The Mist and the Lightning. Part 19 [Ви Корс] (fb2) читать онлайн

Ви Корс The Mist and the Lightning. Part 19

Chapter 1

They didn’t stay long in Riverside, and Kors was sincerely glad about this. He himself didn’t understand why he was so afraid of this place. It was somehow fatal for him. Here he attended the council of commanders before the attack on the Fort, and then he was an indisputable authority for his black warriors, he was one of them. Surrounded by his companions, he proudly sat in a place of honor at the head of the table, covered with a maroon velvet tablecloth, which Valentine had obtained from no one knew where that day. And he also sat at this table later, but the tablecloth on the table was crumpled and dirty. He sat alone in an empty house, his shoulders slumped and his posture of the chosen master forgotten — an outcast with a painted face, with a body covered with patterns of unclean ones, humiliated and turned into a slave.

Kors diligently drove these painful memories away from him. On that terrible night in this abandoned, decaying village, the Demon showed him his strength, but, in the end, Kors remained alive, and nothing seemed to have changed. Or so it seemed. But when, by the will of fate, he found himself in this cursed place, deeply hidden memories and emotions treacherously began to surface, spinning into a whirlpool of heavy thoughts and not giving rest. And Kors was well aware of the fact that he couldn’t calmly enter that room with a vile rat swarming in the corner.

The humans, the black warriors of Zagpeace and Tol, rode a few marches ahead as always, while Kors still commanded the unclean ones and rode with them. They were not particularly in a hurry, but they didn’t stop overnight either, resting no more than a couple of hours in a row. His captain, Parky, kept order in a long line of carts and numerous carts of various colors, loaded to the top with various goods. Periodically, he drove forward to Kors, and reported to his commander that everything was in order, or, on the contrary, said: “…one of the carts had a broken wheel, and they were a little behind, but they would fix it soon.”

“That’s because you didn’t properly distribute the load inside, and stuffed too much without thinking about the correct distribution of weight and pressure on the wheels,” Kors explained in an instructive manner, distracting himself from his gloomy thoughts with a conversation.

He looked at the bright black dots tattooed under the eyes of the unclean one, and involuntarily repeated to himself: “The last warning, the last warning… and how many warnings have I myself received during this time, so presumptuously casting them aside? They didn’t make tattoos under my eyes, but it looks like I got in trouble more than you, Ark.”

And Parky, it seemed, heard him, but didn’t say anything, and, having reported, returned back to the carts.

Next to Kors, but slightly behind him, rode Adrian. He was dressed in his warrior’s clothes, and his rather grown hair, with the help of some fixatives of the unclean ones, was beautifully set up in a high comb. Kors didn’t forbid him this, and from time to time turned to him, giving some simple instructions in the style of “give and bring”, using Adrian as his servant and slave. Adrian carried out everything.

“Adrian,” Kors told him, “I haven’t changed my mind, and I don’t take my words back. I still agree to let you go to the Unclean Limit when we return to the Black City. To release you to your wife and children. You are an unclean half-blood, and your father, as far as I understand, is a rich and noble true black. You have the blood of the chosen race, do you understand that?”

“Yes, sir,” Adrian replied indifferently, “but there is no turning back for me.”

That was his answer invariably, and his tattooed face remained as impenetrable as his thoughts.

And Kors, on the contrary, now even wanted to free Adrian. The uncleans made him a slave, punishing him for cowardice. The demon gave Adrian to Kors, knowing absolutely well that he was dooming the slave to torment. But now, Kors, to spite the Demon, did not want to torment Adrian any more.

Nik and Arel also often rode very close to Kors. He could see the Demon, and from this, he only felt worse.

Physically, it seemed, Kors more or less recovered and could spend many hours on the road, in the saddle, feeling neither pain nor weakness, but morally… Morally, he was simply crushed, and in the monotonous path between the endless desert hills, every now and then stumbling his eyes on such a bright spot of mop of white hair, Kors couldn’t help but think of Nik. He couldn’t help but remember:

“They are on their way from the Ore Town to the Crimson Rock. One of the haunts.

Kors combs Nik neatly, pushing his platinum white hair up from his forehead and temples. He carefully clips them with hairpins, planning to continue to braid his braids or make a tail, but suddenly he notices how cute Nik is with his hair pulled back a little and at the same time with fluffy thick strands sticking out a little further on the sides. Kors puts down the hairbrush and leaves Nik like that, admiring him and seeing that one naughty thin strand has already jumped out of his pinned up bangs and lies on the face of his beautiful boy. This unbearably touches Kors, he looks at the naughty hair sticking out on the sides of his face and slightly shifted back, and they really remind him of the fluffy long ears of a cute puppy. Kors laughs, and Nik purses his lips in displeasure and shakes his head in annoyance, not wanting Kors to laugh at him, and another thin strand of white spills out of the mass of his hair.”

Nik, standing aloof, spits quickly to the side, spitting out of his mouth as sharply and far as Lis fires bullets from his musket.

Kors literally freezes in shock:

“Stop it,” he hisses, “put on your mask immediately!”

Kors knows that in the mask, even if Nik moves the lower shield as far forward and upward as possible, he still won’t be able to spit so valiantly. Nik, realizing that Kors is dissatisfied with him, squints slightly in his direction and quickly puts on his mask. And later, in their camping tent, Kors rips it off his face and hits his son on the lips with his palm, straight from the shoulder, backhand:

“Don’t you ever do that! Don’t you dare spit like a beast!” Kors yells at him.

Nik shrinks and tries to shield his lips with his palms, but doesn’t resist and remains silent. He doesn’t look at Kors, doesn’t raise his eyes, although his face expresses obvious displeasure. And Nik never spit on the ground or to the side in front of his father again.

They stood by the picturesque lake for three days, and Kors no longer remembers for what fault he makes Nik climb under their camp bed. He tells him that as punishment, Nik will lie there for exactly an hour, and lowers down a heavy cover of skins. Nik obediently and quietly lies on the floor, but Kors himself becomes very bored without him, and he barely maintains the allotted time. Barely waiting for the hour to finally pass, he abruptly lifts the covers, revealing his sweet boy. Nik lies face down on the floor, his face buried in his folded hands. He slightly raises his head, and, squinting from the light, tries to look at his father, and he frantically pulls him out and pulls him towards him, while hastily unzipping his fly with his other hand, and presses on the back of his head, pressing his face to his crotch.

Why is he recalling this now? It’s all over and there’ll be nothing more. But thoughts of Nik stubbornly spin in his head, endlessly playing the same melody, a song about lost love. Just like a hurdy-gurdy! Nik was right about it!

The same. One and the same, and so on in a circle. Ding. Ding. Ding…

Ding. Ding. Ding.

“Their room in the Fort. Nik sits on the bed and Kors moves his finger up, down, left, right. This way he restores his son’s vision and trains his eyes. Nik tries to follow his hand. Kors slowly brings his finger to the tip of his nose.

“Look!” He orders. “Look with both eyes at my finger!”

And Nik obediently shifts his eyes to the bridge of his nose, into a bunch, and it’s so funny and amusing that Kors, unable to restrain himself, begins to laugh. He shakes his head, pressing his hands to his chest and bursting into laughter, and Nik sits in front of him, shrinking, and, as usual, out of frustration, he sticks out his already plump lower lip a little forward, with his expression, provoking a new fit of fun and laughter in Kors. Nik looks at him reproachfully and with some resentment that Kors is making fun of him so openly.

And Kors pleads with him through laughter:

“Nik, Nik, honey, don’t pout, everything’s fine! You did it great. It was just so funny!”

But Nik doesn’t support Kors’ fun and continues to pout and twist his mouth.

Well, smile, smile! Kors asks him, and Nick stretches his lips into an artificial smile that looks more like a grin. This is how a tamed predator grins, obeying the owner, but demonstrating that he doesn’t like it when he teases him. And Nik, like a beast, snarling a little, “smiles”, showing fangs, while still not daring to disobey or bite. It only gives Kors another flush, and a minute later the cure is forgotten and Nik is moaning under him.

The next morning, Kors returns to treatment and says:

“Now let’s train your eyes again.”

And Nik starts to indulge and moves his eyes to the tip of his nose, or one eye to the nose, and the other, on the contrary, away from the bridge of the nose, strongly to the side. Kors doesn’t understand how he can do it so cleverly and funny, they both laugh. And, despite the fact that Nik is making faces and openly fooling around, he still remains incredibly charming and sweet, and Kors is unable to scold him for the disrupted lesson, and they love each other again.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

Everything always happened passionately, violently, brightly. On the first run, Kors came very quickly, and only on the second and third time he could fuck Nik properly, and then he began to speed up again. As soon as he rested and took a break for a couple of hours, everything started all over again, and the first orgasm overwhelmed him literally instantly. Kors was constantly overused his cock till it bled, unable to stop in time, because he wanted Nik every minute. Without thinking about the consequences, he healed abrasions with strong remedies. Under drugs, it was not difficult, the pain from instant healing was almost not felt. Everything was great! Only too many strong stimulants, too many and often used, and now his potency said to him: “Goodbye.”

Ding. Ding. Ding.

Why does he continue? Not even specific situations are spinning in his head, but simply different moments associated with his boy: Nik turns his whole body towards him, instead of just turning his head, and casts a quick glance from under his brows, from the bottom up. Involuntary trembling of the hand. The clumsy gesture with which Nik tries to straighten his hair and keep his bangs out of his eyes, knowing that Kors gets annoyed when his hair obscures his face. The way his shoulders and perpetually disheveled top of his head sink down when Kors begins to scold him, calling him a drunkard and a brainless fool. At such moments, Nik’s eyes began to shine with tears, and each time it happens faster and faster. In the end, as soon as Kors began to read his lectures, Nik’s eyes were already wet. And for Kors, it was an unforgettably pleasant memory.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

Very soon, Kors realized for himself what hurtful words had the strongest effect on Nik. Nik didn’t react strongly enough, but rather indifferently, to accusations that he was a criminal, that he beat someone, extorted money and created chaos in the Black City. The honor of the warrior and the fact that he pissed it off worried him very little. But he reacted to the “complete drug addict”, although he reacted stronger to “drunkard”. He remained impenetrable to accusations that he had ruined his body and arms with tattoos, but cringed when Kors accused him of foolishly ruining his appearance, and now he had a scar on his face. Nik didn’t react to the fact that he was illiterate, but if Kors called him a fool and stupid, he got upset. And Kors always put pressure on these pain points. A drunkard and a fool — these words upset Nik more than others. He nervously raised his hands, bringing them together and clenching them into fists, and began to beat himself on the top of his head.

“Stop immediately!” Kors told him sternly. “From the fact that you now knock yourself on your bad head, your mind will not increase, but only the last one will be knocked out!”

And Nik was sitting in front of him, sniffing and stubbornly rubbing his eyes. But Kors considered it the best when, nevertheless, one or two tears fell from glass eyes. Then, filled with incredibly pleasant emotions himself, like Nik’s eyes with tears, Kors impetuously hugged his son and explained that he was scolding him for his own good, in order to help him become better. And Nik should understand this, not be offended by his father and be grateful to him. And Nik thanked and asked for forgiveness.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

Even now, after everything that had happened between them, those memories still made Kors feel good in his stomach.

Nik was driving nearby and seems to have noticed Kors’ looks or heard his thoughts about him. Kors understood this, because the Demon slightly turned his masked face towards him, and then, turning away, let go of the reins, and, raising both hands, put the cloak hood over his head, covering his hair. He pulled his hood up, shading his already covered face. Passing his black-gloved hand a few more times over his mask, he carefully tucked a few unruly white strands under his hood. Kors saw how, on his hand, wrapped in an expensive thin leather glove, a golden ring with a dark green stone was put right over the glove. Kors’ gift. And Nik wears it. The stone shines brightly and shimmers. True blacks wore precious rings on their fingers, but never wore them over a glove, it was considered a vulgar sign of bad taste, and before Kors would never allow Nik to do this, but what can he say now? He no longer has the right to point and make remarks, and Nik, with his savage notions of beauty, of course, put a ring on top of his glove for everyone to see and so that he could show off the jewel.

Nick spurred on the Unclean Power, driving a little ahead and away from Kors.

Kors thought that the Demon’s real face was as black as his mask, and now he understood why the Demon liked to wear it so much. As strange as it may sound, but in the mask he looked more like himself. And the Demon used the cute features of Kors’ son only for seduction and deception.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

Kors became very sad. How good it was to be ignorant of the lies that reigned around him, suffocate with love and delight, squeezing “his boy” to his chest, the boy who he considered Nik to be, in a slightly rough and passionate embrace. To look into those transparent eyes, often made up, lined with black and burning on a pale face, to hear his groans, to see and feel how Nik cuddles and clings to him. How could Kors assume that they themselves, and not at all their ill-wishers, would destroy such an ideal relationship? And now what? Now what?!

There is no longer his little white boy, his beautiful doll, so sweet, affectionate and obedient, and bright eyes in long eyelashes will no longer look up at him from the bottom up, waiting for him to order. And seductive lips will not pout cutely from frustration because of offensive words. And now, from the bitterness of unfulfilled hopes, Kors himself had treacherously tears in his eyes. All immersed in his grief, he didn’t immediately notice Zaf, but he rode up to him, and Kors, recollecting himself, quickly wiped his wet eyes with his palm. “Damn, what does he want?”

“Vitor,” Zaf looked at Kors very seriously.

“No, this doesn’t look like flirting or some kind of tackle at all,” Kors thought quickly and said politely:

“Good evening, Zaf!”

“You know,” continued Zaf, without answering to the greeting, he seemed agitated, “you can always call me mentally. If you want. Don’t endure or bring it to a critical situation, ashamed to ask for help. Vitor, just call me and I’ll come and try to do my best.”

“Zaf, what are you talking about?” The way Zaf carefully continued to look into his face, and these words about some kind of “critical situation” that could happen, made Kors feel as if a spring tightened in his stomach, and these were very unpleasant sensations.

“There is no point in playing a hero,” Zaf continued, “it won’t help you in any way. It you will feel bad, call me. I have known the White Lord for a very long time, but I know only one thing about him for sure: you can expect anything from him. So call me, I myself offered help, this is not your weakness.”

Kors froze in the saddle. He looked at Zaf’s flattened broad nose. Because of the plugs, it didn’t have a nose tip as such, there was just a flattened flat cake with a small vertical notch in the middle. Poor Zaf, he was once handsome, long ago, before they performed this disfiguring procedure on him — it seems that his father did it. So he told Kors. From Shagezh’s childhood memories, Kors remembered Zaf as young, with still very small stones in his nostrils, his nose was not so terribly flattened. Everything happened gradually, and now Zaf’s face was irrevocably damaged. That was a sign of belonging to a clan, family. The younger belongs to the older. Could Kors ever do something similar to his son, disfigure him like that? No, he was not able even to cut off a lock of Nik’s hair!

Zaf is also a Demon, what is his animal essence? Who is he? The human bodies of Nik and Arel are not like their bestial essences. Nik doesn’t resemble a reptile at all, well, maybe only with movements sometimes: either completely motionless, frozen, or sharp and fast. How is Arel similar to a bat? Is it his dark hair color? No, all this is somehow unconvincing. If Kors himself has goat horns on his head, then there is absolutely no evidence for this in his physical body. Who are you, Zaf? He can be anything.

“Thanks, but I don’t need help,” Kors said, “I think everything will be all right.”

Zaf smiled mirthlessly, shaking his head slightly.

“Then just come to visit us when we are at a halt. Let’s sit, have a drink, play cards.”

“Thank you for the offer, Zaf,” said Kors. He thought: “That’s all I wanted, well, no, cash me out, I don’t need your hospitality.”

And Zaf, without saying anything else, turned his horse around, driving away from Kors.

Kors tried his best to see his face. “Shit! Something large, squat, powerful, like Zaf himself. Covered with black wool… No, it’s not wool, but it looks very much like thick, dark brown, almost black, fur. Not an animal. Zaf is not a beast. He is closer to Nik. An insect. Thick hairy paws, consisting of several joints. located around the body. A lot of them.”

Moving away from Kors, Zaf, as if sensing his gaze, turned around, and Kors saw his round dark eyes flash. Two huge round eyes. “No, damn, it’s the round plugs in his nose that shimmer dark green, not his eyes at all!”

Kors shook his head, warding off the obsession. What did Zaf mean? He was very serious and even somewhat nervous. He was afraid for Kors. Gods! Thoughts rushed about in Kors’ head like thunder lightning: “The demon said: “I will develop and train you.” What does it mean? Train him like Arel? But what’s the point of making Kors mute? Fasten his tongue like the prince’s one? Kors hears everything and can carry on any conversation mentally. For Arel, probably, this torture was beneficial, forcing him to develop an internal dialogue. Arel was dumb and didn’t hear anything except the phrase: “I allow you to come.” The demon suffered with him and was forced to make him dumb. The lack of physical ability to pronounce words aloud involuntarily stimulated the prince to look for other ways of communication. Compensating for his dumbness, he developed.

But Kors doesn’t need it. He sees people’s lives, to say nothing of standard chatter. There is no point in developing it. What else? To be a slave like a prince? Sitting naked at the feet of his owner while he smokes and plays cards — is this development? Nik said, “I don’t like beating you,” and he usually expresses himself clearly. However, at the limit, he beat him up without the least effort. And what? Didn’t he like it? Doesn’t he want it? Doesn’t he love it? Well, but Prince Arel still loves it! I’m done! They will beat me like I beat them, “mirror”, as Nik says. What to do? What should I do? Call Zaf for help? After all, he hinted at it. How humiliating. Zaf said, “Don't be a hero.”

Kors felt scared.

Chapter 2

To top it all off, as if responding to Kors’ gloomy mood, the weather turned bad and it began to rain. At first small and barely drizzling, very quickly it turned into a deafening downpour, and the unclean ones decided to finally stop for a full-fledged halt. They began to put up tents for the night, but while this was happening, Kors managed to get wet through. He froze and no longer understood why he was shaking, from the cold or from fear. Wrapping himself as tightly as possible in a long cloak, he stood near his horse and waited impatiently for the unclean ones under Parky’s command to set up a tent. Kors had already forgotten the last time his tent was set up. During all the campaigns, he always lived with “his boys”, but this time he didn’t know what to do. Nik and Arel had gone far ahead and were lost in the rain and bustle of preparing for a halt. Where did he have to go? After all, he also had his own place to sleep. As always while waiting, Kors lit a cigarette nervously. Trying not to get his cigarette wet, he bowed his head hard, pulling his hood up as far as he could. And at that moment, in his mind, the order sounded very clearly: “Come here!” Kors flinched in surprise and immediately threw the half-smoked cigarette aside. Where was he supposed to go? He looked around nervously. Where in this confusion did he have to look for Nik? Kors nevertheless decided to go a little forward, in the direction where they had left earlier. He couldn’t ignore the order, he simply was not able to do it, to disobey. Even physically. His legs themselves carried him to no one knows where in the depths of the camp being set up. He barely had time to grab his horse by the bridle, leading him along. Not having made even a couple of dozen steps, Kors saw a dark figure, clearly heading towards him. Despite the fact that the walker was wrapped in a cloak, and his face was hidden by a low-pulled hood, Kors didn’t doubt who was in front of him. Such a proud posture of a born master could only belong to the prince. Arel approached. In the evening twilight and the veil of rain, his gray face looked absolutely inhuman. It was a dead mask. Beautiful and equally repulsive in its icy indifference.

“Follow me, you’re going to spend the night with us,” Arel told him without any intonation.

“But…” Kors glanced back at his nearly pitched tent in confusion, “but after what happened? Why?”

Arel shrugged his shoulders lazily.

“It doesn’t concern me, so said Nik,” and, turning away, he headed in the direction from which he came.

Kors waved his hand to Parky.

“As you were!”

Parky froze, poured with rain, then, it seemed, he understood the order and shouted to his soldiers:

“Stop it! Disassemble it back!”

And Kors hurried after Arel. “So, Nik sent the prince for me. Prince Arel running errands, like Valentine, it’s funny. Nik didn’t mentally indicate to me where to go, he preferred to send Arel after me. Why? However, what’s the difference.”

Kors obediently walked behind, thinking that Arel was no longer human. “Is this awaiting me too? The demon said: ‘I will develop and teach you.’ Develop and teach me to turn into this? In a creature without feelings and emotions, indifferent to all living things?”

They approached the already pitched tent. Arel let Kors go ahead and followed him himself. Kors heard the prince mentally briefly report: “I brought him.”

Nik was sitting at the table. He took off his cloak, but his face was still masked. Kors saw that Nik’s hair was tangled and uncombed, he didn’t do it without his father, and it was killing Kors, but he couldn’t tell him anymore.

“Take off your cloak,” Nik said, obviously addressing Kors, “water flows from you in a stream.”

Kors immediately took off his cloak and tried to carefully hang it at the entrance so as not to wet everything around.

“On your knees,” Nik ordered.

“Gods, what was I hoping for?!” flashed through Kors’ head. He silently knelt down. He ALREADY wanted to call Zaf.

Nik came over and handed Kors a towel.

“Wipe your face, it’s wet from the rain.”

Kors glanced at him quickly, trying to determine the mood, but what was the point? The mask reliably hid facial expressions, and black glass hid the expression of the eyes. Kors looked down, took the offered towel and dried himself with it.

“Raise your head,” Nik ordered again, “raise, throw back your face and close your eyes.”

Kors obeyed, suddenly feeling something sticky touch his eyes, pressed against his eyelids and skin. It was plaster!

“Aaah!”

“Don’t yell! It’s just plaster.”

“But why?” Kors shouted, clutching at his plastered eyes.

"I’m going to take off my mask,” Nik explained calmly, “you won’t see my human face again.”

“What?!”

“Now remember my black scaly face. Both me and Arel are no longer people for you.”

“A snake and a bat?” Kors chuckled, but his grin was unconvincing. Inside, he was frightened and disoriented by being blinded.

“Not a snake and not a bat, but okay, so be it,” Nik agreed, “you are approximately right.”

“But I’m the same as you!” Kors exclaimed desperately. “You said I had horns.”

“Yes.”

“So, it turns out, I’m a goat?!”

“A goat, a snake, and a bat,” Nik summed up, and Kors heard him and Arel laugh softly, “take off your wet clothes,” Nik ordered, and his voice became serious again, “it needs to be hung out to dry.”

“How can I hang my clothes to dry if I can’t see anything!” Kors was outraged.

“Ver will take care of your clothes.”

“Well, of course! He doesn’t understand anything! He will hang it too close to the fire. He will ruin expensive leather. My clothes require special care!”

