in a white powder resembling flour, which, as it fell away, exposed baby-pink skin. Only the 'baby' was almost six feet tall.
Leon had encountered sturdier guys when he was a mercenary in the Star Paths Guild, but he had never seen such an ideally built body. The rhythmic contractions of the muscles clearly outlined the sculptural perfection of the torso. The shape of the arm was so well-defined that it could be used to study the laws of symmetry. The powerful roundness of the biceps narrowed towards the elbow, then expanded again below the elbow bend. The arm ended in a nearly graceful wrist and long, strong fingers that alternately clenched into a fist and straightened out.
In the ranks of mercenaries or royal knights, this one would be priceless. Leon had no chance against him, not at all. And he already knew why. If the man were simply stronger, that would be one thing... But Leon saw his face. Unbelievable! It seemed like a living human face bore the stamp of a deathly cold. And the most terrifying part—the eyes. His eyes had small irises that highlighted the whites of his eyes due to sanpaku. The gaze was sharp and simultaneously devoid of expression. In those eyes, death was reflected. Unyielding, merciless death, which people imagine in different guises, but this—unthinkably real, devoid of any feeling—never. The man's gaze was fixed on Leon. The newcomer stood so close that he could have reached out and touched him, which meant—the end.
All his hope now was in his legs, although they had failed him in his previous job. His heart pounded wildly in his chest.
Leon jumped off the cart, nearly falling onto the cold stone. His injured knee hit the stone, and familiar sharp pain shot through his leg. Just don't get stuck!
Leon bolted away from the dragon cart, feeling the unmoving gaze tracking him.
The pain surged from his injured knee up his leg, but Leon didn't feel it—he was sprinting at top speed, thinking only of one thing: death was on his heels. His insides clenched. He felt his stomach prick with every step. Nausea rose to his throat. The last thing he needed was for his stomach to give out. He ran into the middle of the square. The boys from earlier were still there. He needed to warn them! The thought of the brat who peed on his cart cooled his impulse. Let them save themselves however they can. It was better this way: the drunken guys might at least delay this devil who had come for Leon Caspar's soul, aiming to yank it out of his mortal body and wrap it in cellophane for eternal storage.
He fled like a madman, heels flashing.
You'd run like this too if your life depended on it.
He ran past the cart without dragons. Past the drunken boys, dumbfounded by the suddenness. Leaving the square, he ran wherever his eyes led him. Down a path between buildings, he emerged on a steep descent almost out of the city.
He couldn't stop now, even if he wanted to. The momentum of his sprint propelled him down the steep slope, like a chip caught in a whirlpool. His knee finally gave out. He fell to the ground and slid into the abyss, not trying to resist the inexorable pull.
He was dragged through wet, thorny undergrowth that slowed his slide. He stopped two feet from a wooden barrier along the road laid out over the chasm. He lay on his back, drenched in cold sweat. The world, which had surrounded him in hostile silence all this time, suddenly came to life, flooding him with a multitude of sounds, as if an invisible hand had turned the volume knob to the max. He heard his own raspy breathing and burst into tears.
Leon slowly sat up. Everything was swimming before his eyes. He glanced upward. The road was empty. No sound of the pursuer's steps. Could it be he was lucky? He feverishly recalled fragments of prayers drilled into him in childhood. Something hard was poking his side. He groped around on the ground and found the small bow, warmed by his body in the cloak.
Never had he thanked the Almighty so fervently and humbly as now. For not letting him use the weapon. For making him forget about the bow's existence. Leon felt it in his gut: there was no weapon capable of stopping that shapeshifter. The worst, thank the Dragon, was behind him. Staggering, he got to his feet and jogged down the wet ground, away from the planetarium. He would surely be fired from his job now, but that was nothing compared to what he had just escaped.
Leon Caspar Valante was one of the few who survived an encounter with a Terminator. For a split second, the Terminator's consciousness had shut down. A commanding cosmic force had suppressed all his systems, but it lasted only a moment. Immediately, the visual images regained clarity, and the thought process was activated. Fog swirled around him, but the mist didn't hinder his orientation. He could see through it. The chronoportation was complete. He noticed nothing special. He took a deep breath. Instantly analyzed the air composition. No difference. Except there, the levels of pollutants and nitrogen compounds were slightly higher than here. During chronoportation, transitioning from one temporal layer to another, he had to curl up in the fetal position to facilitate conductance. Now he straightened, standing firm, confidently, satisfied with the perfect coordination of all his systems. The carbon-based ointment covering his body formed a reliable protective layer, preventing burns. The remaining white powdery substance enhanced his resemblance to a classic marble sculpture, embodying harmony and perfection, rivaling the works of Rodin and Bernini.