Kors received a blow to the head, unexpected and so strong that he flew against the wall and fell on his side. He didn’t even understand who hit him, Nik or Arel, but it was very painful. There was ringing in his ears, and he just by some miracle didn’t lose consciousness.

“Please, don’t do it!” He shouted humiliated. Kors was afraid of them and knew that they felt his fear. “I’m worse than Adrian, I’m just as much of a coward!”

“Take off your wet clothes, Ver will take care of them,” Nick repeated without much intonation.

Kors wanted to think that Prince Arel had hit him after all, but he couldn’t know for sure, and their thoughts were hidden from him. He began to undress, afraid of getting another blow. Maybe you should have taken your clothes off faster?

Having completely undressed, he remained on his knees. They didn’t hurry him, didn’t hit him, and didn’t tell him anything. Kors heard Verniy approach him. He recognized him by his breath, by the way Ver sniffed like a dog, and now by the disgusting smell of a wet dog. Kors was cold, his skin was covered with goosebumps, he was shivering slightly, the air in the tent had not yet warmed up at all. “Gods, if only they didn’t leave me to sleep like this at the entrance, or at least give me some kind of skin, or rather a blanket.” He felt a chain being fastened to his golden collar. Nik did it, Kors was not mistaken, because Nik told him:

“Get on all fours and crawl after me,” and he pulled on the chain.

Kors slowly moved forward, afraid to hit the trestle bed or the table. Now he understood Nik very well with his poor eyesight and involuntarily thought: “Gods, how did he endure all this throughout his life?”

Stretching out his hand a little, Kors helplessly explored the space in front of him and stumbled upon a wooden leg.

“Lie down on the bed,” Nik said, “cover yourself, get warm, I don’t wish you harm.” There will be dinner soon.

“Thank you,” Kors barely whispered. Feeling the surface of the trestle bed with his hand, he got up from his knees and carefully lay down on it, wrapping himself in a blanket, feeling how big and soft it was. “It’s their duvet covered in gold satin and brocade! They slept under him in the palace of Ore Town. So, Nik ordered to pull an expensive thing out of the wagon, like this, right on the march, in the middle of the road? He ordered to cover a camp bed with a luxurious blanket? However, what was the difference now? The main thing was that it was warm. Kors covered even his head and lay there, trying to stop trembling and not think about anything, not analyze anything. Someday Nik will change his anger for mercy, Kors believed in it. In the end, Kors himself is to blame. He dimly heard their movements around the tent, but they said nothing.

“Vitor. Get up! Hold it, put it on.”

Nik pushed him in the chest with something soft, Kors realized that it was his white cambric shirt with layered lace on the collar and cuffs and a velvet camisole with gold embroidery on the lapels, his suede pants. All these things didn’t fit together, and moreover, wearing them now, in a camping tent, was absurd, but Kors didn’t object. Without saying a word, he put on what he was offered. He imagined how stupid he looked with plastered eyes, disheveled wet ponytail, chain hanging down from the collar, and at the same time in expensive lace. Nik gave him his most beautiful clothes, well, in Nik’s opinion, of course, but it was respectful, maybe… or vice versa, it was a mockery, Kors didn’t understand.

“Let’s go to the table,” Nik said and pulled the chain.

“Should I crawl on all fours again?” Kors said.

“No, just follow me carefully.”

On a chain, like a dog, making very small steps, Kors obediently followed Nik. Nik led him slowly, not hurrying, only guiding him with the tension of the chain.

Finally, touching the edge of the table with his slightly outstretched hand, Kors asked:

“Can I sit down?”

“Yes, of course,” Nik replied, “daddy, I’m not punishing you, understand it.”

And Kors heard him pull a chair close to him.

Kors sat down neatly, and Nik placed his hand on the wooden table top. Kors immediately stumbled upon the fork, felt the edge of the dinner bowl. By the sharp specific smell, he realized that there was lamb meat in the bowl. He had no appetite, and not even because the meat stank. During his time with the unclean ones, Kors has generally become accustomed to their dirty food. Pulling his fingers away sharply from the food, Kors continued to run his hand across the table more confidently, and, as he had hoped, found a goblet of wine on the side of the bowl.

It was better that way. He immediately took it, and, forgetting to ask Nik’s permission, took several large sips, almost draining it to the bottom.

“You need to eat,” Nik said.

“I can’t… a piece won’t go down my throat,” Kors justified himself, and he didn’t lie.

“No, that’s not good,” Nik disagreed, “you need to eat, daddy, I’ll feed you myself.”

“Nik…”

“From my hand, from my fingers, will you take food?”

“Nik…”

Kors felt a hot piece of meat touch his lips. Involuntarily, he tried to push it away from him. Trying to remove Nik’s hand from his face, he accidentally touched his wrist just below the bracelet. Now that all of Kors’ senses were sharpened to the limit, he very clearly felt the thin dent of the scar under his fingers. It was rope trace. Kors ruined his son’s wrists, constantly tying his hands tightly for the purpose of treatment and education, and, being carried away in the process, tightened it so that the rope literally dug into the skin. Tattoos, as always, helped to hide the abrasions, and Kors didn’t think about the consequences. He instantly remembered how Nik, in those moments when his hands were free, tried to rub his stiff fingers, grimacing from the pain of rubbing his wrists, on which deep grooves from the cord remained. And in the Ore Town, Kors tied his hands behind his back with a thin iron wire. What has he done! Now the same marks on his hands were waiting for him, Kors no longer doubted it. And yet, without knowing why, he was sure that after dinner Arel would fuck him, or he would suck him off. Nik was cunning, daddy Kors was punished. But for how long?

“Eat!” Nik hurried, pressing the piece of meat to his lips again.

And Kors doomedly parted his lips. The piece of lamb was small but very hot, burning the palate and tongue. Opening his mouth, Kors took a deep breath, trying to cool his food:

“Hot!”

“Forgive me, hold it, drink it,” Nik lightly pushed him with a goblet in the chest. Kors seized the goblet and drank the contents frantically.

“Another bite,” Nik touched his lips again, and Kors dutifully took the meat from his fingers.

On the fourth or fifth piece of lamb he pleaded:

“Nik, please! I can’t take it anymore! It makes me sick, I feel nausea.”

“Okay, I won’t do it anymore,” Nik said to Kors’ delight, “I have poured you more wine.”

Kors drank it.

“Daddy, would you like an injection?”

“N-no-no, thank you, please don’t! I'm fine.”

“Okay. Then go back to bed. And try to sleep.”

Kors groped his way back to the trestle bed, took off his camisole and shirt.

So far, they didn’t bother him. He warmed up under the covers, and the wine he drank made itself felt, giving some peace of mind.

Suddenly, Kors heard Nik make a strange sound. He seemed to sob, groaning softly, as if in pain, and his quiet moan turned into an equally quiet hissing.

“Ver!” He called loudly, and, apparently, having remembered himself, he added already in his mind, “Bring me this damn plaster and cotton wool,” and then again cursed out loud in unclean language.

“Nik! What happened to you?!” Kors shouted excitedly. Jumping up abruptly, he sat down on the couch.

“What’s the difference to you?” Nik answered coldly. “After all, I’m a piece of shit in a dirty candy wrapper.”

Kors froze ashamed:

“Why do you need cotton wool and plaster? Doctor Cassiel warned that when the poison finally begins to leave your scar, inflammation may begin. In recent days, the skin around was very reddened, did the inflammation intensify from shaking on the road? Yes? Just don’t put the steel brackets in again, I beg you!”

“That’s not your business! I will do what I want!”

“Nik, please! You are offended and angry with me, I understand, but be reasonable.”

“Don’t call me Nik again! For you, I’m Nikto! And I’m not offended and not angry with you, daddy master!”

Kors was well aware that Nik was mocking him, calling him daddy, but he didn’t want to give up so easily:

“No, no. Nik, please! I never really got mad at you. Were you listening to my thoughts on the road? My memories of you?”

“It was hard not to hear you jerk off incessantly to my human appearance in your head.”

“No! I didn’t jerk off… you have misunderstood…” Kors heard Verniy run into the tent. Nik began to mentally communicate with him and was distracted from the conversation with Kors. It pissed him off. “Nik, I was wrong, I admit it…”

“Fuck off and shut up now,” Nik hissed softly again. Kors suggested that he applied cotton soaked in a healing agent to an inflamed scar.

“Son, it’s my fault, I thoughtlessly started treatment and irritated your old wound. Let me help you,” pleaded Kors, he was madly worried that the Demon would completely disfigure the face of his son.

“No!”

And Kors couldn’t resist:

“You're ruining everything now! You won’t be able to apply the medicine properly! You don’t know how to do it! Stubborn idiot!”

“Ah, look, you washed me again and didn’t dry me! But I’m not going to sit and cry anymore after you yelled at me! Mister daddy, shut up, I said, otherwise now I’ll put a plaster on your mouth, and not just on your eyes! And if you want, I’ll fasten it with a steel bracket so that you will completely shut up!”

Kors froze and fell silent. He was very worried that Nik would spoil all the treatment without supervision now.

Nik walked over to him.

“Don’t talk to me. I forbid you to talk, you understand? Everything you wanted, you already told me in the Fort.”

Kors remained silent, not knowing what to do, whether he could answer or not. But he involuntarily mentally said: “Son, what’s wrong with your face?”

Despite the prohibition, Kors didn’t dare to call him Nikto.

“What’s wrong with my face? Nothing. It’s covered in black scales, you know,” Nik answered aloud. “Don’t address me mentally! And now I will touch you with my nasty paws, and you will wet your pants from fear, right, daddy?”

Kors grabbed his head.

“Forgive me, forgive me. I will try to accept your essence and this image of you, in our world you are in merger with my son, and…”

He “heard” how Nik abruptly closed his thoughts from him, as if loudly slamming the door, and moved away from him:

“Sleep!”

Chapter 3

Skid Row — Wasted Time

Kors is locked up again in some empty and dark cell with no windows. Is this a dream? Or is he “catching” Nik’s memories again? Kors has already understood that as soon as dark holes, low ceilings, cells, basements, unpleasant sensations of tightness in a closed space and darkness appeared in his visions, these were the memories of his son.

Darkness and limited space. Kors is no longer afraid, he doesn’t experience panic attacks and claustrophobia any more. He separates from Nik’s consciousness, in which there is emptiness and no thoughts and emotions, as if he is dead. Kors separates because he wants to see him from the side. There is no light source here, but Kors “sees” anyway. Nik is so small! Shit! Kors, as always, falls into Nik’s childhood memories.

He is too small, he is probably not yet five years old. Maybe a little more, but even for five years he looks small and thin, and the expression on his face is so serious and adult, not at all childish. Cheekbones are clearly distinguished on a thin face, there is no roundness and plump cheeks that are often inherent in babies. Pale face with harmonious features. Nik is very handsome, despite the fact that his face is grimy, as if smeared with earth, and his lower lip has already been ruined, rings stick out of it. His lips are black, also in soil. Did he eat soil? Nik’s hair is not cut or combed, it’s tangled and dirty, however, as always. His crown is also dirty with soil. He is badly dressed. He is wearing a short jacket and torn pants. This is frank rags, so old that it seems decayed. Nik is sitting on the bare dirt floor in this crypt-like closet where there is nothing else but him. He sits alone, dirty, covered in soil, thin, lonely. Kors involuntarily remembered Shagezh’s childhood memories. Zaf also always kept him in a closet. What kind of wild methods of upbringing do you unclean ones have?

Or do you only treat the “wrong” children this way? Like Shag and Nik? Nik’s hands are tied wrist to wrist. His hands are brought together, palm to palm, he somehow strangely presses them to his chest, and then the rope goes to the ring in the wall. Why did the witch tie a small child in a dark room alone? Why did she tie his hands together? “She didn’t treat you that well, Nik!” — Kors thinks bitterly. But his son never said a bad word about her, and always called her “my foster mother”, or simply mother. He didn’t say “witch”, didn’t call her by name, he said — my mother. And Kors sees now that Mara clearly didn’t deserve this title.

Nik shudders a little, as if he is listening carefully to something, but total silence reigns around. Shaking his head slightly, he removes his hands from his chest and suddenly begins to scrape the dirt floor. The floor is hard, but Nik must have had enough time, because the hole he scratched in the floor is quite deep. He slowly and somehow mechanically stupidly scratches the ground with his nails. There is neither a mug of water nor a bowl of food nearby. Maybe the poor boy really its soil. Nik scratches, scrapes the ground, and, as if angry, in some desperation raises his hands tied at the wrists, clenches his fists and nervously taps them on the top of his head. How familiar is this movement to Kors! Son, why are you digging the soil? Are you trying to dig a tunnel? To dig your way to freedom? Kors is overwhelmed with emotions of love for Nik and resentment for the witch. How could she treat his son like that! Animals are better treated, and he was a child! Kors’s heart is filled with such pain that he can no longer look at this simple and at the same time unbearable picture.

“Gods, son! Son!” he screams in some kind of frenzy and sees that Nik is shuddering, raising his pale face, his empty eyes staring into nowhere. His lips move barely perceptibly, not a sound comes out of them, but in Kors’ head it clearly flashes: “Father?” It's like Nik is putting it right into his brain, without using his voice or language. Only emotions. Again and again, with such surprise, he seems to ask: “Father? Father?!"

Kors freezes in surprise, emotions overwhelm him, and he begins to “fall out” of the past. The picture gets blurred, but he still manages to hear a sharp cry: “Dad, don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!"

And Kors falls out of his strange state. He wakes up, realizing that he is lying on a camp bed in a tent, but in his head, full of despair, it still continues to sound:

“Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave…”

No, it couldn’t happen! It just couldn’t happen! Nik couldn’t feel him there at that moment and hear him, because Kors was just seeing through t the past. And the witch couldn’t treat his son so badly, she needed the child. She herself bought him for the Demon to share his body. So it’s not even the past, but a bad dream. It’s just a nightmare. Just a bad dream! Bad. Dream. Forget it!

What time is it now? His eyes were still tightly covered with plaster. But usually Kors always woke up early, only recently in the Fort his unchanging schedule has gone astray. It probably isn’t even nine in the morning yet, thought Kors. He heard the pounding of rain on the roof. So it hasn’t stopped raining yet, it’s been raining all night? Behind him lay Arel. Kors had no doubt that it was him. The prince was lying very close, clinging tightly and, as usual, placing his relaxed and therefore heavy arm on Kors. He pressed his face against the back of Kors’ head, and he felt his warm, measured breath on his hair. Kors didn’t remember how he fell asleep, didn’t remember when Arel lay down next to him. Most likely, Nik, using his power, put Kors to sleep, just knocked him out, and Kors was offended by this. “Why, like this, without asking, against will, put a person to sleep? Without asking even my desire? He treats me like a thing!” Discontent and irritation were rising in him more and more, and his mood was shitty since the very morning. He was unbearably infuriated by the plaster on his eyes, the sticky layer was pulling his skin, and in general, waking up in the morning, he just wanted to open his eyes, rub them, but Kors couldn’t do this. The way Nik had treated him yesterday was terribly upsetting now, too. Not only did he make him humbly kneel at the threshold, shivering from the cold, but he also blinded him. “I don’t want you to see my face! You won’t see my human face again!” What a crazy idea? Another stupidity in which there is no point, except for humiliation. Senseless humiliation. However, this is absolutely in their style — to humiliate for no reason and cruelly, always the same thing, nothing new. Lis has to be painted like a jester, I have to be blinded. And Nik does this not for the first time, Kors remembered how for several days he was forced to wear uncomfortable shameful glasses in which nothing was visible, and now even worse, Nik just plastered his eyes over. Silly games of an eccentric, cruel boy. “I don’t punish you, daddy.” Hypocritical rubbish, what else are you doing! You allowed me to be beaten! Kors preferred to believe that it was not Nik himself who hit him, but the prince. And then he simply ordered “sleep” and knocked him out.

Kors felt heat from Arel lying next to him. Their camp bed was not wide at all, it was uncomfortable to sleep on it together even in an embrace, and the heavy brocade blanket with which they were covered with their heads now also was annoying Kors. Under it, together with Arel, it was stuffy and hot. Stuffy, hot and cramped. Kors rather rudely threw off the prince’s arm and sat down. Getting out from under the warmth of the blanket and Arel, he immediately felt the damp coolness of moist air. Down below, a draft blew across the wooden flooring, chilling his bare feet uncomfortably. There was a strong smell of tobacco, yesterday’s lamb, sweat from clothes and unwashed bodies, but the smell of cigarette smoke still reigned over all the rest.

“Nik…” Kors called, but immediately stopped short. “Nikto! Son!” He added cautiously. “Can I address you? I really have to!”

“Hmmm…” Apparently, Nik was lying very close, from the side of Prince Arel, and, it seemed, right on the floor:

“What do you want? Oh-h…”

“What time is it now?” Kors asked.

“What?”

“ Do you know what time it is?”

“I have no idea, what?” Nik asked with a yawn.

“Are you asking me?! How would I know if I can’t see anything?” Kors was outraged. Yes, talking to Nik in the morning was a pointless exercise, however, as at almost any other time.

Nik yawned again and didn’t answer.

“Can I peel off the plaster?” Kors asked after a while, realizing that Nik had no intention of continuing the conversation at all.

“Eh? No.”

Kors barely suppressed the uncontrollable wave of anger that swept over him. His fingers clenched nervously into fists.

“No,” repeated Nick, “I’ll do it myself.”

“Then do it…” and Kors, thinking again for a moment, added: “Please.”

“A little bit later. Get away from me, let me sleep! What keeps you up this early?”

“I’m begging you, stop scoffing! Peel it off.”

“I’m not kidding, I want to sleep, do you need it right now?”

“But I can’t see anything!”

“Why do you need to see something now? Sleep, that’s all!”

“I need to step aside to relieve myself!”

“Take a bottle there, Arel left some yesterday…”

“Are you kidding?”

But Nik didn’t answer him anymore.

Continuing to writhe inside with rage, Kors rummaged around near their trestle bed and immediately stumbled upon several empty wine bottles lying there. “Just wonderful!” But what to do, need makes the old wife trot. Standing up and holding a bottle in one hand, with the other hand he pulled his cock out of his pants, and, pressing his head strongly against the neck, he nevertheless managed to relieve himself. As soon as he put the filled bottle aside, he felt Arel’s hands on his belt. He pulled his thin and soft suede pants even lower from his hips and at the same time persistently pulled Kors back onto the trestle bed, forcing him to sit down. Arel didn’t turn him around, releasing his waist, and pressed on his shoulders. Kors lay on his side with his back to the prince. They huddled together like folded spoons in a drawer. Kors felt a hot and hard cock resting against his sacrum. “Well, of course, come on, Arel! Calm your morning boner against me.”

Arel confidently continued to pull off his pants. Kors wasn’t helping him. The prince completely pulled off only one trouser leg from one of his legs. Satisfied with this, he slightly lifted his now bare leg up. Kors felt his fingers, they were wet, Arel drooled on them, they felt and parted his sphincter, then a few pushes followed. Kors just lay there, not fucking back, but he was pleased, he felt somehow comfortable, at home. Arel covered them both with a blanket over their heads and slowly pushed into Kors, hugging him tightly and breathing in his ear. In this warm cocoon of a blanket, they softly fumbled, closely clinging to each other, as in a mink, and Arel, slightly hanging over him, tickled his cheek with his hair. The prince was so strong, firm, young. Kors squeezed his cock with his hand: “A-ah…” Arel increased the pace of his thrusts, and, to Kors’ pleasure, he moaned absolutely sincerely, throwing back the blanket that covered them, tearing their sticky bodies out of the warm, but cramped and airless space into the damp and cold world filled with humid air. Kors pushed back and met him, answering, receiving the thrusts already not so inertly. Arel appreciated this, he accelerated, and his breathing became deeper. They either strayed from the pace set by Arel, starting to move at random, then they again felt for synchronism, lost it and caught it again…

“Should I leave for you?” Without stopping, Arel asked hoarsely, clearly addressing Nik. Kors understood what he meant — he asked him whether he could come inside Kors or pull out in advance, leaving him not so wet for Nik.

“I’m not your cigarette!” Kors shouted indignantly, instantly losing his mood and hearing how the prince sharply pulled out of him, sprinkled next to him, a little on his thigh and probably on a brocade blanket. He “left”, that’s how it was called.

Nik approached them. Hearing the creaking of the floorboards, Kors jerked himself up on the bed and stubbornly repeated:

“I’m not a cigarette to leave me to each other! I. Am. Not. A. Cigarette!”

“Yes?” Nik asked, as if a little surprised, and pulled Kors by the chain dangling from his collar. “And it didn’t bother you before. Even if we… mmm… smoked you alone for two or at the same time.”

“You loved me then, but now you humiliate me!”

“It seems to you,” said Nik, and Kors felt him pulling him by the chain harder, forcing him to lean forward a little, touching his face and ripping off the plaster with a sharp jerk.

“Oh!” Kors covered his eyes with his palms. “You could be more careful! Not only you have eyelashes!”

He looked up, and when he saw Nik, he literally froze in shock. Nik was not wearing a mask, but his face was tightly bandaged with wide strips of black cloth. He wrapped his head in the same way as Kors once wrapped it, with the only difference that Nik left a narrow gap for himself at eye level, and he also cut the fabric at mouth level, just as Kors did. He looked with horror at the shiny ring sticking out from under the strips of fabric under his nose, at the wrapped chin and the top of his head, on which white hair stood up a little between the bandages. Nik wrapped himself around both the way Kors wrapped him and the way Doctor Cassiel had done in Prince Arel’s estate. The side of Nik’s neck was plastered over.

Kors swallowed hard, clutching his throat, unable to utter a word. Nik was almost no different from Valentine now. He looked frankly bad and pathetic. Nik unfastened the chain from Kors’ collar and walked away, returning to his couch of skins, laid right on the floor. He obviously didn’t intend to fuck.

Kors, still silently, looked at him. He saw how hard Nik was making his steps, how he barely hobbled to the skins and sank heavily on them. Realizing that he was no longer going to be used, Kors hurriedly pulled on the trouser leg he had taken off from one leg, pulling up his trousers and buttoning his fly.

“Son… what’s the matter with you?” The way Nik looked was depressing. He seemed to break, in an instant, overnight. Kors was discouraged. And this strange dream!

“Nothing,” Nik said. Head low, he rummaged through his bag, and Kors knew what he was looking for there.

“You look terrible. Why did you bandage your face like that?” he asked.

“Well, how? That’s what you did when you treated me.”