The Terminator scanned the surrounding area. About four meters away, an awkward wooden object on wheels stood on the stone surface, harnessed to a creature resembling a dragon from fantasy books. Sensors read the visual information: shape, color, material. Memory provided a comprehensive description: the awkward wooden object was a cart harnessed to a dragon, used for transporting the capital's waste. Another half-second, and he identified the area behind him as a marketplace based on the wooden stalls. His senses were operating at full capacity, collecting and processing new information. The composition of the soil, atmospheric conditions, and geographical features didn't quite match the corresponding data in his memory storage. Negative result. The chronoportation had reached a completely different target.
The Terminator's attention was drawn to the living creature hiding near the cart. Human race, around fifty years old, weighing over one hundred fifty pounds. Apparently, he serviced the cart he was in. The man's face expressed undisguised horror. The explosion that accompanied the chronoportation had stunned the earth dragon, shattered the windows of nearby buildings. The Terminator focused on the man. Analyzing the body movements, even the most fleeting, almost imperceptible from the outside, allowed the Terminator to predict the level of danger posed by the subject. The potential threat level of this individual was assessed by the Terminator as extremely low. The man had not yet jumped out of the cart, but the signals from his muscle contractions had already suggested to the Terminator the most likely direction of his escape.
The Terminator's brain and body fully transitioned into active working mode. The man was running in panic to the square. The Terminator could easily neutralize him if necessary. At this moment, the man did not interest him. The Terminator took a few test steps, checking his coordination. The motor functions of his body were in perfect order.
He approached the spot where wide streets intersected on the square, revealing a view of the city sparkling with lights, situated on a plateau. He automatically memorized the map in his memory of the panorama of the royal capital of Luginika that opened before him. He already saw the streets, aristocratic palaces, and at the very top of the plateau—the royal castle, wanting to learn more about what he saw. He began to plan his actions. Reviewing the few minutes that had passed since his arrival, he noticed a significant shortcoming. He had not landed in the past, but seemingly in a parallel world. He had no clothes. He should have taken them from the driver. Now he had to use other options. Ideally, such a huge city should be populous even at night. It wouldn't be hard to find someone with a similar build and get clothes that fit. He stood, peering into the peacefully sleeping city. The magnificently built, tense, as if preparing for a decisive jump, naked athlete in the piercing wind. The database related to the upcoming operation continued to expand, occupying new blocks of his memory. The Terminator's intellect allowed him to quickly develop and review dozens of strategic plans to choose the optimal one.
Chin managed to get to his feet. The mix of alcohol and tobacco smoke spurred him on like a wind-up toy, pushing him toward his friends. Well, he'd show them now! Starting with Kan. Chin yanked Kan's hair with all his might and threw him against the wooden fence of the alley. The blow was so strong that Chin almost lost his balance, but he had to hold on—the fallen opponent got up and rushed at his offender.
They grabbed each other in a furious, sweaty embrace and rolled on the ground, punching each other senselessly, until they crashed into the alley wall, near where Ton was standing, looking at something. Without hesitation, Ton hit Chin on the head with a beer bottle, and Chin fell, drenched in foam and covered in shards. Then, with a well-aimed kick of his heavy boot, Ton sent Kan into a knockout. Kan crashed down, knocking over the musical metia. The metia cracked and fell silent. The last spasmodic sobs of the bards echoed far away.
Having dealt with Chin and Kan, Ton returned to the alley's exit, leading into the marketplace illuminated by the square's lamps. The astonished expression on his face changed to a knowing smirk of someone always ready to appreciate a good joke.
"Hey, you guys," he called, beckoning his friends as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't just hit one of them with a bottle. "Hey, you guys, look! Hey, what's wrong with this picture?"
He raised his outstretched arms in front of him, forming a frame, as if to depict a painting. Chin looked curiously through this frame.
And his eyes widened.
Kan stared for a long time, as if not believing what he saw. Then he drunkenly giggled. Heading straight toward them was an incredible bodybuilder, one of those who hang around the arena near the Castle, showing off their unnaturally luxurious bodies, barely covered with clothes. This one lacked the necessary minimum of attire and was not wandering around the arena but the city square. In the middle of the night.
"Look, he's coming right at us."
Forgetting their recent disagreements, Kan stepped towards the guys and stood in the center. He scraped the ground with the sole of his boot, a sign that his mood was serious.
"We're gonna give this bastard a real thrill," he hissed over his shoulder.
Kan grinned wickedly, and Chin knew that real trouble was about to start.
The naked muscleman, unfaltering, was approaching them, fixing them with a cold, unblinking gaze. A sense of foreboding gripped Chin. Apparently, something similar was happening to Ton because he suddenly said:
"Hey, Kan, cool it, will ya?"
Kan retorted disdainfully:
"I've seen plenty of guys like this in the grave. Think he can fight? These types are only good for posing in knight's uniforms with swords in front of a crowd, but when it comes to action, they collapse. Don't worry, you know me."
Ton relaxed. He believed him. But Chin knew something was off. The confident stride of the stranger and his heavy, unflinching gaze told Chin that this guy wasn't bluffing.
Kan's right hand slipped under his cloak into the pocket of his brown coat. This was the signal for Chin and Ton to grab their knives. Chin's palm was sweaty. The fear gave way to the thrill of an upcoming fight. What was there to fear? He was with his buddies. Let them see if he was scared. They'd ditch him quickly.
And he didn't want to be ditched.
He stepped forward.
The naked man's bare feet slapped heavily on the stone pavement. His body was covered in whitish streaks of some powder, giving this incredible figure the look of an ancient statue touched by the dust of centuries.
Coming almost right up to the trio, he stopped. His arms hung casually by his sides, as if at ease.
They spread out, surrounding him.
Kan's face twisted into a predatory grin.
"Nice night for a walk, eh?" he growled threateningly.
The stranger shifted his expressionless gaze from one guy to the other, and, fixing his eyes on Kan's face, said:
"Nice night for a walk."
Chin gasped. The voice was low, emotionless, with sharp and precise intonations. As if not a person was speaking, but something more terrifying and dangerous.
Good tobacco, as long as you don't overdo it. Otherwise, you can smoke so much that all sorts of devilry seem real.
You can't even tell if you're dozing or if it's real.
Ton, swaying, shifted from one foot to the other.
"Yeah," he continued with mock enthusiasm, "I get it. Washday tomorrow. Nothing clean, right?"
The idiot repeated, exactly mimicking Ton's phrase with his intonation and tone:
"Nothing clean. Right."
"Messing with our heads," thought Chin, but then he was struck by his own insight. "What if this guy's a friggin' shinobi? Maybe he has this habit of stripping naked and messing with guys?" And Chin gripped the handle of his knife. It's time to do some harakiri.
Ton, amused, threw his hand forward and snapped his fingers in front of the guy's nose several times. He didn't even blink, continuing to bore into them with his strange gaze.
And Kan was already getting into a frenzy.
"This guy's nuts," he mocked.
"Your clothes." the stranger said steadily. "Give them to me."
It sounded like a thunderclap. Even the reckless Ton was stunned by such audacity and stopped smiling, but quickly recovered and started to mock even more disgustingly.
"Now." the man commanded.
Ton's smile vanished as if wiped away by a cow's tongue.
"Fuck you, asshole!"
"We're in deep shit," flashed through Chin's mind.
Chin didn't have time to move before Ton's knife, gleaming in the darkness, was at the muscled stranger's throat. He and Kan didn't hesitate either. Swiftly, expertly—after all, they've been hanging out together for a long time and seen it all—Chin and Ton pressed their blades to the giant's neck, while Kan, due to his short stature, pressed his to the stomach.
Perfect. Impeccable. Just like in the manual.
One thing was alarming: the stranger should have been scared by now, but he kept looking at them with his meaningless, detached gaze.
Chin began to realize that something was terribly wrong. But then all thoughts were blown away as everything around him whirled before his eyes—a wooden bat seemed to come down on his face. He didn't even realize it was a fist, moving with unimaginable speed.
Chin was thrown to the right, towards the wall, catching a glimpse of the brute catapulting Kan with the next blow, who hit the ground without a sound. Dead.
Ton managed to make a feint and lunged at the naked bodybuilder with his knife, putting all his strength into the thrust. The knife went into his stomach up to the hilt and... slid off a hard surface. A rib? What rib, below the navel?
Ton pulled out the bloodied knife and swung for another blow, but at that moment, the giant's powerful punch caught him. It was like he rammed into him. Chin watched in horror as the man's
hand plunged into Ton's chest up to the elbow. The wide-open eyes of Ton, filled with shock and pain, looked like they might pop out of their sockets.
The Terminator, with the mechanical precision of a press, raised his fist again. For one endlessly long second, Ton's boots hovered above the ground. To Chin, it looked like the hanging legs of a man whose stool had been kicked out from under him. The horrific crunch of broken bones echoed, and the Terminator's arm returned to its original position.
When Ton collapsed to the ground, lifeless, Chin's mind reeled. "He shattered his ribcage and crushed his spine," pulsed through his brain.
The Terminator turned to the last remaining member of the trio still alive. Chin couldn't bear the sight of those terrifying dark eyes of sanpaku, from which death itself seemed to stare.
The Terminator stepped towards him, and Chin backed away in terror. The Terminator's arms were covered in blood up to the elbows. Ton's blood. "He shattered his ribcage!"
Chin stumbled backward until he felt the wooden barrier at his back. He tried to dart to the side, hoping for an escape, but once again found himself cornered. Trapped! The terrifying man with scary brown eyes advanced slowly and inexorably.
Realizing what he needed to do, Chin began to remove his clothes. He offered the killer his jacket as if to shield himself, begging for mercy, desperately trying to delay the inevitable… If only he could buy some time… Get away from this cursed place… Home, to his father's mansion he'd run away from to live in the slums, into his bed… Hide under the blanket… Push away the nightmare…
In one thing, he was right. His submissiveness in giving up his clothes helped him buy some time. He lived another fourteen seconds.
TO BE COUNTINUED