“But I…” Kors stammered, he couldn’t tell him now: “But I didn’t really treat you, and there wasn’t a need for such treatment, I just satisfied my vicious fantasies with you a little.” Does Nik really think this is how he should have been treated? Is he so naive that he didn’t understand that Kors wasn’t healing as much as actually playing with him? Limiting him, reveling in his power. Did Nick take everything in good faith? Did he trust Kors? And so, left alone, he repeated the treatment exactly, not realizing what could be done differently? No-o-o! It can’t be! Well, the Demon can’t be so stupid, Kors won’t believe it anymore! Or could it be so? And Nik doesn’t know how to do it in another way, he only knows what his father showed him? Kors tried to quickly analyze the situation logically. Previously, this always helped him in his professional activities. Everything had to be sorted out.

First, his son is in symbiosis with a demonic essence, and this symbiosis is broken and doesn’t bring any benefit to either one or the other. They can harm each other.

Secondly, his son is a man undeveloped and naive, and really may not understand anything in the treatment.

Thirdly, it was forbidden to the Demon to heal and restore the human body of its owner, this is part of the punishment, and Kors understood this. But the Demon could accept treatment from others if they themselves offered. And Kors offered it to him, and the Demon accepted it.

Now he treats himself. But he repeats the actions of Kors and Cassiel! Can he repeat the way others treated him? Reflect their actions? Not anything more?

And Nik trusted Kors. He believed in his authority and accepted treatment from him. And here is the result of the irresponsible actions of Kors! Now Nik is treating himself wrong!

“Son, let me do everything differently now!” Kors exclaimed ardently, overshadowed by his conclusions. “Let me see what’s wrong with you, and now I’ll do everything right. I will choose the right treatment, and then you yourself will repeat after me, as needed, and not as it is now. Let’s fix it, make everything right.”

“I can handle it myself,” Nik answered indifferently, without even looking at his father, and pulled out his black box from his bag.

“Let me order to call Doctor Cassiel…”

Nik just chuckled and shook his head.

“He won’t come.”

“He will!”

“They are three days ahead from us, people have gone far ahead,” Nik opened the box and took out a small metal cylinder from it. Smooth, it gleamed silver in his black fingers, and Kors knew full well what Nik kept in that case.

“He’ll come!”

“No, he won’t. In the Fort, he still tolerated you, but now he is not at all obliged to go to the camp of the unclean ones on the orders of the disgraced black to treat his lover,” Nik unscrewed the lid of the protective case and carefully took out his syringe from it, attached the needle to it.

Kors clenched his teeth.

“I’ll go after him myself and drag him here by force!”

“Zagpeace will quickly put you in a cage there. You’re not going anywhere, and I don’t need any doctor,” leaning heavily towards the box, Nik slightly rattled the bottles of drugs, sorting through them.

“I…”

Nik raised his voice.

“Calm down!”

Kors froze: “I can’t show that I’m afraid.”

Frustratedly turning away from Nik, he took off his cambric shirt and elegant doublet from the back of the chair — the things that Nik had given him yesterday in exchange for wet clothes. Well, what else was left for him? It was cool in the tent, and there were no other clothes nearby. Having dressed, Kors approached the table. The dirty countertop was covered with spilled wine, there were unwashed plates with the remains of meat, pieces of bread were scattered on the table, the ashtray was full of cigarette butts. Kors took the jug and, bringing it up to his nose, sniffed its contents. Again wine, as in a couple of unfinished bottles, and as in a goblet. Well, what a morning! All was going wrong! Kors slammed his goblet on the table with an already barely concealed irritation.

And Nik, who was concentrating on filling the syringe with the drug from the bottle, involuntarily shuddered and turned to him:

“What are you looking for?”

“Water!”

“What?”

“Just water. I’m thirsty, my throat is dry.”

“Have some wine.”

“I don’t want wine!”

“Vitor, stop your whims.”

“I just want to drink a couple of sips of clean water, do you think this is a whim?”

Nik somehow wearily sighed, but didn’t answer. Kors realized that he was mentally calling his Verniy, because very soon he stumbled into their tent. His cloack was wet as the rain still hadn’t stopped. The dog’s head was covered by a helmet. Ver didn’t take it off, he stopped at the threshold. Kors saw his bestial eyes gleam in the narrow slits of his helmet.

“Ver, Vitor needs water,” Nik said without even looking at his unclean habir. He turned his hand palm up, and seemed to carefully examine the inside of the wrist.

The dog turned to Kors.

“What kind of water do you need, sir? Should I bring a bucket of water for you to wash up?”

“Is there any drinking water?” Kors asked.

“I haven’t gone to the spring yet. But the buckets have stood in the rain all night, they are full. Can you bring rain water? She is clean.

“Pour it into the kettle and boil it properly,” Kors ordered, “I won’t drink raw water from a dirty bucket!”

“Okay, sir,” and Ver turned around and left.

“Though I can wash myself, too,” Kors muttered. His mood didn’t improve, and he thought he could still smell the scent of Arel’s body on his skin. The smell left over from the prince’s strong embrace and his hands. It remained on Kors’ body, on his back, his shoulders, his chest. Everywhere that Arel had touched him. Kors looked at Arel. He was half lying relaxed on the trestle bed, the golden blanket almost sliding down to the floor, exposing his muscular torso, his oblique abdominal muscles, and part of his thighs. The prince had another bottle in his hands, and he took a sip from it.

“Arel, don’t mix up the bottles,” said Kors, “I put that one away, of course…”

“Very funny,” he snorted indifferently, and lazily tousled a long lock of his smooth dark brown hair back out of his face.

“Well, I’m just not sure you’d know the difference, it’s just habit, you know…”

But Arel only smirked indulgently with his lips covered with a thick layer of black dye, glinting in contrast with the white jagged edge of a chipped front tooth. He took another sip from the bottle and gave an audible burp, unresponsive to Kors’ jabs, but still as gorgeous and uncommonly attractive as ever.

Kors shook his head judgingly, but habitually:

“A descendant of royalty, indeed.”

He involuntarily continued to admire Arel, knowing that he didn’t give a damn about the impression he was making on those around him.

Kors glanced at Nik. Strongly tightening his forearm with a black cord, he somehow miraculously found a living vein on his arm and managed to inject himself, injecting the drug just below the elbow bend.

“Nik, maybe you can lie down with Arel, cover yourself with a blanket?” Kors suggested. “It’s cold on the floor, I feel it with my feet.”

“I don’t feel cold. I’m not cold,” Nik said. Kors called him Nik, but he didn’t correct him.

“Just because you don’t feel cold it doesn’t mean you have to lie in a draft.”

“I don't feel cold,” Nik repeated, leaning toward his box again.

So he took care of his slaves in their still human bodies, put them gently on the bed and covered them to keep them warm, but he didn’t care about his own body, just lay down on the floor, on the skins.

“Why don’t you feel the cold? You’re human, but you can lie down in the snow, can’t you?” Kors didn’t understand that.

“Yes, I can. A lot of people are used to the cold. It’s a habit,” Nick said faintly, but he did.

Kors watched him sit on the hide, with his head bandaged and his hair tangled, sticking out from under the bandages. Kors watched as he put something back into the syringe. One of his thick white braids, which Kors had so lovingly braided, was now disheveled and sticking out from under the top layer of shorter hair. It was disheveled, and the tip lay on the dirty floorboards. Playing with Nik and decorating him to his liking, Kors had begun to braid the bottom layer of his hair back in Ore Town. He remembered that this was how Nik’s hair had been braided the first time he was brought in for questioning. The bottom layer of his hair had been braided into four braids, one of which was very short, cut by Arel. Kors had ordered Nik to unbraid his hair then, to show him off at the Spring Ball in all his glory, but later he began to braid him himself, fixing his hair beautifully with bobby pins and, in addition, to keep it tousled longer, he bound it tightly with long thin cords adorned with faceted black and turquoise beads. It was probably wrong, too — beads were usually used by girls to decorate their braids — but Nik looked so much like a girl, so delicate and sweet, and Kors liked it when he was neatly combed and tidy. Later he would braid Nik’s hair in the Fort as well, thus trying to pass the time and do something to occupy himself without taking a restorative or drinking too much. Nik never even looked at what he was braiding into his hair, how he was decorating it. He always sat there obediently, not moving, like a doll, and he never minded Kors, letting him braid his hair, put as many different colored beads in it as he wanted, pin it with different pins. Even now he hadn’t taken them off; his hair had just come undone, unraveled, and was now touching the floor. And Nik didn’t pay any attention to it, didn’t take care of himself, didn’t take care of his beautiful hair.

“What are you wearing?!”

Kors saw that Nik was wearing the clothes of the unclean ones again. His leather trousers were visibly frayed at the knees, on the outer sides there was a wide strip of lacing, it seemed, in three rows, one to the other, and maybe more, with some complex intricacies of the unclean ones. Probably, it could have been beautiful once upon a time… but now it was torn, tied somehow into sloppy knots with protruding dangling ends. Moreover, the trousers were sewn over the edge in some places. Kors saw a rough seam under the knee. On the thigh, a torn flap was roughly fixed by lacing, so that the hole was still visible, and through it and loose lacing, Nik’s tattooed thigh was visible, and also it could be seen that he was again without underwear. A short vest was put on his naked body, barely reaching the waist; it didn’t cover his sunken stomach. In general, it was not clear from what pieces it was sewn, on the shoulders there was the shabby fur of some animal, which apparently died at the dawn of time, it was slightly puffed up. Boots were lying nearby, again boots of the unclean ones, with heavy soles and a blunt cape, adorned with a million iron buckles and clasps to the very top.

Kors couldn’t resist:

“What kind of tattered stuff are you wearing? Did Valentine sleep on it at the doorstep? It’s just that you wouldn’t give such shit to your beloved Verniy.”

“These are my clothes.”

“No, Nik, these rags can’t be called clothes. What is that shabby fur on your shoulders?”

“This is my blouse!”

“Is it knitted?”

“Kiss my ass!”

“Nik, this is the edge, don’t wear it ever again. I gave you good clothes! Or do you now refuse to wear them?”

“No, I don’t refuse. Not only your clothes got wet,” oddly enough, but Nik tried to explain.

He carefully peeled the band-aid from his neck, slightly touching the indentation from the healed “well” with his fingertips, and put the needle of the refilled syringe under the hoop of the golden collar.

Kors turned away.

“Nik, let me help you with your treatment,” he said a little later, waiting for a moment.

“I'm fine.”

“Are you taking the medicines I gave you, the ones the doctor gave you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you still have any left?”

“I have.”

“Do you remember that they need to be taken regularly at the same time?”

“I remember.”

“I still have some left to share with you?”

“I told you, I still have some!”

“Can you show me your face?”

“What? No!”

“Show me what’s wrong with your scar!”

“Nothing.”

“What happened to your face?!” Kors couldn’t hide his excitement.

“I said nothing!”

“Is the scar inflamed? Yes? What’s happening? You bandaged your face too much. What’s up with your scar?”

“Nothing.”

“But you bandaged your face for some reason!”

“I got a tattoo on it, okay? Is that all?”

“What?!” Kors froze, shaking his head. “No, no, this is stupidity. Are you kidding? You’re lying? Is this a stupid joke? Don’t joke like that, I’ve always said that humor is not for you!”

“Leave me alone!”

But Kors couldn’t stand it:

“I can’t take it anymore! My strength is gone! I’ll break all your needles! I’ll pour out all your colors! Do whatever you want with me! Blind, humiliate, beat me, I will endure everything, but I will deprive you of the opportunity to disfigure this body, at least now, while we are on the road!”

“I can do it with my own syringe if I want to. Soot, urine and a needle from a syringe — that’s all, I don’t need anything else,” Nik answered calmly, not reacting in any way to the fact that Kors switched to screaming.

“No! You can’t lie, I’m about to die! Be honest! I can’t stand it if you get more tattoos! I still can’t come to terms and accept that your face has a brand on it, like cattle!”

“Yes…”

“People write with ink on paper, and not on the forehead, it would be better to learn this!”

“I can write on paper!”

“Yes?”

“Yes!”

“I didn’t notice that you wrote at least something at least once on one piece of paper during this time!”

“It’s just that you never asked me to write. I can write!”

“Come on, write then!”

“Now I won’t write anything for you!”

“You only know how to write on your forehead! Admit it, you can’t lie to me, were you joking about the tattoo?”

“Yes, I was joking,” Nik agreed.

Kors breathed a sigh of relief.

“Don’t joke like that anymore, it’s stupid. Poison began to come out of your scar, as Cassiel had warned? Answer me!”

“It constantly flows from it,” Nik reluctantly answered him and bent to his leg, slightly lifting up his trouser leg.

“Oh,” barely calming down that Nik was joking about the tattoo, Kors got nervous again, “what is flowing out?”

Nik didn’t answer, carefully examining his leg.

And even now, in spite of everything, Kors wanted to educate him, give Nik a good beating and properly punish him for all the nonsense that he had done. For the fact that he never really obeyed, stubbornly doing everything as he liked. For blinding him yesterday and letting him be hit. And for the way he looked now: sloppy, dirty, dressed in God knows what. Ill, with a bandaged face, but at the same time stubbornly continuing to stick to his line. He jokes stupidly, knowing that he will cause a surge of emotions in Kors with just the word “face — tattoo.” He sniffs with his ringed nose and constantly brings his hand to it, touching and tugging at it.

Ignoring Kors and apparently not listening to his emotions and thoughts about himself, Nik tried to put the needle to his leg. Kors looked at his black tattooed skin and the wide black band of the “bracelet” that went around his ankle just above his foot. The shameful slave stripe was clearly visible and stood out, even though the patterns of other tattoos. Something like sharp teeth was closely adjacent to it. Teeth on the leg, well, only Nik could do such a thing, Kors was no longer surprised. To destroy himself every second was an irresistible craving for his son and the Demon. Slightly turning his foot to the side, Nik injected the drug into the inside of the leg just above the ankle.

“What is the number of injection you have already given yourself?” Kors asked. The way with which maniacal persistence and without respite Nik poured substances into himself began to frighten Kors.

Silence. He was stoned. Already in the morning. How to make him obey? Unfortunately, no way.

“Do you want to overdose again?”

“No,” Nik slightly shook his head in a negative gesture and lay on his back, “I also need water, only another, not rain.”

“Again?!”

“What do you mean again?”

“Didn’t you say you injected it in your Limit?”

“So what? How much time has passed?”

“No, it will never end!”

“It will end. Soon the body will stop rising.”

“I won't survive if you die!”

“I have been dead for a long time.”

“Nik! Why are you making me emotional?! You endlessly take emotions out of me! Stop eating me!”

Nik lay motionless, his good leg bent at the knee and his bandaged head slightly thrown back, a tousled braid with beads woven into it sweeping the floor beside him. He didn’t answer Kors, as if he didn’t hear him.

Without thinking, in some kind of frenzy, Kors rushed to him, and, grabbing his forearm, jerked him up from the skins. Nik quickly glared at him from the gap between the bandages, but said nothing, remained seated. But that look… Kors’ insides went cold.

“Don’t touch,” said Nik very calmly, and this made his voice sound even more terrible.

“I’m sorry…” Kors whispered, but immediately shouted again in despair:

“How long are you going to torment me, Black Demon?! Seeing how you destroy this body, I am dying together with you!”

“Go away, I won’t touch you, you yourself are rubbing the skin around me!”

“What?”

“You come to me. Why are you here? Do you understand what you are doing now?”

“Yeah, damn it, I can’t get off! Knowing what kind of rubbish you are, I still can’t! You tied me well! Insatiable fucked up rubbish!”

“Go away,” Nik said.

“But you’re sick!" Let me help you!”

“I am the Demon that eats you and torments you, who took away all the people close to you and ruined your life, whom are you going to help?!”

“My son.”

“Your son? A lame fool with a shameful… brand on his face? He doesn’t deserve you. Get out!”

“But where should I go?”

“Wherever you want!”

“Are you letting me go?” Kors didn’t believe it.

“No. I won’t let you really go, don’t hope. Just get out now, otherwise I’ll beat you, I’ll just kill you! Don’t you believe me?”

“You said that you didn’t stop loving me, despite my imperious character, and now it means that you still stopped loving me? Don’t you love me anymore?”

“What the difference?”

“If you reflect my feelings, hear how you torment me. You’re torturing me!”

“Do you think you’re suffering? Am I torturing you? Well, then you still have a lot of surprises waiting for you! And now get out!”

Nik suddenly began to wheeze in a strange way, as if he was choking, and made a sharp movement of his head, as if he was about to vomit, grabbing his throat. Kors watched in horror.

“Get out and don’t show up until I call you!” Nik croaked.

“You’re Chasing me like a dog?”

“Don’t provoke me!”

“I don’t give a fuck! My son lives in you! You are in symbiosis with a human, and you are half a man, you feel bad! What’s wrong with you now?!”

Nik jerked sharply again, holding his throat, as if he was trying to expel something from himself, one, two, three times. Kors remembered too well how sick and nauseous he himself once was.

“Nik, you have overdosed! Damned addict!”

Nik fell back, covering his face with his hands.

Kors was shaking:

“Nik, you’re being mean to me because you’re essentially a child! You have not developed as a person and personality! I have seen you! I have seen how your so-called mother treated you! Little lonely abandoned boy! Nobody needs an orphan, defenseless from the cruelty of adults and their arbitrariness. Dependent on them in his childish weakness. This creature tortured you! Kept you in some kind of closet, as if in a grave!”

“A-a-a-ah…”

“I’m really sorry! You began to take drugs and alcohol in order to forget about the dislike and indifference of others. You never found a core inside yourself, you didn’t even learn how to comb your hair! You are a lost man of the social bottom, and you will never be able to rise to a normal society without support! Drugs, alcohol, promiscuity, perversions, cruelty, lack of honor and dignity…”

“Stop doing that!” Nik literally howled and covered his ears with his hands hidden bybandages.

“Look at yourself! Who do you look like? Who have you become? You stopped listening to me and instantly rolled back into the pit. Without my support, attention and education, you immediately sank down and gave up. Not a couple of weeks have passed since our quarrel, and you again rolled back to where I pulled you from! Instead of stupidly devouring me, evoking emotions and feeding on them and on my blood, you should have obeyed me! A bad demonic essence merging with an equally bad human, why don’t you listen to your father? If you listened to me, everything would be fine!”

“Leave.”

“Okay, I’ll leave, but you know…”

“Get out already, fuck you!” yelled Nik, and, abruptly sitting on the skins, he threw one of his heavy unclean boots in Kors.

Kors barely dodged, rushing out the door.

He was very offended.

Chapter 4

Trembling with resentment and anger, Kors was standing at the threshold of their camping tent in the drizzling rain. In lace and a half-buttoned luxurious camisole, decorated with buttons with precious stones and gold embroidery on the lapels, in pants made of expensive suede leather, and at the same time barefoot. He looked down at his feet. A true black, noble gentleman, the elite of the World without a sky, standing barefoot in the mud, in a rain puddle. Kors didn’t remember at all when the last time he walked the earth barefoot, probably, it was in his long forgotten childhood. And now he was in complete shock. He was simply kicked him out, barefoot, in the rain, in the mud, not really dressed, and dressed not at all according to the situation. Nik kicked him out like a dog! He doesn’t listen to anything! He threatened to kill Kors! And where should he go now? But he won’t come back, if so! To ask to be taken back, to ask for forgiveness, to crawl on his knees again — no!

Barely overcoming disgust, Kors cautiously stepped into the liquid mud, mixed with hay and dung. Afraid of injuring his feet on some loose horseshoe nail or broken bottle, he took a few steps forward. The edges of his trouser legs were already wet and dirty. Probably, it was necessary to immediately pull them up or roll them up, but then he would look even stupider. Where’s his damn horse, fucking Grrkh? Kors called out to him loudly, immediately hearing a whinny in response from quite a distance away. He quickly passed several low tents. Smoke curled over them, for sure there were housekeeping Verniy and Valentine there, maybe even at that moment they were boiling water for Kors. But Kors didn’t want to see them, and even more didn’t want them to see him in such a pitiful state. He found Grrkh tied up under a rectangular canopy set up on tall poles. His horse stood calmly next to Unclean Power and Beauty. In addition to the fact that a roof was built for the horses, protecting them from the rain, Grrkh was unsaddled and carefully covered with a woolen blanket. Next to him, on a clean pallet, lay hay and a bucket filled to the brim with water. “The horse is treated better than me!” Kors thought angrily. He looked around for his saddle, but couldn’t find it, there was not a single saddle at all. It looked like Verniy had taken all the saddles and harness to his tent, away from dampness and rain. “The horses are well-groomed, and there is more order here than in the tent of Nik and Arel! Only you always have dirt, cold and a mess! Well, go to hell!” Still being angry, Kors roughly pulled off the blanket from the horse and jumped on him without a saddle, feeling a strong shiver ran through Grrkh’s body from the scruff of the neck to the tail. The horse twitched under the rider, and neighed, nervously stepping with his hooves, but Kors paid no attention to this. Yelling a command furiously and kicking the horse’s flanks with his muddy heels, he urged him onward to where he had come from the day before, and where his Parky and Adrian had been.

Responding to the call, Parky jumped out of his tent, and, since Kors took him by surprise, the unclean one couldn’t restrain his emotions, and admiration flashed in his eyes for just a second. Kors noticed this and understood the reason. Yes, the camisole was really luxurious, but Parky couldn’t realize the fact that wearing it in such a situation was inappropriate, just like Nick, and by the way, all the other unclean couldn’t either. And the fact that Kors was wearing expensive clothes, but at the same time had bare feet in the mud, didn’t seem strange to Parky at all.

Kors dismounted. The fact that he was without shoes was incredibly depressing to him.

“Parky! Set up my tent immediately! You have five minutes!”

“Yes, commander! I can suggest you, commander, to take shelter in my tent for the time being. It’s raining.”

Kors didn’t want to go into the unclean’s tent at all, but standing there like a fool in front of his subordinates was also a dubious option.

“All right, just move quicker!”

Kors entered his captain’s tent. To his relief, it was fairly clean and comfortable inside. A table and chairs stood against one wall, and a sleeping place was located at the other, it was a low flooring littered with skins. Tyutya was sitting on it, cross-legged. Undressed, with her bright hair disheveled, she looked in horror at Kors, and he looked at her terrible burn scars in place of her breast and a deep vertical scar on her stomach. “What kind of pervert do you have to be, Parky, to want that?” Kors thought, and, apparently, disgust was involuntarily reflected on his face, because the slave, coming to her senses, grabbed her dress, put it on very quickly, threw on the cape in a matter of seconds and rushed out of the tent. Kors sat down at the table and, taking Parky’s cigarette from the box lying on it, lit it. He heard that there was a fuss in the street, the cries of the unclean, Parks was giving out jerky commands.

After trying to calm down a bit, Kors decided to analyze the situation. What did he do wrong again? Now why did he offend him? What did he say to Nik that was so hurtful? Nothing! He hadn’t said or done anything wrong! It was Nik who offended him, deceived, sucked him out and ate as he wanted. The demon was cynically eating the victim, who didn’t suspect anything and was confident in his honesty. And even after everything that the Demon had done to him, after the lies and betrayal were revealed, he, like a father, sincerely wanted to help him with the treatment! And Nik, as a gratitude, yelled at him and threw a boot at him! His unreasonable outbursts of rage were simply unsettling. Even Prince Arel, despite all his foolishness, behaves more adequately and consistently. Nik is very sick. How annoying it is! Inadequate moron, an orphan with crippled psyche, and in addition sharing a body with a punished outcast Demon. What had Lis told him once? “I’m no longer surprised that your demon friends kicked you out of their world!” Exactly! Lis was right! And what can I want after that? What reasonable action can I await from the abnormal? But, in spite of everything, I’m nice to him, and he is evil again! Why is Nik angry again? He absolutely cannot stand being told the truth. He doesn’t want to hear the truth about himself. He cries, he gets angry. But at the same time, he does nothing to change for the better, and doesn’t listen to anything. “He gets through only thanks to his cute appearance, for which, by the way, he should be grateful to me! And I always looked after him and loved him! And how can I help him, if he rejects everything himself, tramples, repels. Any patience will burst!” Kors thought.

Kors often thought: what if he had remained silent that evening, had not said that he had seen the truth? Everything would remain the same, and the Demon wouldn’t punish him? But then they would continue to consider him a fool, over whom they could make fun and brazenly use him. No, that was not an option either. Now they will at least know that he understood everything and is not so easily fooled. “What a deceiver Nik is!” Kors again went into resentment. “But now Nik won’t be able to fool me anymore. And everything will be fair. Just how? “I’m Nikto, I’m reflecting”, and what are you going to reflect there? I didn't throw my boots at you!”

Kors tried to remember everything he had done to Nik, and everything Nik himself had done to him:

“Nik said, ‘I don't like beating you.’ My ass! In his Limit, he beat me not weakly! He didn’t pity me, he beat me with pleasure. He avenged me in full, both for his interrogation in prison and for Arel. He broke my nose, I was black with bruises, and he fucked me, enjoying the sight of my body covered with purple bruises, admiring my disfigured swollen face. Everything was fine and he liked everything. “I don’t like beating you” — oh yeah! He nearly killed me recently. If Arel hadn’t saved me, hadn’t distracted the Demon, he would have killed me. And yesterday. I still feel that hit. I was beaten with all might. I must have a concussion. Maybe it was not he, of course, but the prince, but in any case, he probably ordered this to be done. Or, even if he didn’t order, and it was entirely Arel’s initiative, he didn’t stop him. Didn’t say anything. I never beat him like that! What was I doing with him? Well… I insulted him, humiliated, “beat with words”, as he says, okay, that’s the least of my worries, these are just words. I tied him up, chained him up and blindfolded him. Well, it started yesterday. He dragged me on chains and blinded me. Also… I was beating him, not hard, but I was beating him. And I will get it, this is also understandable, it also started yesterday. What else? I put a bag on his head, put a stick in his… “Oh-oh-oh! — Kors literally jumped up in his chair, — Well, I have to distract myself now from this… What else could it be? Maybe there is something worse? I gave him a good beating with a belt for a lesson not learned, no… a stick seems to be worse. Shit! — Kors grabbed his captain’s cigarettes again. — Even at the celebration of the victory in Ore Town, I hit him in front of everyone at the table and knocked out his tooth. But damn it, I’m not to blame! Nik anyway had all his lower teeth staggered! I didn’t hit him too hard, the tooth fell out by itself, Prince Arel was the first to loosen them. No, the stick is the worst! Definitely it is the worst! I hope he doesn’t do it now, on the road, then I just won’t be able to get on the horse. No, he won’t. But when we return to the Black City, nothing will hold him back. What to do?! I have to fight, it’s pointless to ask for mercy. Should I call Zaf? He offered it himself. He worries about me because he knows his White Lord. Should I make another deal with the Demon? But what can I offer him? Money, slaves? The demon is not interested in it. Myself? Ha! The demon has taken everything from me! Pride, honor, affections. And love. The Demon has also taken my body and soul from me. Nothing is left. I have nothing to offer him. So what kind of deal can we talk about if I gave everything away a long time ago? And Nick won’t remember how much good I did for him, how I took care of him, treated him, dressed and fed him, he won’t “reflect” this, it’s clear, it’s not interesting to reflect love and care! What to do? To address Leonardo in the city? After all, we really didn’t quarrel, and formally remain friends. Leo has his own Demons, let him deal with my silly one. Gods, what am I thinking about?! Well, what is left? I need support. It is very difficult to live without the support of influential friends, and when you are with support, and the one who needs puts a word here and there, everything is completely different. I need patrons. Well. Zaf himself offered help, that’s great! And he has already warned about a certain “critical situation”. It’s a serious matter, I need to get out. In this, Lis was a master, that’s who could now help, calm the Demon and give me sensible advice on how to behave better. Well, at least he would just defuse the situation and make me laugh with a rude saying of commoners. Yes, Lis, you know how to joke, red-haired beast! But how to contact him? Lis doesn’t hear a damn thing, and neither does my daughter. Shit! Salafael! Should I try to get through to him? He’s the connection of the Demon with Lis. But maybe Salafael only hears the Demon? Or the Demon won’t allow to communicate with him? And if he does, what should I say to Salafael? “Go to Lis and say…” Say what? Tell him all the details? What if Lis is there with his father busy with the affairs of the city? Well, it doesn’t matter, nothing terrible, he will get distracted. What if he’s just lying around drunk? It’s more likely. Surely now his father does everything for him, as I did everything before. Lis can only look for trouble, drink and pour sayings. Salafael has Shag! And Zaf certainly has a connection with his brother! That’s already something!”

Having outlined the circle of possible defenders, Kors calmed down a little. He will not be offended.

“But why is Nik such a fool? Why?” Composure turned out to be short-lived, Kors couldn’t pull himself together. Thoughts swirled in his head over and over again. He went through all the possible options for future events in the third circle, over and over again thinking about the situation in which he found himself and how to get out of it with the least losses. All kinds of versions wound up on each other, the assumptions became more and more fantastic. One by one, Kors smoked Parky’s cigarettes, feeling that he was losing his last strength in empty fabrications, and couldn’t stop.

“What could I be missing? What I didn’t pay attention to? What else can I think of? And how can Lis help? Lis bends himself. They rolled Lis themselves as they wanted before going to Ore Town. He got it great, and he obeyed. How will he help me? With a joke? In fact, I helped him. I acted as his patron, promised to persuade the Demon, change his anger to mercy, so that the Demon would finally allow Lis to wipe the shameful clown makeup from his face. However, I didn’t have time to do this, but Lis thought that I had asked for him, and said to me: “Thank you!” So Lis must now help me! Return a debt! What if I speak frankly with Leonardo in the city? The conversation is very difficult, and what will Leonardo say to this?

“Mission accomplished!”

Kors jumped sharply in surprise. The insane flow of his thoughts was interrupted by Parky. He had entered the tent, unceremoniously jerking Kors back to reality, and now stood in front of him, awaiting further orders.

“Commander, everything is ready,” the unclean one reported again, seeing that Kors was just sitting, staring blankly at him, and was silent.

“Ah… And… horse. Have you put my horse under a canopy?” Kors finally spoke up.

“Yes, sir!” Parky saluted.

“All right.” Kors had nothing to complain about. Parky’s tent was clean and free of luxuries, which Kors felt were not due to his subordinate. Ascetic, modest, nothing more than necessary. Kors’ tent was quickly set up by the unclean ones. The horse was being looked after. Kors got up, proudly straightened his back, and, making a stone expression on his face, headed for the exit. And noticing that he had left dirty footprints in Parky’s tent, he tried to make his face even more haughty.

Entering his room, Kors saw Tyutya. She sat on her knees, her head bowed low, covered with a black cape, and next to her stood a basin of water. Kors understood everything, and immediately sat down on a chair. “If the water is cold, I will make you regret it!” he thought angrily, still wanting to vent his annoyance on someone. But the water in the basin was warm, pleasantly warming her cold feet. Tyutya very carefully and delicately began to wash off the dirt from his feet with a washcloth lathered with soap. Her hands were open, and Kors saw that a thin gold ring with a blue stone gleamed on the slave’s finger. “Oh, Parky, stupid wolf! What are you doing? Why do you give a useless cunning fox precious gifts? How does she do it? How does this red bitch manage to shake it out of him? After all, she has nothing! No tongue, no breasts, a dry cut hole. There is nothing, but, nevertheless, she has an influence on my captain, some kind of secret power, which she shamelessly uses for her own purposes and for her own good. She has hidden leverage, thought Kors, and I have no way to influence Nik! And why don’t I still have such an invisible power as Prince Arel has! That’s the only reason I can’t give them a fitting rebuff. Of course! Arel will quickly crush me with his strength, and Nik even more so possesses it to perfection. But not me! And they are not equal! Why do I hear useless thoughts, but I can’t squeeze anyone? Squeeze anyone’s throat!”

Kors tried to imagine how he squeezes Tyutya’s throat. Parky followed Kors’ orders and covered the slave with a cape, but not the one she wore in the city. This cape was lighter and looser, made of thin silky fabric, falling down in beautiful folds, it didn’t restrict movement so much. On the head, over a long flowing shawl, was tied a wide forehead bandage, tightened with a knot at the back of the head. Little space was left for the eyes. The forehead bandage and the fabric covering the face were connected together over the bridge of the nose with a thin black ribbon. The slave’s eyes were lowered and almost invisible, but Kors, sitting in a chair and looking down at the girl, saw her chestnut fluffy eyelashes tremble when she blinked. He saw that her upper eyelids were beautifully accentuated with black paint. He himself didn’t understand why this irritated him so much, and therefore angrily continued to imagine how he was squeezing her neck with both hands, but Tyutya didn’t raise her eyes and calmly continued to rub his feet with a washcloth. Nothing worked with her!

“Well, if I can’t touch such weak rubbish, then what can I say about others! They’ll kill me now if they want to! On distance!” In desperation, Kors again tried to squeeze Tyutya, and again nothing happened. He stepped back. Tyutya began to rinse his clean feet with water from a jug.

“Tyutya… Tyutya… does this bitch even have a name? Maybe knowing her real name, I can influence her?” And as soon as Kors thought about it, a set of numbers and letters appeared before his eyes. Kors saw it very clearly — “ms13590vg”. He always memorized numerical combinations easily, often marking his documents with numbers. He said to his secretary: “Bring me a folder number such and such from the archive …” I knew by heart all the numbers of the articles of the code. No, it seemed that Tyuti never had a name as such, but she had an inventory number!

Night. A low gray barrack with rows of wicker mats on the floor. Many girls, a couple of dozen, or even more, lie on mats and sleep. Here is Tyutya. She doesn’t sleep, clings to the girl lying next to her, they hug, cling to each other. Tyutya is eight or nine years old, but girls can be older, Kors is already used to the fact that the children in his visions always look not at their real age, because of difficult life circumstances they are thin and small. And Tyutya still has a tongue, and her breast has not yet been touched, it simply doesn’t exist, because it has not grown yet. A whole kaleidoscope of very bright, warm and pleasant moments swirls past his gaze, always associated with this other girl, whose inventory number is “ms137100of”. She and Tyutya are best friends, always together, laughing, hugging, kissing each other. He sees some classes in which slaves are taught to work. Girls also learn to wear a cape, Tyutya and all other learners have no face. They are constantly washing, scrubbing, rubbing and cleaning. They don’t really like it, but there is nowhere to go, and they dutifully perform tasks: they sweep and wash the floors, wash dirty dishes to a shine, weed some beds, pick ripe dark red berries from tall bushes. Daily work from early morning to late evening. On a certain day they are beaten, not for any faults, but just for order, they are beaten quite noticeably. Kors quickly flips through the story of the life of a slave, like the pages of a book that is not interesting to him. He doesn’t want to look at the memories, consisting of endless work, beatings and violence. But he sees that every night Tyutya and “ms137100of” cling to each other on their miserable mats and love each other. Oddly enough, their teachers don’t pay much attention to this. Adult women, covered with capes and faceless, they are not interested in the life of their wards.

And the girls themselves perceive them indifferently, like day and night, rain and wind, some forces of nature that exist in the world around them. Tyutya and her girlfriend dutifully live in the proposed circumstances and at the same time in their personal little world, which no one cares about, and that’s where the girlfriends are interested, and they are happy. But only for the time being. Kors notes that the girls have grown and hears one of the mentors say to the other, pointing to “ms137100of”:

“This one is very lazy, she shall be sent to the hospital, the wounded soldiers need blood. And this one,” and she points to Tyutya, “is more industrious, and a little smarter than her, she shall be a domestic assistant.”

The friends are separated, and Kors realizes that Tyutya has never seen “ms137100of” again, most likely, in the hospital she was very soon gutted into organs for wounded soldiers. And Tyutya was crippled according to tradition, finally wrapped in a yarn and sent to work. But, oddly enough, Kors gets the impression that this girl seems to be always next to Tyutya. Tyutya continues to mentally return to her, recalls their childhood games, and absolutely every night she sees her in a dream, where they play together and love each other. No, she doesn’t suffer, and probably doesn’t even miss her friend in the literal sense of the word, experiencing rather a slight sadness — it happened and, therefore, it was destined to be. Complete acceptance of the situation and submission to fate, no matter how unfair it may be. Accept the situation. ACCEPT and RELEASE.

“Fuck you in the ass, Tyutya!” Kors flared up indignantly in his thoughts. “The last thing I need is your senseless childhood! Well, what a misfortune is this gift — to see other people’s lives! Why do I need this information? So, you, Tyutya, are not indifferent to girls, but what difference does it make to me?!”

Having done her job, Tyutya calmly left, but what was Kors to do now?

“Order to bring more water and wash? Fix myself up?” But he didn’t want to. “Order to bring lunch?” There was no desire. “Order to bring wine?” But Kors knew that in such a mood, wine wouldn’t help him, but only aggravate the situation. Intoxication would give false relief for a short time, and for this it will be necessary to drink a lot, and when he sobers up, he will begin to experience unbearable attacks of fear, much stronger than now, and he would have to drink again to calm down, he would get stuck, and would be long and painfully get out of all this shit. It already happened.

“Maybe go to sleep? But the time is noon,” Kors lost interest in life, and everything was indifferent to him. He lay down on his camp bed and just lay there stupidly, not moving, until Parky disturbed him.

“Commander, may I report? Verniy has come there, he is asking you.”

Kors jumped to his feet, his heart pounding wildly, but he pulled himself together and said with a wry smile:

“What, your friend has come, the same stupid wolf?”

But Parky shook his head in a negative gesture.

“No, commander, don’t compare us. I’m from a free tribe, and Ver is a watchdog.”

“Let him enter!”

But to Kors’ dismay, Verniy didn’t say “Master is calling you back” or anything like that, he only brought dried clothes, boots and a bottle of water.

“Sir, your clothes. And you asked for water, I boiled it well and cooled it. I poured it into a bottle for easy drinking. Here is your drinking water.”

“Thanks,” Kors muttered.

“I wonder what Nik is doing there now?” Kors thought, and couldn’t resist:

“Verniy, what does the master do?”

“The masters are sleeping,” Verniy replied.

“Well, of course! What else can they do!” thought Kors and said:

“Verniy, shift your master from the floor, cover him with a blanket, take care of him.”

Verniy nodded.

“But only if he wants to, you understand.”

“Yes. But try! Don’t you care that your master lay down on the floor and might catch a cold?”

“I try to do my duty as best as possible, but I don’t have the right to tell him what to do,” Verniy explained, “DO YOUR OWN AND DON’T GO OUT OF YOUR OWN.”

“What a stupid dog,” Kors was indignant, “okay! But I hope you still love your master!”

“I love him,” Verniy agreed and left.

And Kors looked at the pile of clothes that the unclean one had brought him. “What's the point of dressing now? Change clothes?” He took his golden cigarette case out of his jacket pocket and turned the flat box sadly between his fingers.

Hike to the Ore Town.

“Vitor, take it.”

Nik tells him, and Kors looks up in confusion.

Nik is holding his golden cigarette case in his hand:

“I have put your favorite cigarettes in it.”

“My cigarette case?”

“Yes, you left it in our room a long time ago and completely forgot about it. You don’t need it anymore?”

“I need it,” and Kors holds out his hand, taking from Nik a flat gold box, decorated with blue stones around the edge, his cigarette case. He opens it and sees with amazement that it is full, one might even say stuffed with cigarettes. They are neatly stacked in rows in two layers, tightly pressed against one another, on both sides.

“Thank you”, Kors thanks, dazed, hesitating at first to disturb the order of his cigarettes, which are so beautifully arranged. But then he pulls out one and lights it up.

“Vitor, I love you,” Nik says quietly.

And Kors doesn’t believe his ears:

“What?!”

Nik seriously and somehow very attentively looks at him and repeats:

“I love you. I don’t play now and don’t reflect.”

And Kors throws away his cigarette, falls to his knees:

“But why? Why now?!” There are tears in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Nik shrugs, “it doesn’t happen on purpose, but somehow by itself. It is so? And you can’t explain. But this is for real, I'm not fooling you now. It’s true.”

And Kors kisses his hands and whispers:

“I will do everything for you! What do you want?!”

“Just be who you are.”

“But I lecture you all the time and generally talk a lot.”

“Talk,” and Nik pulls him to him to kiss…

They loved each other that night, the first time they loved each other as a threesome.

It was then that Kors felt some unreal unity of the three of them, ecstasy, and the Power that this merger gave them. And in this trinity he achieved bliss.

“I’m happy, I’m happy now. Will you take me with you to your world?”

“Do you want it?!”

“Yes! More than anything! I didn’t want it before, but now I do. Let me not become a Demon like Arel, let me just remain your slave, but please take me with you, I beg you!”

“You will become it.”

“What?! What have you said?”

“You will become a Demon. Or rather, it’s not like that, you don’t need to become one, you always have been one.”

“O-o-oh!” And Kors covered his face with his hands in despair. What for? Why did he remember it now?

Chapter 5

After recovering a little from the vivid feelings and memories that flooded over him, Kors finally opened the cigarette case. It was practically empty, only a couple of cigarettes remained in it.

“I need to call Adrian, let him bring me cigarettes,” thought Kors and mentally called his slave.

Putting a box on the table, Adrian stood in front of the owner, his head down and looking at the floor. Kors involuntarily noted to himself that Adrian was very thin. His once-fitting warrior clothes now literally hung on him, and he had to tie his pants around his waist with an extra belt or they would just fall off. When Adrian was in the saddle, it was not so noticeable, but now Kors was struck by how emaciated his slave was. For a fraction of a second, he even felt sorry for him.

“How does it feel to be punished by the White Lord?” Kors said aloud, turning the cigarette case in his hands in confusion and thinking about his own thoughts.

But Adrian took it as a question put to him:

“I put a punishment on me myself, master,” he replied, still not raising his head and continuing to stare stubbornly at the floor.

Kors put down his cigarette case and grinned skeptically.

“Yourself?”

“The motto of the White Lord is ‘FEAR NOTHING’, but I was afraid. I got scared and began to fall down. He wanted the best, I myself didn’t listen to him, didn’t believe him and gave up. I didn’t hear what was being told me. As a result, I started to fall lower and lower,” for a split second, Adrian looked up at Kors, looking into his face somehow very seriously and attentively, but then lowered his head again.

Kors froze, “Does Nik have a motto? But he didn’t tell me! All the unclean ones know it, but me! I decided that Nik’s motto was “Never ask for anything.” And Nik agreed with me. As always, he agreed and didn’t object. He didn’t say, “No. I have a different motto.” Right, why saying so? Let everyone around know his motto, except for his father! Who cares?! Deceiver! But now everything will be different!”

“Okay, enough of this nonsense, go to hell, Adry! Kors said irritably, and his slave backed quickly towards the exit.

Kors suddenly thought that he had never once asked Adrian what his wrongdoing was. He was not interested in this and other unclean one. “That’s a coward” — so roughly he was told, and Kors didn’t elaborate. So what was your cowardice, Adrian? And yet, what’s the difference?

Kors was toiling the rest of the day. He either lay down on the bed, then got up and smoked, and so every twenty minutes. He was bored, dreary, unbearably lonely and scared. Nothing happened the way he wanted, and he did not know what to do, knowing full well that Nik was sleeping and would not call him. It was necessary to wait. Unable to stand it, Kors nevertheless “looked” at him.

Their tent was still in disarray, Verniy and Valentine hadn’t cleaned anything, and Nik’s boot was still lying at the entrance, where he had thrown it. Kors saw Nik and Arel. They slept together on a narrow couch, carelessly covered with a brocade blanket and huddling close to each other. Nik lay in place of Kors. His face remained wrapped in black strips of cloth. He had kicked Kors out, but he didn’t take them off, he didn’t unbandage his face. “Probably, there really is something serious,” Kors thought sadly, “he won’t cope with the treatment, he will ruin everything, he will ruin everything completely! What a stubborn idiot!”

Nik was lying pressed against Arel. Kors saw his tattooed and therefore seemingly black shoulder, completely painted and, because of that, the same black arm lying on top of the “golden” blanket. He hugged Arel, and he slept peacefully, his mouth slightly open and snoring softly. The prince’s hair, like a waterfall of dark chocolate, flowed down from the edge of the trestle bed to the floor. “But why does Nik love Arel so much?!” Kors didn’t understand. “They are always together. Did they ever really fight? Why? Why does he love him so much?!”

“Arel never helped him, did nothing for Nik. Unreliable, capricious and cruel descendant of an ancient family, he always mistreated his people, and Nik was no exception. Arel used him, not sparing, ordered to get money for him! He didn’t treat him, but on the contrary, he only beat and maimed him. Humiliated him. He put a “chastity belt” on him. He didn’t develop him in any way, didn’t explain the rules of life, didn’t give reasonable and useful advice! Didn’t take him out of jail. He did nothing for Nik! Nothing! And no matter what, Nik loves him so much! And I did everything for him! I treated him, taught him, cared about him! And what is the result? I was deceived, made fun of and driven away! Here it is, gratitude!” Kors cut off the vision angrily.

He wanted to finally stop endlessly thinking about Nik and exasperating himself with resentment, so he called Parky to report to him about the situation in their camp and somehow distract him.

Parky, with calm indifference, reported that everything was in perfect order, and, to the disappointment of Kors, didn’t give him the slightest reason to use his iron rod.

“Parky, you know that I not only hear thoughts, but I can see lives, and not only will I hear every bad word or thought about me, but I will see every offense. You know about it? Any secret act will become clear. You understand?” Kors asked him sternly.

“Yes, of course, Commander,” Parky replied, not at all frightened, “I have no bad thoughts, and I follow your orders.”

And Kors suddenly had an idea:

“Parky, can you see my demonic beast form?”

“Yes, Commander,” he replied casually.

And Kors barely concealed his surprise:

“Do you see my horns?!”

“Yes, Commander,” Parky shrugged.

“Oh! And that’s why you called me wooly in your mind at the beginning? Because I’m covered in fur?”

Parky laughed.

“No, no, Commander, not because of it. Forgive me.”

“Imagine my beast form now!”

“Yes, Commander!”

Kors tried to see his bestial image in Parky’s mind, but all he saw was a blur of darkness. It was a tall powerful silhouette with two long curved processes near the head. Even judging by those fuzzy shadows, the horns looked impressive.

Parky silently stood in front of him, waiting. Kors realized that he couldn’t really see anything and didn’t have the strength to see his daemonic form in this way.

“Enough,” he ordered, frustrated.

“Yes, Commander,” Parky couldn’t help but give a quick, barely perceptible smile. Apparently, he found it amusing to imagine his commander in a horned, furry form.

“But why are you so cheerful, you foolish wolf?” Kors managed to notice this smirk. “You always have fun!”

“IT BECOMES LIGHTER WITH A SMILE,” Parky said.

“What an idiot! That’s all, get out!”

Parky left, but Kors didn’t feel better — on the contrary, he began to feel even worse and even more insulting that his strength was so small, and he couldn’t squeeze anyone, and he saw the images of essences in fragments and indistinctly. And the Demon taught him nothing and gave him nothing! And it didn’t help! He taught Arel, but not him!

Kors had absolutely no idea what to do with the day. Previously, he always had business, important meetings, work, audiences in the palace. In the evenings he paid visits. Often he himself hosted receptions in his mansion. He didn’t have a minute of free time, he was constantly surrounded by associates, the right people and friends.

With Nik, he lost it all, involuntarily adjusting to his rhythm, and Nik most of the time injected, used various dope and slept. He didn’t do anything useful at all, and lying on the bed was his favorite pastime, he didn’t need anything. Kors, of course, at first was shocked by this lifestyle, but very soon he somehow got involved in it. He wanted to be with Nik here and now, he wasn’t drawn anywhere, didn’t need anything except to be with him. Kors recalled how earlier, attending a reception and communicating with the necessary and important people, he suddenly lost interest in what was happening and began to feel bored, realizing that at that moment, he would like something completely different — to be, for example, at one table with Varakh, sincerely drink and chat. But he stayed and spent time at this reception, because it was necessary, and Varakh was also busy with his own affairs. This has never happened when he was with Nik. If Kors was with him, he no longer wanted anything else, no other meetings and no other company. He didn’t want to go anywhere or talk to anyone. And even if he and Nik didn’t do anything, or did, in Kors’s opinion, complete nonsense, it was interesting and fun with him. And Kors always made a choice in favor of Nik, forgetting about all other things. And now Kors had no business, no friends, no Nik.

He is limited by circumstances, like the walls of a prison. There are no interesting cases, no friends, nothing happens, and he cannot influence it. It remains only to lie down, smoke, and in the end try to fall asleep, fall into a saving oblivion as soon as possible.

Kors “sees” himself from the outside. This is the past, and he is still quite young, here he may be a little over thirty, but how bad he looks! Sunken, cloudy, bruised eyes, a swollen face, hunched shoulders, a bottle is on the table, and already empty ones are lying on the floor. Kors drinks. And by the number of bottles, and his appearance, it is clear that he has been drinking for a long time and a lot. O-o-oh! He forgot this period of his life, erased it from his memory, like a bad dream. In vain he scolded Nik. Judging by the way he looks, his son had someone to inherit his craving for alcohol from. Kors sits at the table and looks gloomily at Kamiel Varakh, who is standing in front of him.

“We need to leave,” Varakh says excitedly, “you are dying here. Enough of this madness. The capital is waiting for you!”

“No,” Kors shakes his head heavily.

“How many letters from our friends have you received?”

“I didn’t count them.”

“And how many letters from the Black City did you just throw away without reading them?!”

Kors doesn’t answer, turns away and reaches for the bottle.

And, seeing this, Kamiel Varakh suddenly rushes to the glazed cabinet, standing at the side wall of the room. With a hand in a leather glove, he hits it, with some desperate anger breaking the glass door with his fist. There is a deafening rattle and ringing, but Kors doesn’t even turn his head. Inside the closet, the orders and medals of Kors gleam on the shelves. They are beautifully laid out on black velvet cushions and coasters. Varakh grabs one of the orders, and, approaching Kors, literally shoves it in his face:

“Look! Was it all in vain?”

Kors indifferently looks at his order “For Courage”, received by him for the liberation of the village of Meadow. He doesn’t care.

“Your military merit gives you… us a chance to prove ourselves in the capital!” Varakh shouts at him. “And your talent to find deserters and traitors to the motherland? How many secret enemies we have neutralized thanks to your instinct! Now what? All down the drain?! You’re pouring everything into an alcohol pit!”

Kors shakes his head sadly.

“Take it away,” he points to the order, “take it away.”

Varakh obeys, and, going up to the cabinet, through the broken glass carefully returns the order to the shelf, lays it on a velvet pillow:

“You must understand, new prospects will open up for you in the city,” he says a little more calmly, “Leonardo has noted your abilities, the way we cleared the liberated territories from traitors. He has personally sent me two letters asking me to influence you and bring you to the city. The safety of the king is above all else, and you have no right to drink away your talent! You must use it for the prosperity of our world! Benefit the state and the king! You took an oath and swore to serve faithfully for the good of the motherland!”

“I don’t have any talent!”

“The king’s security is waiting for us!” And you will be able to figure out unreliable people in his environment.

“No!”

(“Ah, it seems that stupid stubbornness was also transferred to Nik from me,” Kors thinks, watching this scene from the past. “What a fool I was!” Now Kors understands that Varakh was right, but then he didn’t want to listen to him).

“I have to find my child!” Says Kors. “Until I find him, I’m not going anywhere from here.”

“Oh Gods!” Varakh seems to be barely restraining himself from exploding. “How many years have passed! We searched everything, the whole district, every child in Komra was checked a thousand times!”

“I have to find him!”

“Vitor, wake up, it is quite possible that he was not born and died along with Inness, because you can’t be sure that the child was not inside her.”

“No, I can’t,” Kors agrees and sharply raises his dark eyes burning with madness at Varakh, “did I have to cut open her stomach and see?!” He grabs the glass and drinks it in one gulp, returning it to the table with a bang.

(“Yes, you idiot, you should have done it!” Kors mentally shouts to his young self. Now he would have done it, but then… then he was too sentimental and couldn’t desecrate the dead body of his beloved.)

“Vitor, if the child had survived, we would have found him already!” Varakh continues: “All these years we have been searching! It is quite possible that he was not born, what are you looking for?”

“Her belly was smaller…”

“Vitor! Stop it! You just want to believe that your child was born and survived! But think of your daughter, here is your real and living child! She had lost her mother, and now she will lose her father! She needs you!”

Kors is silent.

“Let’s get out of here, let’s go to the city. Vitor, don’t kill yourself with fruitless searches, think about Karina! Do you really want her to live her whole life behind seven locks in the basement?

“I care about her safety!”

“It’s time for her to get some education… after all, she will become a noble lady in the future.”

“I’m teaching her!”

“Martial arts?”

“She must be able to take care of herself!”

“Teaching her to fight with a sword is not exactly what is needed to raise a future woman. In the capital, she can become a friend of the princess, shine at court, find a profitable match! You don’t want a happy future for yourself, but you don’t want one for Karina either! You don’t think about her future, you break her fate! Is this what Inness wanted for your beloved girl? What would Inez say to you?

And Kors shudders.

“What will you say to Inness when you meet in the afterlife? How will you justify your selfishness? How will you explain that you broke the fate of your daughter?! You don’t really love Karina! And you don’t love Inness either! You don’t care about them!”

“I love them. And for them I am ready for anything!”

“Then let’s go to the city!”

Kors sits silently for a while and then finally quietly says:

“My life is broken, and I don’t care about any career, but you’re right, friend, I have to overcome myself, for the sake of Inness and… Karina.”

Varakh freezes in tension, never taking his eyes off his friend.

“Let’s go to the city,” Kors says.

And Varakh, in a happy gesture, folding his palms, raises his hands:

“Thank Gods!”

Dad! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!

Having inadvertently touched and knocked over the bottle, Kors awkwardly gets up from the table, staggers him:

“Let’s get out of here! To hell!”

“I will order the preparations to begin immediately!” Varakh hurriedly adds, as if afraid that Kors will suddenly change his mind.

“Let’s go,” Kors repeats. “The Black City has been waiting for us for a long time!”

Don’t leave…

Don’t leave…

Don’t leave…

Chapter 6

Kors woke from the haze of memories and sat up abruptly on his camp bed. Yes, he left then, succumbing to Varakh’s persuasions, he left for the Black City to start a new page in his life.

He had forgotten the past, and later didn’t match either the place or the time. He hadn’t even bothered to think that the white half-blood from Komra was just about as old as his lost child would have been at the moment. Kors had completely forgotten about everything, and, without looking at the boy, by an evil irony of fate, he identified his son in the trash. He branded him as a slave, dooming him to death, or at best to a humiliating existence as a living thing. And ten years later he made him his lover. Kors put his head in his hands. Varakh knew something, he said: “I didn’t want to upset you even more, you were already crushed by the loss of Inness!” It would be better if you upset me, stupid Varakh! Do you see what your silence has led to?

Dying Kamiel Varah, lying on the bed, looks at Kors from the black wells of sunken eye sockets, he looks, as if already from the other side …

“Vitor, I didn’t tell you then, I hid it… I didn’t want to hurt you even more, you were already crushed by the loss of Inness… Vitor, I don’t believe it, because I saw…”

“What did you see? Why didn’t you tell me?! Was it that terrible?”

Varakh caught up with the rider who was carrying the child to the witch. He caught up with him and…

“Vitor, I don't believe it, because I saw…”

What did you?

Kamiel Varakh was sure that Nik was not the son of Kors, and all the arguments that his former friend gave him couldn’t convince him. Because he saw with his own eyes something that left him in no doubt — Nik was not the son of Kors.

What did you see, Varakh? WHAT?

Kors remembered the morning at the inn near Prince Arel’s Estate, when Nik, Arel, and Lis had come for him. They needed the mercenaries that Kors brought with him, the victory of Lis depended on his soldiers.

And Kors at the beginning was glad that they came for him themselves. He was pleased, he longed to amuse his vanity and planned to make them long to persuade him. But things didn’t turn out the way he had hoped. Instead of begging and persuading, and preferably begging and kneeling down, Nik habitually impudent, as if he were under interrogation. Realizing perfectly well how much they need these soldiers and how important it is for him to agree with Kors, he didn’t ask for anything and behaved defiantly. Kors demanded that Nik take off his mask while talking to him, and when Nik, habitually snarling, nevertheless did so, Kors saw a “smile” painted on his face in black paint.

And how much it then pissed him off! It was Nik’s small revenge for Prince Arel, a reminder to Kors of his past. The shameful “smile” that went far beyond the contour of the lips, so bright on the white skin, still stood before Kors’ eyes, he had only to imagine it. At that moment, he barely restrained himself from hitting, throwing Nik out of the room. By some miracle he recollected himself and politely asked to wipe off the paint. Luckily, Nik stopped sneering and wiped off the dye. Kors remembered his pale, haggard face, “decorated” with tattoos and piercings. It was noticeable that Nik was seriously ill, his inflamed scar, roughly seized with iron staples, was frankly shocking.

It was disgusting, ugly, unacceptable. And Nik, noticeably stoned, wildish, ruffy, didn’t even think to humbly ask and try to enter into some kind of dialogue, but only snapped in stupid bravado. Kors was literally knocked off his stride by such disrespect and such inadequate behavior. Their whole conversation seemed to him complete absurdity. And Nick — and Kors knew it now — Nik was just teasing him a little in his usual style.

Kors smiled sadly. Yes, from the very beginning of their acquaintance, Nik didn’t value him at all, but still… in exchange for the army, he let him talk with his son. Kors also remembered this conversation very well:

.“But the way you move, what's wrong with your arm?”

“The same as with the leg, something is broken, I don’t know. I was very rudely and hastily dragged out of your wife, Inness. The witch told, they pulled by the arm, by the leg, twisted something, damaged it. She said, they thought that they had killed her, and, upset, they also threw her away from themselves onto the floor, like a useless thing

So Varakh caught up with this red one and saw that the baby was crippled? And didn’t tell Kors about it, and? What next? Did he leave the child in the woods? No, this is absurd! Firstly, Varakh at that time was a young warrior, he didn’t know anything about babies. He was not a doctor to understand whether a baby was ill or not. And he would never have been able to leave it there, he would have brought it to Kors. He would have brought anyone, anyone… only if… only if he wasn’t dead! Only this reason could force Varakh to remain silent, so as not to upset his friend even more. Varakh thought that the child had died? He was so sure Nik couldn’t be Kors’ son. Why was he so sure of this?

Why was Varakh ardently proving this to him? Because he saw Kors’ son dead? But he could be wrong! So what? Even if he decided for himself that the baby was dead, did he leave a lifeless body there on the road? Did he bury him under a bush? No, Varakh would never do that. And Nik is the son of Kors, Kors is sure of this by some inner instinct. He just knows it, and it doesn’t require any proof. Nik is his son. He looks like Inness, looks like himself, so much so that Zagpeace noticed this similarity, and the difference in hair and eye color didn’t interfere with it. Nik and Karina are like brother and sister.

The son said to him:

“But I didn’t die, unfortunately. I was sold. The witch bought me and didn’t know they treated me so rough, I was strong. She liked me. You have a healthy hardy baby, too hardy. Your family is fine.»

What happened there, on the forest road? What did Varakh do? What a pity that Varakh died, and in his head there are no more thoughts and memories that Kors could see and read. And why later Varakh continued to keep his secret, helped Kors look for a child? Why, knowing what really happened, and seeing how his friend was dying of grief, didn’t he tell the truth? Didn’t think it would all go this far? Didn’t tell him at first, and then was just afraid to admit it? Or did he feel guilty for some act of his, and understood that Kors wouldn’t forgive him for this? How now to know the truth?

Kors got up heavily from the bed.

Enough to think about it! It’s all pointless, and to hell, what’s the difference! Nik is my son. And it means, by some miracle, he survived, that’s all.

Kors called Adrian and ordered him to heat more water for him. The unclean one brought in a deep wooden tub, which served Kors as a camping bath. For the comfort of the sir Tyutya covered it from the inside with a white linen sheet. While waiting for everything to be ready, Kors watched as Adrian brought bucket after bucket and poured warm water into the tub. Despite his thinness and obvious signs of exhaustion, Adrian brought two full buckets at once. And Kors saw him holding a heavy bucket in each hand and lifting them rather easily, pouring out the water. Adrian didn’t spill a drop, and Kors didn’t know where his strength was coming from. “He is very hardy, strong, he quickly recovered,” thought Kors involuntarily. The tub was big and deep. It took a lot of water to fill it up. But Adrian didn’t seem to get tired, and he lifted the tenth bucket as confidently as the first.

“Adrie, has it stopped raining?” Kors listened to outside sounds, not hearing the usual pounding of drops on the cone-shaped roof of the tent.

“No, sir,” Adrian replied.

“Really? Why can’t I hear it?”

“It has gotten weaker, sir, but it continues to drizzle.”

Well, then Kors can take his time. Until the rain stops and the weather improves, they won’t set off on the road, and Nik at such an early time is unlikely to call him. Kors didn’t even want to check how he was. He was probably sleeping, as usual. Has he at least taken the medicine? Has he changed his bandages? Fuck, to hell! In the end, he is not alone there, his favorites Prince Arel and Verniy are with him, so let them take care of him! Ungrateful bitch!

“It's all ready, sir,” said Adrian. He couldn’t leave until Kors let him, but signaling that his work was done, he backed away, making a clear movement towards the exit. Kors looked skeptically at his hair set in the form of a Mohawk, but said nothing about it.

“Adrian, you’re very thin,” he remarked, “go to the supply wagon, tell Parky that I ordered, have him open it for you. Take milk there, there are cheeses in the box below, take them and have a meal.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“But when you take milk, take it from the jug that stands on the shelf behind the other jug, and between the jugs to the right. There is also a jug with a strip, and a bowl covered with a lid. Don’t drop anything. There is fatter milk in one of the jars, don’t touch it, take it from the jug from which I told you. And take the cheese that lies in the box, you can cut off a piece of it for yourself. It is wrapped in wax paper, next to it is similar one, but more greasy, don’t touch it, but take the one that I told you about.”

“Thank you sir, I’m not hungry,” Adrian replied quickly. He stood in front of Kors in his clothes, which hung like a bag on his thin body, and, as always, stared at the floor, as if carefully examining something very important to himself. The oval blue piece of glass protruded unsightly on his lower lip, and Kors liked it.

“Damn, what’s the matter?! I myself offer you! I say: “Take it!”. Did I explain something incomprehensibly?” Kors raised his voice, clearly starting to get irritated.

“Sorry sir, I’m just not hungry at all. May I go, sir?”

“Go!” Kors threw with displeasure. “Why am I trying for you! I want to do the best for you, but you turn up your nose! Well, go to hell! Ungrateful creatures!”

Tyutya brought him breakfast. She did everything exactly the same as in the Ore Town: she brought a tray of food, put a cup of coffee on the table. Kors lay in warm water, enjoying the bath.

“Give me coffee,” he ordered, and the girl brought a saucer to him with a cup on it.

Here’s another ungrateful creature. She shows off her ring that a stupid wolf gave her, just as Nik showed off Kors’ gift. And Kors is no better than a foolish wolf, he gave Nik so many expensive jewelry, clothes, but what did he get in return? Instead, he was kicked in the head. Gods, how tired he was thinking about Nik every minute!

Yesterday he wasted all day, and today is the same! How tired he is! What to do — wait for him to call, and then what? Will he be humiliated again?

And Kors wanted Nik to ask for forgiveness and say that he was wrong, to kneel down and kiss Kors’ boots… And Kors would unbandage his face and see what’s with the scar, and then pick up the right treatment. And he would give him a slap in the face, so that Nik, as usual, would bend down, shrink. And then he would put him next to him and say that Nik must remember once and for all that the younger belongs to the older. And for Nik to agree with this… and snuggle up to him … and then Kors would pet him for the right behavior. Fuuuck…

Kors ordered Tyutya to leave and got out of the “bath” in annoyance. He looked at himself for a long time in a small mirror and carefully rubbed his body with emollient oils and anti-hair growth agents.

“Against the background of recent events, I completely neglected my appearance,” he scolded himself, “the last thing I need is to be covered with hair in a human form, as if the animal one wasn’t enough for me!”

Finally, satisfied with his well-groomed body, Kors calmed down a bit. Unlike Prince Arel, Kors liked his swarthy skin, he liked Nik’s white face, but he also loved and accepted his own swarthy skin, considering it beautiful. And he didn’t at all want to paint over his face with gray dye, highlighting it the way Prince Arel did. Kors was not annoyed by the tattoo that Nik made him, it seemed to introduce him to the world of the unclean ones, but at the same time, in his opinion, it was quite moderate. Kors dressed in the clothes that Verniy had brought him. The dog really carefully dried it and put it in order, didn’t spoil the expensive leather. Finally, feeling obvious hunger, Kors was able to eat. He was in no hurry and did everything slowly and carefully, but the minutes still dragged on endlessly. Kors mentally called Parky to report to him about the situation in their camp. His captain, as usual, with calm indifference, reported that everything was in order, and again didn’t give Kors a reason to use his iron rod and occupy his time with this. It seemed to Kors that Parky understood perfectly well that the commander had nothing to do, and he understood that Kors would demand him to his tent today and try to find fault with something. But the unclean one treated this with a kind of philosophical humility.

Kors yawned boredly.

“Call Tyutya, maybe, let her take away the dishes, do the cleaning here,” and now Kors, to his surprise, finally caught a short emotional outburst from Parky.

Parky wasn’t afraid for himself, but he was worried about his fox!

Kors laughed contentedly.

“What are you up to? Are you jealous? I won’t do anything to her. And as a woman, she is absolutely not interesting to me!”

Like any other woman, Parky thought quickly, but Kors heard him and froze.

For a while they were silent.

“You are free,” Kors finally said with some effort, “and call Tyutya.”

She appeared almost immediately, clearly was somewhere near her wolf, and collected dishes on a tray. Kors lay on the bed, bored, smoking, looking up at the ceiling. “So that’s how my captain dares to think of me…” Kors turned his gaze to the girl modestly covered by a cape. Leaning slightly, she carefully swept the floor. “What does this bitch think of me? What if to look not at her fucking childhood, but at what happened in Ore Town, when she also served me, look at myself from the outside?!” This thought seemed interesting to him, and Kors tried to penetrate the thoughts and memories of the slave, and… saw nothing. The surrounding world and all objects were covered with a gray veil, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t understand anything and see through this dense veil. There were only vague shadows around. In addition to this, Kors began to suffocate, he didn’t have enough air and there was absolutely nothing to breathe. For a moment, he even got scared. “No-o-o, that’s not going to work, stupid slave!” It dawned on Kors that he was looking through Tyutya, but with his own eyes, and the cape that covered her face interfered with him, preventing him from seeing or breathing properly. He tried to penetrate her head harder and look around through her eyes. The guess turned out to be correct. Accustomed all her life to walking with her face covered with cloth, the girl oriented herself in space much better and didn’t suffocate from lack of air. Kors was even amazed at how well she saw everything, although, as he understood, the fabric on her face was quite dense.

And according to the laws of the Reds, she always remained covered from head to toe, for life without the right to open her face, eyes and body, because she was not a person, but a thing. Kors saw another covered woman in front of him, and it seemed that she was the head of the slaves, because she could speak. The main slave turns to Tyutya with obvious excitement:

“If these black gentlemen are dissatisfied with something, do you understand what it threatens us all with?”

Tyutya only bows low and nods frightened. The mistress gives her a colorful album with pictures and names of dishes. Oh! Kors remembers it well, it always lay in their dining room. This is a menu, and a very good one, by the way. In general, he liked the cuisine in Kudmer’s palace, how the cooks cook, he really liked the wine. Kors several times a day ordered something from this list for himself, his boys, for Nik… Da-a-amn … He circled the picture or wrote the serial number of the dish on paper, without going into the details of the verbose and magnificent names in red. He put a number, marking how many servings he wants to order. Most often it was a variety of meat dishes and bottles of alcohol. Tyutya understood everything, and, taking the menu with his order, she ran to the kitchen. Very soon, she already learned all his preferences. “Yes, but they interacted well and understood each other!” Kors felt funny, so that’s what she remembers about him! What food did he order! It’s funny. And what else?

Chapter 7

Now Tyutya is placing on the table the already brought dishes. And Kors feels that on her face, there, under the cape, she is wearing a muzzle, it completely obscures the lower part of her face, the leather flap digs into her cheeks. Hmm… a wise decision. The Reds know a lot about raising slaves, and a slave who brings food will never be able to taste it herself or spit on the masters’ plate. She won’t be able to do this even through a small gap in the cape, sensibly. Art honed over the centuries. But for Kors, feeling the muzzle on his face is very unpleasant, it prevents him from concentrating. Through the eyes of a slave, Kors sees himself as he enters the room, so tall, all in black, he hears how loud his voice is. Kors says something, but for a red slave, it’s just an inarticulate set of sounds in a foreign language. She is very scared, and Kors is interested in understanding what he was saying at that moment. Today he is disgustingly able to see the events! He doesn’t have power. Does his nervous state affect it? How to finally fit into this alien red of the opposite sex, so that the fabric doesn’t interfere with the eyes, the muzzle doesn’t squeeze the face, so that he can breathe normally, understand speech in black and everything that happens? With an effort, Kors separated from her and tried to stand next to her, just like in his last dream about little Nik, damn it… It worked! And now he sees Tyutya and everything that happens a little from the side.

Valentine lies in the toilet room. He is undressed. His naked body is covered in blood stains and bruises. Only his head is still pulled into a leather helmet, tightly laced at the back of his head. There is an iron collar on Valentine’s throat, gloves are on his hands, and thin wrists are closed in wide iron bracelets. Valentine lies motionless on the bare floor. Here, near the golden toilet bowl, he belongs and he sleeps here, but he is not supposed to have a mattress or bedding. So he crouched awkwardly on the cold and hard floor tiles. Dried blood and traces of shit are visible on the inside of his thighs. Damn it! Kors remembered! He was the one who raped and beat the poor fellow that night. Valentine lies motionless, dirty, in his own shit, beaten, torn. He doesn’t move, apparently in a semi-conscious state. The slave comes up to him, tries to lift him up, give him water. She brings Valentine a mug, slips a metal tube under the bottom shield of his helmet so that he can drink. Valentine groans softly. Kors sees that a black strip of cloth is wrapped around his head over the top of his helmet, just where the eye holes were. Kors blindfolded him, he can no longer remember why, because he was too drunk. Maybe Valentine dared to look at him somehow the wrong way, no, it’s impossible, Valentine never raises his eyes at all, Arel trained him well. Kors remembered that he had never liked Valentine’s cloudy eye covered with a white film, and Kors told Arel to close this slot in his helmet. So that he sealed it from the inside with a plaster or ordered Verniy to sew it up. But Arel didn’t want this, it seemed that it was a pleasure for him to see the work of his own hands. Therefore, despite the displeasure of Kors, he didn’t close the boy’s ugly blind eye. And against the background of the black leather of the helmet, the white eye stood out brightly, clearly visible even from a rather narrow slit. Nik often wrapped black strips of cloth around his sore, ulcerated hands, and Kors apparently borrowed a bandage from him to blindfold Valentine’s eyes and not see this disgusting thorn. Or maybe he just wanted to blind him, make the victim even more helpless. Valentine doesn’t touch the bandage, and the slave doesn’t do this either, they don’t dare to arbitrarily take off what they have been put on, change what the master has done to them. The girl brings a basin, pours water into it. Nearby is the door to the bathroom, and near the golden toilet is the same golden bidet, but the slaves do not have the right to use the things of the masters. Valentine does everything by touch, but quite confidently, he is used to blindness. And the girl diligently helps him.

In the next memory of the slave, Valentine is already dressed in his own clothes, he barely steps, holding on to the wall, trying to take a few steps. His movements are so careful, as if he is made of glass.

Valentine stands. Apparently, he still cannot sit on his ass, and standing up he eats the food brought by the slave. He slips the small pieces into the narrow slit of his helmet under his chin. He drinks water through a tube. There is still a bandage over his eyes. Kors pulled it tight around the back of his head. The owners forgot about him, and Valentine, at the behest of Kors, remains blind. Kors doesn’t remember it at all. But this bitch Tyutya was so busy with Valentine, fed, watered, helped him!

His office. Kors sees Tyutya carefully wiping the table. There is a knock on the door, Valentine comes up and timidly asks: “Who is there?” He gropes the door open, accepting another message for Kors from the courier, blindly holding out a gloved hand. This doesn’t surprise the unclean one who has come, and he gives him the envelope. Valentine carefully approaches the table, the slave girl helps him put the letter exactly in the center of the tabletop. How many days did the poor man go like this? And who ended up removing the bandage, finally noticing it? Arel did it? Or did the bandage eventually slip off on its own? Kors doesn’t remember, doesn’t know, he forgot about the boy then, he had many other things to do and worries. And he doesn’t want to look at it anymore. Because he wants to watch… Fuuuck… And of course, just thinking about it, he immediately saw Nik and heard Tyutya’s thoughts about him. Damn, that stupid bitch thought Nik was really cute too! She liked him too! Nik walks into the dining room, where she is cleaning up the table after another night of partying. Nik doesn’t pay any attention to the slave, and how badly he limps! He drags his leg, leaning forward sharply with each step, as if about to lose his balance. So sad, kind of pensive, all withdrawn into himself. He looks very unhappy and at the same time just as handsome. Unrealistically beautiful, like a fallen crippled angel. He flops awkwardly into a chair, his face contorted in pain. Slouching heavily, with a low hiss, Nik begins to rub his sore knee. His wrists, just below the gold bracelets at the very hands, are tightly wrapped with black bandages and glued over with a band-aid. And Kors knows why. There, under the strips of black fabric on Nik’s wrists, there are thin, but deep wounds from a steel wire. Kors always liked to use such handcuffs more than ordinary ones. Sticking into the skin, the wire delivers excruciating debilitating pain. Ideal for punishment. And Nik experienced it for himself, standing in the corner with his wrists tied for several hours. Now Kors regrets that he punished him like that, but nothing can be returned back. How brightly the letter stands out on his cheek! Kors himself doesn’t understand now why he did this to his son, and at that moment the letter didn’t at all seem to him so bright and big. Tyutya correctly matched it with the same letters on Adrian’s cheeks, and without a doubt considers both Nik and Adrian slaves of Kors. She thinks that black Kors and Prince Arel are lovers and free masters. And also Kors has slaves with whom he also has fun, these are Nik, Adrian and Parky. And the prince’s slave is Valentine. Moreover, she herself is a disenfranchised slave, she sincerely pities them. “What an idiot! But in general, she judged well.”

And then Kors himself enters the room. Kors likes to look at himself, admire his confident look, but the slave immediately lowers her eyes, although no one will ever see this through the cape, she does it instinctively. She froze, stopped collecting dishes on a tray. And Nik, too, instantly crept up, abruptly sat up straight, stopped slouching. This fast movement is now very noticeable to Kors, but at that moment he didn’t see it.

Kors imposingly approaches his boy, takes him by the chin, lifting and turning his face towards him:

“Now is not the time to sit down at the table,” he says imperiously and looking down at Nik, “first you need to go wash, brush your teeth, put yourself in order.”

Nik silently gets up.

“My vicious Angel, with whom anyone wants to sin,” Kors whispers hoarsely, leaning in to his ear, then puts a hand on his ass, runs his hand over it. He squeezes, strokes it, running his fingertips over the ornately twisted monograms of black patterns, and, slightly licking his lips, swallows hard. How smuttily and vulgar he looks from the outside! However, Nik, who stands with his head down and not moving like a ram, and allows Kors to stroke and squeeze his tattooed ass, doesn’t look any better himself. “And it’s not just that he decorated it? How did he even come up with the idea of getting tattoos on his ass? Whore!” Kors lowers his hand down and slips it between Nik’s legs from behind, thus reaching for his testicles, squeezing them. Nik gasps for air, but only spreads his legs a little wider to make Kors feel more comfortable.

“Let's go to the bathroom,” Kors says, finally releasing him, and Nik immediately heads towards the door. Now Kors can see how tense he is, not only does he keep his back straight, he tries not to limp as much as before, when Kors didn’t see him. His face stiffened, he clenched his teeth. He hurts! But Kors at that moment doesn’t notice this at all.

“Move faster!” he hurries, and, laughing briefly, loudly slaps Nik on his ass with his open palm. Clap!

Kors doesn’t remember it at all. This is the morning of one of the days of their stay in Ore Town. Both Nik and Kors hide behind the door to the bathroom, and the slave takes the half-eaten piece of bread from the plate and goes with it to Kors’ office. There, she approaches Adrian, who is locked in a cage, and thrusts bread to him through the bars. He reaches out his hand, takes the bread and eats it. “What a bitch is this Tyutya!” They are clearly not doing this for the first time, so calmly they move, not even in a hurry. Adrian eats carefully and slowly. And Tyutya stands nearby and looks at him with pity. They both know that if the masters have gone to the bathroom or the bedroom, they will not return soon. Kors hears his loud moans from behind the door, and the slave shrinks, for the umpteenth time she thinks: “poor Nik.” She knows and remembers their names, she generally understands and thinks everything, just turned into a bag with the help of a cape and deprived of the ability to speak, she is not perceived by others as a person and an individual. She herself is not free, she is horrified by their fate, and, as she can, she tries to help them. “I learned a lot of secrets about you, red fox! It turns out that you are so kind!”

Oh, this Ore Town, these wonderful, magnificent rooms in the palace! Their huge bed and golden brocade blanket, under which the three of them slept so sweetly, embracing and cuddling up to each other, he and his boys. Kors’ boys — light and dark, brunette and blond. It was the best time, Kors was happy there, in this really alien city, which, oddly enough, became his home and gave him unforgettable moments of happiness. And how they loved each other! And then Kors worked with such pleasure and created decrees, enthusiastically compiled lists of those sentenced to flogging and execution. He was the king of this city! Not Lis, but he, Kors!

How sweet his bright boy was, and now he has lost him. Now everything is irretrievably destroyed. And in these memories of a slave, thanks to the care of Kors, Nik is so neat, clean and combed. Because Kors followed him, washed and combed, and Nik already then obeyed him. Oh yes, he listened! But then Kors didn’t notice and didn’t appreciate it, taking it for granted. After all, it was the only right thing to do. And Nik obeyed him, carried out all orders. Only he didn’t want to wear glasses, and for this he was so severely punished. He was handsome and obedient in Ore Town. And without those protruding nose rings, oh, gods, even with all those stupid piercings, if only he remained Kors’ boy! And Kors had already reconciled and got used to his decorated nose. Let him wear his rings if he likes them. All the same, no matter what he did and no matter how he tried to disfigure his appearance, he didn’t succeed, and he remained beautiful. Kors was so bitter, there was no “his boy”! There was a Demon who played with him, and the body of his son, and together there was nothing. And this hair of his, from which he went crazy, what a handsome son he was! Eyes, nose, lips, it is not surprising that Prince Arel fell in love with him at one time. The appearance of an angel with a Demon inside, what an irony, a mockery. And how did he look at Kors? Kors wanted him every minute. Endlessly. Constantly. Crazily. Nik was the best. Was…not now. Now Kors knows that Nik is a soulless Demon who is just doing his missions and using people. And he seduced and used Kors. Stupid Tyutya,you don’t understand anything! You fed Adrian and took care of Valentine, maybe you helped “poor Nik” too?

Tyutya enters their bedroom, thinking that there is no one there. Water is splashing in the bathroom, Kors is there, and Prince Arel is rattling glasses in the living room. The girl wants to collect and take out the empty bottles, but she sees that Nik is lying on the bed. He is asleep, and the slid blanket is lying on the floor beside him. Tyutya involuntarily looks at his tattoos, this is a novelty for her, but she already understood that black and unclean ones adorn bodies in such a way, they don’t burn them with fire, like red ones, but paint them with indelible pictures. Nik is wearing a dubious decoration on his head and face: a muzzle mask consisting of thin leather straps connected to each other by metal rings, a ball on the straps is inserted into his mouth. The ball closes his mouth, preventing him from closing his lips, and all the belts are properly tightened and fastened at the back. Kors remembered that they found this toy in the bedroom, in one of the drawers of the bedside table, and began to play with it. It was he who inserted the ball into Nik’s mouth, tightly tightened all these straps on his face and neck so that Nik couldn’t spit it out, and Nik, as always, meekly accepted his whim. Kors remembers the pleasure of fucking him like that. And then they passed out, and Nik slept like that. And Kors also passed out, and when he woke up, still sleepy, he went into the bathroom and forgot to free him. Later, Kors is already sitting at his desk, reading the morning reports, and a slave girl brings him coffee. Nik enters the room, naked, sleepy, oh, that hair of his! Now they are a little pressed by the belts. With a habitual movement, Nik slightly removes a few loose strands with his hand, so that Kors can see his normally shielded eyes, looks inquiringly, points to his mouth with his hand. How beautiful this red ball looks between his plump lips, these black belts digging into his cheeks! Nik could pull it out himself, Kors just fastened the toy on the back with fasteners, there is no lock. But Nik didn’t do this without the permission of Kors, he came to him so that he himself pulled this ball out of his mouth and freed him. Kors realizes that Nik is uncomfortable. But the way he looks with his mouth open and gagged, those lips tightly wrapped around the ball, excites Kors so much that he quickly grabs Nik, bending over, pressing his chest against the tabletop. The massive table doesn’t even tremble from jolts. Kors turns Nik’s head to the side so he can see his closed eyes and wide mouth. Saliva flows down Nik’s chin, because of the ball and straps, he cannot control it and stop it. How loudly Kors screams! Gods, he just howls like a madman. Then he releases Nik, and finally undoes the buckles, pulls the ball out of his mouth, tosses the toy aside. Nik wipes his wet chin and rubs his stiff jaw. There are clear marks from the belts on his face. He shakes his head and can’t speak yet. Kors understands this, he excitedly whispers some words of love to him, squeezes him again, kisses his numb mouth. They go into the bedroom to continue with Arel. And the slave wipes the wet table and takes the ball on the straps, takes it out of sight, so that “The hangmanwould no longer torment anyone.” And they really never remembered this toy again later. Stop! What did she name him? Hangman?

Kors instantly fell out of sweet memories and jumped out of bed. Tyutya, realizing with some inner instinct that something was wrong, shied away to the door. But Kors managed to grab her and hit her closed face several times. She didn’t cry out, didn’t move in his hands, but froze, withstanding the blows.

“Wayward little bitch! You don’t know or understand anything! I’ll teach you now!” Kors yelled, and at that moment, quite unexpectedly for Kors, Parky literally flew in.

“What did she do, Commander, why are you beating her?!”

“Parky?” Struck by such impudence of his captain, Kors even released the slave.

She curled up on the floor at his feet, no longer trying to run.

“Parky, I didn’t call you! And she needs to be punished! This red bitch has forgotten what a good stick and pain are! And you seem to be too!”

“There was a lot of pain in both my life and hers,” Parky tried to say.

“No!” Kors roared. “You don’t know what it really is! Spoiled stupid kids, I’ll teach you! I’ll make you normal! Ungrateful creatures! Protecting your fucking fox? Would you like to receive the punishment instead?”

And Parky, suddenly somehow calmly looked him straight in the face and answered:

“Yes, Commander.”

Kors hit him with all his might with an iron rod, and Parky sank to the floor next to his Tyutya.

“How dare you burst in here and discuss my actions!” Kors hit him a few more times. “Well, where is your smile? You are so cheerful, so happy! Answer!”

“We are not at all happy, we are unhappy, Commander, and we are trying to serve you!”

“That’s it! All you have to do is serve well! Do the bare minimum and nothing more! You don’t need to worry about anything, because I think for you! I take care of everything! Your owner takes care of you like a parent! And you are always under guardianship, you don’t bear any responsibility, you don’t need to think about anything! But you can’t even serve properly! It’s hard for you too! Lazy irresponsible creatures, you will know what real grief is! I’ll teach you! I’ll show you! You’ll forget what it’s like to whine over little things! Open your mouth! I’ll make you a beautiful smile! I will count with an iron stick all your iron teeth!”

Parky slowly bared his teeth, opening his mouth, and Kors raised his stick, but Tyutya, seeing this, suddenly howled loudly and distracted Kors. The blow turned out to be blurry, blood spattered from the mouth of the unclean one, but the steel jaws remained in place.

“Are you protecting each other?” Kors was breathing heavily. “The wolf is ready to accept the punishment for the fox, you fool! And the fox squeaks in fear. You know that she self-willed in the city as she wanted! Feeding Adrian! She dared to call me hangman.”

Parky covered his smashed mouth with his hand.

“It’s not her fault,” he barely said, “she called you that because everyone in Ore Town called you that!” He looked up at Kors defiantly. “And now everyone calls you that!”

“What?” Kors lowered his rod. “Who calls me that?”

Parky spat blood on the floor.

“Everyone!”

“Parky…”

“Neither I nor she is to blame for this! I faithfully serve you and Desmod!”

“Whom?” Kors stammered. “Me, and who else do you serve?”

“I am a Desmod’s warrior!”

“But why are you with me then?” Kors completely lost his fighting spirit.

“Because the White Lord ordered Desmod to assign warriors to you when you met us at Riverside, and my commander Desmod chose me.

Kors froze. He didn’t remember the details, but yes, it was. Nik gave him a regiment to command and Parky as a captain. And Kors was very flattered by this and rejoiced. Now everything has finally fallen into place. Yes, the unclean ones only pretend to serve him, but he is not the main one at all.

“Who does Desmod serve?” Kors asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

“Desmod serves the White Lord,” said Parky, “we all serve the White Lord, you know that!”

“Go away,” Kors sat on the bed, “you are pretenders. Go! Serve your White Lord, Desmod and all the unclean ones! You are not really my subordinates.”

“No, we are yours, Commander,” Parky objected, “we were given to you.”

"What if Desmod orders you to kill me?" Kors asked.

Parky was silent.

“You are silent? Goood! What if I order you to kill Desmod? Who will you kill? Me or him? Answer!”

“I can’t kill him or you,” Parky said.

“Because the White Lord didn’t order it? Yes? What if he orders?”

Parky fell silent again.

“Answer! ”

“I’m just a captain,” Parky finally said, “I’m a junior officer and I don’t have that kind of authority.”

“You little Demon, you can’t kill the highest in the hierarchy, okay… at least one piece of good news. And I? Can I kill you, Ark?”

“You can…”

Kors stood up abruptly and walked over to them. They continued to kneel, neither he nor she even moved, flinched, recoiled.

“Your hangman is kind today,” Kors muttered and walked past them, “and go to all your devils!”

He walked out of the tent, walking quickly without knowing where and just trying to recover. “What did he personally do bad to them and other unclean ones so that they would call him that?”

Chapter 8

Kors himself didn’t understand how his feet brought him to the center of the camp to the tall and elegant tent of Zaf, which Kors still called “Circus”.

Around, as always, servants and slaves fussed, tied horses stood. Kors, without stopping and paying no attention to them, entered…

It was noisy inside the tent, and many unclean warriors and commanders were sitting at a richly laid table. Butwhat can I say, far from being a small tent of hospitable Zaf was simply packed.

The stuffy stench that overwhelmed him made Kors involuntarily catch his breath. The bitter smell of strong tobacco hit his nose, mixed in the most disgusting combination with the smelly meat aromas from smoking plates and the sour stench of spilled wine. In the center of the table was a dish with a black pig’s head, it was huge, and its empty eye sockets stared curiously at Kors. He tried to cope with uncontrollable nausea, a lump approaching his throat. Trying to breathe through his mouth and not step on the gnawed bones, Kors froze at the threshold, standing on the sawdust-strewn, dirty and spat-stained floor.

“Vitor! I’m glad to see you!” He heard the satisfied roar of Zaf, who tried to shout over the noisy commanders.

Zaf was sitting far from the entrance, at the head of the table, next to his warrior named Matin.

Kors knew Matin and had long been accustomed to him, but in spite of everything, the very first recollection of this warrior was forever imprinted in his memory:

Fort Crimson Rock. Kors and Nik feast with the unclean one. Matin lies on a low bench covered with skins. His long black hair, tied into a ponytail, hangs down almost to the floor, and Zaf inserts round black stones into his nostrils. At that moment, Kors became an unwitting witness to the barbaric action, but still didn’t know the reason why Zaf did this to his warrior.

“Why do they do it?” Kors asks.

“I don’t know. For beauty,” Nik replies indifferently, he is used to the rituals of the unclean ones, and he is not interested.

“For beauty? It’s disgusting!”

“This is Zaf’s warrior, Matin.”

“He was normal, he didn’t even have brands on his cheeks! Why is he doing this?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he wants to be like his commander, or maybe Zaf ordered him.”

“I can’t watch this,” Kors says, and turns away.

Now the black round plugs in Matin’s nostrils were several times larger than the first ones, flattening his nose completely. And Matin irretrievably lost his rather neat by nature features, turning into a freak.

Saluting Kors, Zaf got up from his seat, and many other commanders also stood up after him. Such a show of courtesy and respect cheered up Kors and shed at least some balm on his wounded heart. “Yes, the Hangman has come to you,” he chuckled bitterly in his thoughts. Matin stood up with Zaf and immediately moved aside, freeing up space, going to the warriors of the skull clan.

“Vitor! Be the guest of honor and sit next to me,” Zaf said.

And Kors went up to him and sat down beside him:

“Good afternoon, Zaf,” he said politely.

Zaf put him in the seat that Matin had just occupied, and before Matin, on that distant evening when Kors came here for the very first time, Nikto had been sitting in this place. Nikto played cards with the unclean ones, and Prince Arel knelt at his feet. Now for Kors it was like in another life. How things have changed since then…

“You came just in time for dinner, Vitor!” Zaf noticed. “Will you share a meal with us?”

“Yes,” Kors answered shortly, and the attending slave immediately set a silver dish and a goblet in front of him.

“Bring another fork and knife,” Kors ordered the slave, knowing that many unclean ones eat with their hands, not using a fork or spoon, sometimes using a knife. Butnot everyone does this. Therefore, if you order to bring cutlery, the slaves will immediately fulfill it, you just need to clarify what exactly you need.

Kors was greeted by Tazh, who sat at Zaf’s right hand, and a young unclean one of the skull clan.

“Kylie? Is it you?!” Kors was genuinely surprised.

Nothing remained of the boy, who used to remind Kors of a cheerful puppy. In a short time, Kylie grew up very much, matured, his face, decorated with a “skull mask”, lost all childishness and acquired the tough features of a warrior. He became an adult.

“Yes, it’s me!” Kylie smiled at him, and in his smile there was still something barely perceptible from the former him, something perky, but no longer childish. And he sat at the table with his father and older brothers, now no different from them.

To the left of Zaf, and a little farther on the side of Kors, sat the commanders Desmod and Marbas, and Marbas’ twin brother, whose name was Marbuel. And next to Marbas sat Nija. And Kors bitterly noticed that Nija had lost a lot of weight. His sunken eyes were lined with black paint in a haggard face. Kors had never seen Nija paint his eyes before, draw wings for himself, generally wear some kind of makeup. His face always remained clean, like a human’s, and he was ready to risk his life for this, cutting off the brands on his cheeks. Before… now no more. Kors saw that his long dreadlocks were woven with orange threads, the same as Marbas’ braids.

“What’s with Nija?!” Kors asked, unable to restrain himself, he was so struck by the pitiful appearance of the once so smiling Nija.

“Nija has gambled away, he made ill-conceived bets one after another, his debt only accumulated,” Zaf explained. “Marbas offered to help him and took him under his wing. The weak need a patron.”

And Kors, without objecting, just shook his head in frustration.

“Shall we have a drink?” Zaf held out his goblet to him, and Kors raised his.

“To the meeting!”

“To the meeting!”

“Vitor, what are you going to eat?” Zaf asked. “The boar’s head stuffed with nuts is very good! Calf saddle? Pigeon pate?”

“I would take meat grilled on coals and pate.”

“Excellent!” Zaf immediately gave the order to the slave, and in less than a minute, Kors’ plate was filledto the brim with treats.

Kors was eating, looking around at the table. The unclean ones were devouring the prepared dishes with incredible speed, munching and loudly demanding more.

“More meat!”

“More bread!”

Slaves rushed around the table, barely managing to fulfill everyone’s wishes. Blades and fangs flashed.

At a table closer to the exit, lower-ranking commanders were tearing apart a mess of entrails and offal piled high on a huge platter. They dug in it with their hands and paws, snatching up greasy bits and dipping them into bowls of red sauce. Opening theirmouths wide, they shoved intestines stuffed with liver into them.

The commanders sitting closer to Zaf had a more elegant meal that consisted of all kinds of meat dishes. Here Desmod like a wolf swallows huge pieces of meat, it seems, without even chewing. As he drinks, he sips the wine quickly and greedily, so that it flows down his chin. He is the true commander of Parky. Butwhat can Kors tell him? Nothing.

The unclean commander Alhas, whose name, Kors once misheard, purring with pleasure, crunches his pig’s ear. He spat juicy cartilage under his feet, poured a whole goblet of wine into his throat at once, gurgling with satisfaction.

Kylie’s ex-pup is rushing like he’s about to have his plate ripped out of his hands, almost choking on a large and too hot piece, poor thing. He tries to clear his throat, but at the same time, without stopping for a minute, he continues to chew. And his older brother, sitting next to him, hits Kylie hard on the back and laughs so that unswallowed remains fall out of his mouth.

Kors cut off a small square of white bread with a knife and spread some pigeon pate on top of it with a knife. Taking a two-pronged fork, he pierced this semblance of a canape with it and carefully put it in his mouth.

Tattoo artist Shukul pulled the bone out of his mouth and threw it back into his plate — couldn’t cope with it,what a disappointment! But no, he didn’t give up! After thinking for a while, he grabbed it again, trying to gnaw it, tilting his head strongly to the side.

What a difference between the twin brother of Marbas! That’s who is not afraid of the bones! Actively working with powerful jaws with a double row of teeth, Marbuel crushed a huge bone with a loud crunch and began to suck the marrow out of it with obvious pleasure.

And his brother Marbas was already satisfied. Having burped enough, he casually pushed the plate with the half-eaten pieces away from him, moving it towards Nija, and he, humiliated and hunched over, began to greedily and hastily gnaw at the bones, grabbing them with both hands.

“Nija is hungry,” Kors remarked sadly.

“Only Marbas can slow his decay,” Zaf explained.

“But what about Nija’s friend, Zanmar? Where is he? Why did he leave his commander?!”

“He didn’t abandon him, and what can Zanmar do? He is lower in rank. There is nothing he can do to help him. Even I have no right to give Nija food. If his patron so wished, Nija would be hungry. He is a debtor, and he works off his debt.”

“But this is wrong, Zaf, don’t you feel sorry for him?”

Zaf shrugged his shoulders.

“Nija now has a patron, and he is not alone. And here I am alone…”

And Kors almost choked on a sip of wine, which he was just at that moment taking from a goblet:

“What about Matin?” He tried to somehow turn the situation around.

“What? Matin?! Zaf laughed. “Yes, I’ll give him to you if you want. I will give him to you and won’t even remember about it!”

“Zaf, this is very generous, thanks for the offer, but I think I will refuse. I hope you don’t take this as disrespect.”

“No, as you wish.”

The animals seemed to have finally had their fill. Only the skull remained of the pig's head.

Kylie carefully licked the silver dish with his tongue, so that now his satisfied tattooed face was reflected in the plate, as in a mirror. Smiling. Tazh lazily picks his teeth with a knife. Tattoo artist Shukul looks bored as he waits for the slave to clear the dirty dishes and clean the table, clearly eager to get his tools out. Alhas, still chewing, is already turning to his neighbor, who put his elbows on the table and, propping his head on his fists, stared blankly at the wall. Marbas snarled something at Desmod, who nodded in agreement. Furious absorption of food began to be replaced by table conversation.

Kors also pushed the dish away from him.

“Don’t think that I can have something serious with Matin,” Zaf continued the conversation.

“If you don’t care about him, then why did you mutilate him like that?”

“I didn’t mutilate him,” objected Zaf, “and what’s more, he himself asked me about it, because he knew that I wanted to see him like that.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“Yes, it gives me pleasure, he is ready for anything for me, but I’m not ready for him. It happens.”

“Yes, it is really so,” Kors agreed sadly.

And Zaf seemed to understand his hint:

“How is the situation with your son going?” he asked at once.

Zaf asked exactly that, he called Nik the son of Kors, knowing full well that Nik was a Demon in a human body.

“Nothing,” Kors replied, but still complained, “hekicked me out!”

“Don’t take it so seriously, he just needs to work with you, but he can’t, he loves you,” Zaf said.

“He loves me?! He threw his boot at me!”

Zaf laughed.

“He needs to complete a task with you, but he doesn’t want to. Don’t hold a grudge against him, but help him.”

“I wonder how? He doesn’t listen to me!”

“Just love him too!”

“Too? He doesn’t love me! He loves Prince Arel!”

“Well, with Arel he’s just been longer. I don’t know for sure how many lives they lived together in different worlds. But I know for sure that at least two of them Arel was his slave. And he spent his first life on a chain, wearing a mask and gloves, forgetting how to walk, see and talk.”

“WHAT?!” Kors did his best not to look overwhelmed by this information.

“I was also with him in one of the demonic worlds,” he quickly orientated himself.

“I know,” Zaf laughed, and Kors realized that Zaf was there with them, but Kors didn’t remember anything.

“Do you like our world?” He decided to turn the conversation in another direction.

“Yeah, I love warm cozy caves,” Zaf said dreamily.

“I love this world too!”

“And your son?”

“Oh!” Kors was confused. “I don’t know! I’mconfused! What kind of son is he? He doesn’t listen to me, doesn’t follow the laws of the hierarchy, where the youngest belongs to the oldest, he is a finished type!” Kors turned away. This conversation tormented him. He came to Zaf to distract himself, and everything again came down to discussing Nik. Kors took a few good sips from the goblet, and the attentive slave, noticing this, immediately poured him wine.

Zaf sensed Kors’ mood and suggested:

“If you want, stay with me for now. Do you feel good with me?”

“Yes.”

“Then stay with me.”

Kors himself didn’t understand why, but next to Zaf he somehow became calmer.

“You know, Zaf, don’t think that I ignore stressful situations, I just solve them in my own way.”

“Yeah, everything is fine,” Zaf smiled.

The unclean oneswere talking lazily and digesting what they had just eaten, many of them lit up again. The slaves finally cleared the table of sticky plates. Shukul, having laid out his tools, began to tattoo forone of his friends another busty beauty on his shoulder. Kors watched him making the tattoo, noting involuntarily that compared to Nik, Shukul did it much faster.

Zaf gestured to his slave, who was sitting in the corner of the tent, and he crawled on all fours to the master, knelt at his chair. Both lips of this unfortunate man were pierced and greatly stretched, it was already a stretch to call them lips, since they were completely deformed and turned into long stretched loops. Round plates were inserted into them, protruding both lips strongly forward and making the impure look like some kind of terrible duck. Zaf sprinkled some powder on his upper lip plate, and, leaning slightly and holding a small pipe to his nostril, inhaled the drug. The slave stood motionless, waiting for his master to use his upper lip as a table.

“Will you?” Zaf picked up the pipe, inviting Kors to join.

“No, no, wine is enough for me.”.

Zaf leaned back in his chair, gently rubbing the slave’s short dark hair.

“Your imagination in decorating yourself, your friends and your slaves is limitless, Za,” Kors noted. “Can he speak at all?”

“He can mumble,” Zaf laughed.

“Yes, it’s probably hard to pronounce a word with such decorations on the lips.”

“He doesn’t need to talk. He is a slave. And I replace his plates with all the larger diameters. They snap each other so funny when he moves his mouth. By the way, Vitor, it’s high time for your slave Adry to change his lip decoration too.”

“I’m going to let him go,” Kors said.

“What?” Zaf was surprised. “Why?! Aha-ha. I’ll pick up a bigger stone for him. You can eventually put an ashtray or a cup on it.”

“Well… I’m not sure I need it.”

“Go to your place,” Zaf ordered the slave, and he crawled away from him.

Another slave of Zaf also appeared, with a shiny pebble on the tip of his nose and with red lips outlined in a thick black border. Today he was dressed not in a woman’s dress, as usual, but in a lace set: a bra, small panties and stockings with a garter. All this lingerie of bright scarlet color, decorated with satin ribbons, was clearly borrowed by the unclean from some red whore from the Ore Town. Kors saw that a puncture had been made in the bridge of the poor fellow’s nose, and a metal rod had been inserted to which the eye shields were attached. Resembling tablespoons, they dug into the skin, completely closing the eyes and depriving the slave of the ability to see. To the touch, the slave crawled under the table and began to gently poke at the legs of those sitting in turn, offering the guests to satisfy them with a blowjob.

Desmod pushed him roughly with his boot, but Marbuel didn’t.

“Why did you cover his eyes with those iron glasses?” Kors asked Zaf.

“Well, he became quite boring as a dead fish. And sohe is more sensitive. Better try, hope I take them off and let him see again.”

Having satisfied Marbuel, the slave moved on.

When he gently touched Kors’ boot, he jerked back sharply.

“Uh, no, Zaf, get that away from me!”

Zaf, smiling, dragged the slave out from under the table and ordered:

“Dance!”

The poor fellow immediately began to make smooth movements with his hands and twist his hips. Alhaspicked up a musical instrument and played a cheerful tune on it. Hearing the music, the slave danced more cheerfully, bouncing on the spot and twirling his thin ass in red lace. It was very funny. The uncleancommanders laughed heartily, and Kors passed on this fun. It became easy for him, he finally relaxed, began to laugh along with everyone, clink glasses filled with wine with Zaf, Tazh, Kylie and others, finally forgetting about his troubles. Kors’ sad, anxious mood improved with each passing minute, either charged with the relaxed joy of the warriors around him, or from the wine he had drunk. But suddenly everyone froze, and the instrument fell silent. And the slave in red linen fell to his knees, bowing his head in fear. Kors did not even immediately understand what had happened, why everything collapsed so abruptly. Andin the ensuing deathly silence, he saw at the entrance to the tent a figure wrapped in a black cloak. The face covered with a mask, a hood pulled low over the head, the black figure stood motionless on the threshold, slightly hunched over and leaning on a crutch. The fur-wrapped upper crossbar of the crutch was lost in the folds of the cloak under the arm, and a black-gloved hand gripped the crossbar a little lower, and a golden ring with a dark green stone glittered on the finger. The newcomer did not utter a word, but the impure ones, as if waking up, hurriedly jumped up from their seats. The uninvited guest slowly walked forward, and each of his steps echoed in the silence with the dull thud of a crutch on a wooden floor. Zaf grabbed Kors by the hand, squeezing tightly, pulling him up from his chair. And Kors “heard” his tension, and also his frustration from the fact that now Zaf would be taken away from such a cute Vitor with a white strand on his forehead. And Zaf hoped to keep him at home. And Kors knew that Zaf was not sad in vain, yes, Nik was coming to him, or rather it was not Nik, now this black figure didn’t resemble his son in any way. The creature approached Kors. And he saw that around the wrist of his hand, not occupied by a crutch, a chain was wound. Kors understood. He knelt down, looking down, but without lowering his head too low to make it easier for the Demon to attach the chain to his collar. It was very humiliating, because Kors had just laughed and so in a friendly way, communicated on an equal footing with unclean commanders and was also a commander, was one of them. And now he will be taken away on a chain, like a slave.

The Demon came close to him. Kors didn’t look up, he saw only the black hem of his cloak, sweeping the floor, strewn with dirty sawdust, and the iron tip of the crutch. The demon stood motionless, as if thinking, and then Kors heard the command clearly given in his head: “Get up and follow me!” Without fastening Kors with a chain, Nikto turned around, heading for the exit. Kors hastily stood up, dusting his knees, trying not to meet anyone's eyes, and slowly followed the Boss. After walking a few steps, Nikto apparently noticed a dressed-up slave huddled on the floor, and stopped, as if looking at him. With the tip of the crutch, he lifted his chin up so that he could see his face better. The blinded slave threw back his head, not moving and waiting for the master to order. But Nikto lowered the crutch, again leaning on it, and, without stopping again, left the tent. Kors obediently followed him. This hesitation of the Demon, and the way he seemed to be carefully and thoughtfully examining the mutilated slave, frightened him. “If the Demon wants to do something like this to me, I will find a way to end my life,” he thought, “and this slave — he is punished for certain offenses. Doing this to me is against the rules. Although, does Nik follow the rules?” Kors smiled bitterly. His Demon doesn’t follow the rules, and Zaf said: “I have known the White Lord for a very long time, but I know one thing about him for sure — you can expect anything from him.”

Well, in this case Kors would prefer death.

“Calm down, don’t shout like that,” said Nikto.

They walked slowly through the night camp to Nik and Arel’s tent.

“I’m not shouting.” Kors tried to keep his composure. “Why did you come after me alone and didn’t send someone? Arel, Verniy? Or simply didn’t call mental order? Why did you come? It’s hard for you to walk!”

“Well, yeah,” Nik drawled, “but I need to try to walk, otherwise I won’t get up at all.”

But Kors was flattered that the Demon came for him himself.

Chapter 9

They returned to Nik and Arel’s tent.

“You have walked enough?” Prince Arel asked when he saw Kors and smiled at him, while continuing to hold a smoking cigarette with his lips.

“Walked?! I’ve been kicked out!” Kors replied indignantly, Arela’s condescending smile pissed him off, “Did you miss me, prince?”

“Yes,” Arel answered laconicly, as usual, and a sly smile continued to snake on his black lips.

“Our Vitor, as always, was jerking off to me in his head all day, and then went to have fun with Zaf,” Nik explained. He put aside his crutch, threw back his hood, dropped his cloak from his shoulders, and, seeing his native blond hair, Kors calmed down a little. The demon became the same, became the human Nik.

“I was not…” Kors even stuttered indignantly. “And you’re jealous, right? Are you jealous of Zaf?”

“Pfft,” Nik chuckled without answering. He took off his mask, and Kors saw that under it his face was still wrapped in wide black strips of bandages. But Nik was obviously changing bandages, he was bandaged differently, not as tightly as before. The strip covered the head and forehead under the now regrown bangs, but the eyes were not as much obscured as before. Kors saw that Nik had made them up again, thickly stroked with black both above and below. A couple of strips of fabric under the eyes left his nose covered, but a ring stuck out from under the bandages. The lower part of the face, under the nose, the mouth, and the lower jaw were bandaged more tightly, and a gap was cut in the bandages for the mouth.

Nik removed his gloves, casually tossing them on his bed of skins. At the same time, he first took off the ring, carefully laid it on the table, then took off his gloves, and then put the ring back on his finger. Kors was flattered that Nik liked his gift, he treated it carefully and wore it with obvious pleasure. But Kors also involuntarily noted with bitterness that his son’s hands were trembling, and his fingers were slightly twisted. He wanted so much to grab his black hand and try to rub it, relieve muscle tension, so that his son would relax. Arel handed Nik a half-smoked cigarette. Nik inserted it into the gap cut in the bandages and blew out the smoke.

“I went to Zafu, and you immediately came for me!” couldn’t resist and continued Kors. He stood at the door in some confusion, not understanding where to go next.

“Vitor, shut up, I came for you because you are mine,” Nik replied, continuing to smoke.

“And what should I do now?”

“You know what to do.”

“What?”

“You know.”

Kors understood. He slowly knelt at the entrance.

“Now, will you cover my eyes?”

“No, what’s the point? I still can’t take off the bandages yet, you’re lucky,” Nik replied calmly.

“What’s up with your scar?!”

“You are talking about it again?! If you even say a word to me about my scar, I’ll fucking… I’ll hit you!” Nik quickly put out his cigarette in the ashtray. Kors quickly and cautiously looked up at him with his expressive dark brown eyes:

“Oh, yes, I used to get kisses from you, and now I get only blows!” Kors made an offended face.

Nik approached him and Kors involuntarily cringed. He smelled Nik’s familiar and himelike smell, the smell of fumes and strong tobacco, and took a breath, closing his eyes to feel it more strongly. He cringed, expecting a blow. Nik reached out and ran his fingertips through Kors’ hair, over a strand of white, very soft and gentle. He withdrew his hand as if with an effort. He loves him! Kors got it! Nik loves him and won’t hit him. He relaxed, not opening his eyes and continuing to inhale his scent, feeling that, despite the constant stink of strong booze and cigarettes, Nik smelled of another, such a strange, slightly sweet inviting smell, the smell of decay and warm damp earth. He felt it before, but he couldn’t determine it for himself, and now it dawned on him! The smell of death! The smell of black water! Which remains forever!

“Well, don’t start sniffling,” Nik said affectionately, “how strangely you breathe,” he laughed softly.

“You smell like black water, I just realized it! It doesn't matter if you are dirty or clean, it is the smell of the skin, you are soaked through with it! Have you taken black water?”

“Now? No,” Nik shook his head in a negative gesture, “I need it, but I didn’t take it. I don’t want.”

“Please be careful!”

“Well, what can I do?” Nik said indifferently. “You know, I actually really liked being your porcelain doll. What is the name of this game? It is usually played by girls. They play with their dolls: dress them up, comb their hair, feed them. They play school or hospital. It was so nice, I would play as much as you want, I would even live in your basement like a doll in a box, is that what you wanted? In the end, you would put me on a chain and put a bag on my head, as you like, I know, so be it… I would obediently wait until you come to play with me, and I would sit on a chain with a bag on my head. And I wouldn’t hang myself like that stupid slave of yours.”

“You better believe it!” Kors disagreed. “You would be quick to ask to go play cards and get drunk. I know your nature…”

“Well, no, I’m generally accustomed to sitting in one place for a long time and being limited…”

“Really? Why did you quit your game then?”

“Well, I’m sorry, I really want to be your doll, but I can’t for good, I need to complete tasks, and study with you, develop you.”

Kors didn’t know if Nik was serious or joking.

“I didn’t play mother-daughter with you! Maybe you played with me, portraying a doll, but I wasn’t playing play!” He shouted indignantly. “I sincerely treated you and taught you! And you keep reminding me of the bag. You are cynically mocking now at my care and desire to help you! Nothing is truly sacred to you!”

“Funny!” Nik went back to the table and poured himself some wine.

“I don’t want to sort things out now and argue who played with whom,” Kors said annoyed. He didn’t like this conversation, and it seemed that with such derogatory comparisons with a stupid girl who plays with her doll, Nik mocked him and his sincere concern for his son, devaluating his efforts and humiliating him.

“I wasn’t playing,” he repeated stubbornly. “Stop making me emotional! And when I realized that everything around me was a game and a lie, and you just fooled me around your finger, I had the courage to tell you the truth right in your face. But you almost killed me for my honesty!”

Nik laughed merrily.

“You said you need to teach me?” Kors didn’t give up. “Do it! Teach me! Why are you not teaching me? Instead of teaching, you drive me away! Throw me out! You’re laughing! I’m ready to learn! I’m not good at watching life, I see one thing, then another, then it’s not clear what. Childhood, thoughts, all mixed up, not structured. I rush about in these other people’s lives, then I fit into the owner, then I see everything with my own eyes, as an outside observer. I don’t understand what clear algorithms and techniques need to be applied in order to see what I need and the way I want, and not in fits and starts. Nik, if you’re a teacher, there must be some method of teaching. I always apply a technique, logic, a systematic sequence from simple to complex…”

“From proverbs to muddy shit from the code of true blacks about sheep?” Nik clarified, wiping his mouth covered with bandages — it was uncomfortable for him to drink from a mug.

“This is not muddy shit, but the legacy of the Holy Fathers!”

“I liked the proverbs more.”

“Of course! No doubt!”

“You study, Vitor, you memorize, you train. Be patient.”

“Is that all you can tell me? Maybe there is not only the practice of the “hit and miss method”, but some kind of clear formula? Sequence of certain actions? Ritual? Like — I spit three times over my left shoulder and see the object’s childhood. I say “Stop, that’s enough!” and stop seeing childhood. I switch to the memories I need at the moment. I drank a glass of wine and say a spell, and see an object at a party. Give me theory! I’m poking back and forth like a blind kitten!”

“Theory without practice is useless, because everyone is a little different, and what works for one may not work for another.”

“But are there any fundamentals? That’s exactly that everyone is “slightly different”, but in fact, they are all the same, at the basic level they were created by higher forces according to a template…”

“Vitor, you studied this base while still in the service and working with any…objects. Read a hundred books about swordsmanship, and you will enter into a duel and you will understand a thousand times more, well… or you will die,” said Nik.

“But they teach the basics of combat! I need scripts!”

“Well, you know them! And in fact, everyone knows the basics of communication, they are inherent in human nature. They just don’t use them, they never think about it. And you thought, closely followed the actions of others, observed and applied your discoveries in practice. You just need to be clear about your intentions. It shakes you because you often don’t understand what you want. What do you want in the end from this object? Understand what you want from him, what is your goal, and act on that basis. If you want to drink wine, you stretch out your hand to the bottle and take it from the table, you don’t try to take it with your foot, do you?”

“What if I don’t know what I want? I want to see first, then understand. It was difficult for me to fit in with a woman. In red Tyutya. I barely understood how to pull away, I felt her with my body, I looked with her eyes. Fortunately, Parky wasn’t fucking her at that moment, otherwise I would have caught an unforgettable sensation!”

Nik laughed again.

“Any, even the most serious conversation, Vitor Kors will always eventually turn to fucking.”

Kors fell silent in annoyance.

“But you can also listen and feel what your lover feels under you when you fuck him,” Nik decided to sweeten.

“Ah, so I can enter, for example, into your memories, where we make love, where I take you, and practically fuck myself?”

“Yes! It’s great!” Nik was quite amused.

“Yeah… jerk off and fuck with myself — this, apparently, is mine…”

“Endless talk of fucking and brain jacking. Over the past day, you have fucked me in your head a million times! Well, how much can you do it?! He wants to study, hahaha…”

“I want to learn! What is the meaning of this gift? What use is it to me and what use is it that I watch stupid lives?”

“But you like it, and you climb in the minds of others all the time.”

“What is left for me? I entertain myself! I watch them like a play in a theatre, absolutely mediocre productions! Catastrophe! And you know… I never liked the theater! What an irony! All this is empty! From the fact that I see them, there is no sense, I see that they are not interesting to me and I don’t need them. They are stupid sheep. It doesn’t give me anything.”

“Except for jerking off?”

“Except for jerking off,” Kors agreed obediently, “I’m bored with it. Give me another gift!”

“I’m bored too, Vitor.”

“You don’t need to reflect me now, this is stupid, I learned all your tricks and gimmicks!”

“I don’t reflect. I’m really bored too. Why do you think you’re the only one who’s bored here? Lots of people are bored! You are not an exception!”

Kors turned to Prince Arel lying on the couch:

“Teach me to squeeze everyone with an invisible hand, as Arel can, give me such strength!”

“Why do you need it?”

“I need it! You are not helping me find my true self, holding me back because I am above you in the hierarchy!”

“Here it starts … I help you more than you think!”

“I am higher than you, and you are afraid of me and hold me back!”

“In my opinion, he drank pretty well at Zaf’s,” Arel noticed, “and he is being carried away.”

“But it seems to me that it always carries him, and even more when he is sober,” Nik disagreed.

He turned to the displeasedly silent Kors.

“Now I will inject myself with a restorative and begin.”

He took out his box, and, slightly bowing his head, as always concentrated, but at the same time very quickly began to prepare a dose for himself.

“I’ll inject myself in the neck, it won’t take long.”

And Kors turned away, he could never calmly watch the Demon destroy the body of his son.

“Nik, why did the unclean ones put you on black water, for what?”

“For nothing.”

“But why then? What was the meaning of it?!”

“Meaning? They wanted me to live.”

“What kind of nonsense? Or did you start injecting yourself?”

“No one in their sound mind would do that.”

“The key word here is ‘sound’. Maybe my human son tried to commit suicide in this way?”

“No, even he wouldn’t do that. And where would he get black water? Vitor, you are very wordy, you really tire. I’m tired of your endless thoughts, questions, you delve into every little thing. Royal Investigator! Enough! Everything! Business before pleasure! Start undressing!”

And Kors, without objecting, began to unfasten his weapon and take off his clothes, folding them neatly beside him.

With a sharp and rude movement, Nik brushed off everything that was on it from the table top. Plates and bottles crashed to the floor.

“Oh! Nik, why couldn’t you just call Verniy to clean it up? Why are you so fond of destroying everything and sowing around a mess?!” Kors groaned.

Nik didn’t answer. He set his bag on the table, which always contained his box of drugs, tools and paints, and never food, much less a change of clothes, and began to arrange the jars on the table with concentration. And Kors couldn’t help admiring his magnificent white mane covering his entire back. Now, in the beautiful black leather pants Kors had given him that hugged his legs and ass like a second skin, and the short vest Kors had also given him, laced right over his naked body, he was incredibly attractive. Maybe from the fact that Kors was on his knees and looked at Nik from the bottom up, but his legs didn’t seem short to him at all, and Nik himself didn’t seem small to him. He had good proportions. And that blond hair covering a black leather-wrapped ass. “Gods! But why does he have such beautiful hair that literally drives me crazy? This is the appearance of a vicious Angel. I can’t think of anything. You’re hot as all your hell put together! Damn you, fucking Nik!”

“I need to change you a little,” Nik said, “you are part of the fist, remember? And you must have all the attributes.”

“And my human son told me there was no fist,” said Kors.

“And you believed him?”

“Well… unlike you, he never deceived me, he always told the truth. I didn’t listen to him, but then, on my own bitter experience, I only confirmed his words.”

“No matter!” Nik threw, and so habitually for Kors, he abruptly turned his whole body away from the table that one of his braids loudly clanged with hairpins on the side of the tabletop. A black faceted bead slid off the cord and rolled across the floor. Nik instantly reacted to this sonorous fractional sound, he lowered his bandaged head, looking at the floor. Seeing the bead lying there, to Kors’ surprise, he bent down and picked it up. Thoughtfully turning in his hands, and, apparently, still managing to compare cause and effect, Nik turned his gaze to his scythe. Seeing that it was disheveled, and the ribbon was untied, he put the bead aside, and to Kors’ even greater surprise, taking the braid in his hands, wrapped the ribbon several times around the fluffy tip and tied it into a knot, straightened it. And then, returning to his instruments again, he took the unclamp, by touch, without a mirror, turned his ring hanging under his nose, and, without taking it out, opened it, strung a black bead on it and closed it again. He twisted his nose ring so that the black bead now hung exactly under his nose.

“What are you doing? Savage!” Kors shook his head.

“Eh?” Nik asked.

“Damn you! You’re hotter than all the pots and pans in your fucking hell!”

Nik froze, obviously not understanding, but then, shaking his head, he drawled:

“Ahh, you keep on jerking off to my appearance… It looks like you won’t stop doing it even if I really do put a bag over my head.”

“But at the same time, will you stay in these tight-fitting pants and a vest on your naked body? Why are you walking half naked in front of me?”

“Damn, am I supposed to wear a cape?! Why don’t you just stop staring at my ass?”

“While you’re in those pants, it’s impossible!”

“You gave them to me yourself!”

“Yes, and they were just ordinary pants, expensive, of good quality, but completely ordinary. Why does everything look depraved on you? Fallen Angel! You desecrate the gift of beauty given to you thanks to me and Inness, you make everything vulgar and dirty.”

“No, I don’t spit on it. I love to dress beautifully. I love expensive clothes, jewelry, and I like to adorn myself,” Nik disagreed, “I appreciate everything, even though you only see my hair, you don’t see a person in me. And you rich true blacks… you just think you have the right to have my hair and eyes and use me as you please!”

“No! People are fascinated by you, want to love you and believe you! And I believed! And you played those strings! You know how to do it! Are you saying people don’t see you as a person? Yes, maybe they pay little attention to the fact that you are a fool, but only not me, a true black, played with you like with a doll! You played with me! You charmed me! Only this beauty, this gift, the tool that you use so shamelessly, I gave you! It was me! I was not afraid to break the laws of racial purity, I was not afraid to ruin my career! Not afraid of anything!” Kors tried to end his monologue on the most dramatic note.

“Really?” To his disappointment, Nik reacted rather indifferently. “I remember something now… how you asked me for forgiveness for the fact that, blinded by your love for a white virgin, you didn’t think that your children would be half-bloods. You admitted you’d just get rid of the wrong child. “Little children often die” — these are your words, right?”

Kors froze.

“And now it turns out that it was your gift to me? And for me you made such sacrifices! How can I thank you, daddy master? You gave me such beautiful rings in the lower lip! I love wearing them so much!”

“Nik…”

“Okay, okay, I really like them.”

Kors wilted ashamed, but still stubbornly said:

“After all, I confessed to you honestly, I was honest. And I loved honestly, too. Have you ever been honest with me?!”

“I was!”

“When?!”

“When I said I love you!”

“Nik, I loved you honestly too! And I was not afraid of anything! Of condemnation of friends, of loss of reputation, of nothing! Humiliation, punishment — I survived everything! I gave you everything! And what did I end up with?”

“Are all these victims just because of my appearance? Because of beauty, as you say? I’m not your Inness!”

“I know!”

“Vitor, wake up, I’m a half-blood, and my appearance deprives me of all the privileges that pure-blooded blacks have. Not only that, I’m lame! I’m a cripple! All in scars! Do you want to be as beautiful as me?! You will charm everyone! Want to try?”

Kors was confused:

“You have perfect facial features, these are the black and white races in the most beautiful combination, and try to argue that this is not so!”

“Yes? Only everyone is constantly staring at me, looking at me, everyone considers it their duty to say something about my appearance, witty, as it seems to them! Joke!” In Nik’s intonation appeared annoyance and frustration. Kors immediately caught on to this and perked up.

“The way you mutilated yourself is not my fault, you are just reaping the fruits of your stupidity! And when I ask you to give me the opportunity to help you with the treatment, you throw your boot at me! Well, now wear a mask so that they don’t stare at you, it’s your own fault!”

“Oh, I’m crying now! Yes please, I like my mask! I began to open my face only because Arel ordered, he ordered me to wear only half the mask. It’s not about beauty, understand! I fought in both Lower and Upper, and the audience didn’t know what I looked like, they never saw me with an open face. At Dim’s in the Upper Colosseum, I never took off my mask.”

“Yes, I understand,” agreed Kors, “you wanted to be perceived and appreciated as a warrior without being distracted by your pretty face. And in the Upper Coliseum, did Dim forbid you to take off your mask?”

“Dim didn’t forbid me anything, he didn’t tell me how I should look. It was you who forbade me to speak, to look like I want, to talk to whoever I want, to do what I want, to go where I want, just to move and see! You forbade me everything! But I loved you so much that I put up with it and was ready to be your doll! I listened to everything you were saying me! Only you yourself threw me away! Just like Arel, when he loved you, you threw me away too, you yourself threw him away! Remember how you shied away from me in disgust and called me a vile creature!”

“Stop it!”

“Well, you continue to forbid even now!”

“Sorry… I loved you for more than just your appearance. I didn’t throw you away, I was just very disappointed with your lies, your deceit, that's all…”

“Well, of course! I always blame you for everything! You have collected all the burning coals on my head! For you, I’m an ungrateful deceiver, I didn’t appreciate all your victims! I don’t respect my father! Just notice, I call you daddy master and I’m proud that I have such a father, and you always call me a jerk!”

“Just because you don't understand how madly I love you!”

“You threw me away! And despite this, I didn’t stop loving you!”

“And at that moment, Prince Arel, lying relaxed on the trestle bed, suddenly laughed loudly. They looked at him in surprise and questioning. He, noticing their glances, explained:

“You are quarreling so funnily. I love you! And I love you more! No, I love you more! No — I! Aha-ha!”

“It doesn’t concern you, Prince Arel,” Kors grumbled, embarrassed, “and you know, as they say, no one is a judge of two, so we sort things out as we want. Mind your own business!”

“Well, please …” Arel grunted, continuing to choke with laughter. “Vitor, I love you too, I’m saying just in case.”

Kors turned away, grimacing.

And Nick said:

“I'm really tired, Arel is right. It’s time to get down to business.”

“Found someone to listen to, the stupid handsome prince…”

“Vitor! Enough! I’m not your doll anymore, I’m your teacher, so shut up and crawl over here.”

“I can stand up?”

“No! I said crawl! Do you misunderstand?”

Lowering his head, Kors got on all fours and crawled to the table, trying not to touch the lying plates and not to plunge his hand into the spilled wine. His shiny ponytail slid off his back to one side, and the ends dragged along the floor. He crawled to Nik’s feet.

“You can sit on the chair,” Nik said, and Kors immediately got up from his knees and sat down.

From the velvet bag Nik took out small gold rods, the ends of which were encrusted with dark blue stones into balls.

“I’ll pierce your chest,” Nik showed Kors the jewelry, “I’ll insert these little bars, and if necessary, you can attach a chain to them.”

“Where did you get them from?” Kors was genuinely surprised. Nik pressed one small rod into his palm so that Kors could get a good look at it.

“I ordered them from a jeweler in Ore Town for you, a long time ago. Are they beautiful?”

Kors turned the delicate ornament in his fingers.

“Nik! Really beautiful!”

The bars were small and neat, Kors really liked them. He didn’t expect Nik to pick up such aristocratic jewelry for him. Knowing his vulgar taste, he didn’t count on something moderate. He expected Nik to insert his favorite thick carved rings into his chest.

“When did you order them? You were with me all the time!”

“Vitor, I don’t need to go anywhere for this, I just gave a mental order to one of my unclean ones, showed that I wanted to.”

“Your secret world that I always forget about… you do everything in a quiet way…”

“It will hurt a little,” Nik warned.

“I can’t get used to it!”

Still, Kors couldn’t help but close his eyes, clenching his teeth, as Nik pierced his nipple with a special catheter needle. All these flesh punctures Kors associated with negativity and bad moments. With heavy memories of beatings and pain in the Limit and then, when on a hike to the mountains, he fell under the monstrous pressure of Arel.

“Now I’ll paint you, no matter how long it takes,” said Nik.

“I don’t care. Paint me if you like.”

“Of course, it’s just dye. I would look at how you would behave if I said that I would tattoo you all.”

“No, I really don’t care anymore and you will do it sooner or later and so,” Kors replied doomed.

Nik knelt down in front of him on the floor and drew some signs on his ankles. They wrapped around Kors’ legs like bracelets, and the designs rose a little higher, but the design was not at all like the black stripes of slave bracelets, like Nik himself. It was a beautiful ornate pattern of intricate weaves and, as it were, letters and signs. Nik took Kors’ hand by the wrist and adorned it much the same way. Kors now had beautiful designs on his ankles and wrists.

“Hmm,” Kors said, “Nik, I didn’t expect this from you, what is this?”

“Protection,” Nik replied simply, without going into details. “Tip your head back a little.” He covered Kors’ neck with signs and patterns for a long time and very carefully.

Hell, even a high collar won’t help, Kors thought. But what could he do? It only remained to be glad that Nik didn’t touch his face and hands. The rest could be somehow hidden by clothes.

“Get up.”

Kors hastily got up from his chair.

And Nik began to draw signs on his chest, and he painted Kors in a completely different way than Marg did in the Limit. The design on Kors’ chest was more like the seal on Nik’s forehead. Circles and criss-crossing lines formed triangles, letters intertwined into words in an incomprehensible language.

“Are you drawing a Pentacle on me? Are you putting witch seals on me?”

“Are you good at this?” Nik interrupted him. “Shut up at last.”

Nik was doing everything very diligently, it seemed that now his tongue would stick out of his zeal from his gap in the bandages. Kors saw him blinking his thickly painted black eyelids, narrowing his eyes, tilting his head first to the left, then to the right. Painting his body, Nik was so close, so close, so warm, Kors felt his breath on his chest. Memories flooded over him, he was no longer afraid, he wanted his boy, the more he realized that Nik really didn’t stop loving him. Moreover, Kors still had some influence on him. From time to time, Nik slightly moved away from Kors and froze, carefully examining and, as it were, evaluating what had been done. At one of those moments, Kors leaned forward, reaching for his bandaged face, for the beaded ring hanging under his nose. He reached out, grabbing his lips and taking the jewelry into his mouth. He felt how the bead, under the pressure of his tongue, smoothly scrolled on the ring, and everything in his stomach tightened pleasantly.

Nik recoiled.

“Hey! What are you doing?!” But his voice was cheerful.

“I want to kiss you on your pretty nose," Kors whispered.

“You don’t see it! I bandaged it up.”

“I still remember it and I want to kiss it!”

“Only the nose?” Nik asked a little slyly.

“Well… for beginning, and then, of course, I want to kiss you all over.”

“Why? Are you no longer afraid of my scales?”

“No! I’m not afraid! You really can be the most different, you know how to change!”

“You’re afraid!”

“No! Do it! Show me your snake form, I will kiss you on your scaly body!”

“No. Not now.”

“I realized that I can’t live without you, my Demon, my Nik! I love you no matter what!” Kors dropped to his knees before him.

“I also love to fuck with you, Vitor, I love you very much. You, too, are hot as fire in hell, or whatever you call it,” Nik put down the brush, “crawl on the skins.”

And Kors obediently got on all fours and crawled to where he was pointed. Without changing his position, he stopped on a skin lying on the floor and lowered his head low on his folded hands. Everything inside him was on fire, and, fading with anticipation, he heard Nik, clanging buckles, take off his clothes.

He knelt down next to Kors and stroked his back. Kors froze, catching every touch. He felt Nik part his buttocks and lick, run his tongue over his hole, and Kors closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, ready to explode. How he yearned for this. For this sex without restrictions and prohibitions. He heard Nik hiss his “purr” softly and lick Kors harder.

“Please, don’t torment me, fuck me!” Kors shouted.

And Nik thrust his cock into him, making him literally howl with pleasure. It was unbearable, his stomach filled with heat and twisted into a knot, the cock inside throbbed, and each push was felt more and more sharply, from pleasant soft waves to bright influxes, more and more. Kors tried his best to stand straight, but his legs gave way. He wanted to squirm with pleasure, writhing under Nik, and scream out loud. Arel approached them, slowly, gracefully, like a cat, sank down beside him on a fluffy skin, and leaning over, squeezed Kors from behind by the neck, with his teeth gently, but at the same time with force, grabbing his withers. Kors just sobbed, ready for anything.

He exuded energy over the edge, but just as he gave it to them, he received it, exploding with orgasms, it was an exchange. And for these moments, Kors was ready to be humiliated, beaten, anything — just to be with them and get it. Nik fell off him and fell on his back, pulling Kors towards him. He immediately understood everything, almost lying on top, clinging to him, he himself, guiding his hand, inserted his cock into himself, while at the same time spreading his legs wide for Arel, and he didn’t keep himself waiting.

Chapter 10

After a crazy and sleepless night, Kors didn’tremember how he fell into a deep and restful dreamless sleep. This had not happened to him for a long time, therefore, opening his eyes, he was very surprised and looked dumbfounded at Nik, who was gently tuggingat his shoulder, affectionately repeating:

“Vitor, daddy, wake up!”

“Yes, yes,” Kors replied, not really understanding what he wanted from him yet.

He felt good. He was full of wonderful emotions and memories of a magical night. Nothing was hurting. And his cock didn’t fail him the night before, which he was also incredibly happy about. Everything was amazing.

“Oh, Nik, I fell asleep, what time is it?”

“Two in the afternoon, I think,” Nik thought for a moment, “fourteen hours,” he added, but not very confidently.

“Gods, it’s already two in the afternoon!” Kors sat up abruptly, realizing only now that he was lying on a pair of skins thrown on the floor. But how sweetly he slept on them! Truly they say, with beloved, even a hut is heaven. Just for how long?

Nik shrugged his shoulders.

“Two hours, so what? Why is it always important to you?”

“Because time is of tremendous value.”

“Really tremendous?” Nik asked with some disbelief.

“Yes, vitally important!” Kors looked at him, still bandaged, and felt very sorry for him. Nik, under such an attentive look, was embarrassed and quickly straightened his bangs, shifting it to the side, so that his eyes were visible in the gap between the bandages. He learned and remembered that Kors didn’t like it very much when his hair covered his face, and hastily removed them, as if his father would now reprimand him and begin to scold him, and this also pleased Kors.

“What about desire?” Nik asked. “Aren’t desires more important than time?”

“What does desire has to do with it?” Kors didn’tunderstand.

“Well, it’s just that the rain has stopped, and it’s time for us to get ready for the road,” Nik said, shaking his head awkwardly, and, having risen heavily, moved away from Kors.

“I’ll be ready in ten minutes,” Kors replied.

“Should I order Verniy to fetch your horse?”

“No. I myself will order Parky to do something useful. He’s been acting disgusting lately.”

“Hmmm,” Nik agreed, already clinking bottles.

Kors stretched sweetly, and, still in a good mood, mentally called Parky, addressing him: “Parky! This is your hangman. Set down the camp and bring my horse to the White Lord’s tent.”

Parky didn’t react to the “joke” and immediately answered him absolutely neutrally: “Yes, commander.” Like nothing happened yesterday.

Very quickly — Kors had just managed to get dressed — his captain appeared near their tent. He rode on his horse, and without any rope, Grrkh obediently followed him, who still had neither a saddle nor a harness. Verniy immediately began to saddle it for Kors, and Kors, already in words, asked his foolish wolf if everything was in order in their camp, and heard the usual answer that everything was in perfect order.

“Tell Adrian to come here, let him ride next to me,” Kors ordered, “and you watch the carts.”

“Yes, Commander,” Parky saluted, and they parted.

Kors didn’t care about Parky now, he no longer wanted to beat him and punish him. The anger subsided, replaced by an overshadowing joy from the fact that Nik didn’t stop loving him. However, a little later, when they were already driving along the road, Kors, a little moving away from the initial euphoria, began to think about what had really happened? Did he manage to get away with it? Or not? Nik and Arel won’t pressure him anymore? Kors dodged the “reflection” with an iron bar? He couldn’t give an exact answer and a guarantee to this.

They rode all day. And Kors felt tired. A surge of strength and joy passed, as if he borrowed them, and here it is — repayment with interest. He barely made it to a short halt, literally slipping off his horse and falling on the skin near the fire lit by Verniy. Valentine began to boil some stinking rubbish in a pot. Nik and Arel were in no hurry to leave their horses. Standing next to them, they examined them and discussed something quietly. Arel lifted the front leg of his Beauty with his hand, leaning towards it and carefully examining his knee joint. Kors realized that he was madly wanting to drink or take a reducing agent. He lay on the skin on his side. The smell of Valentine’s stew seemed unbearable, he was sick, and every minute more and more.

“So be it,” Kors thought doomedly, and as soon as Nik approached the halt site, Kors nervously sat down and asked:

“Nik, will you give me the restorative?”

In his heart, Kors was even afraid that Nik would suddenly refuse him and not give him the restorative. But Nik immediately took out a box from his bag.

Moreover, he said:

“Here, take it for several days at once, so as not to ask every time,” and handed Kors a couple of small glass bottles. Tightly sealed, they retained within themselves a concentrate of restorative power.

“Do you have something to dilute it? Or should I give you?” he asked Kors, also sympathetically.

“I have, Nik, thanks…”

After a couple of hours they went on, and Kors didn’t regret at all that he had taken the drug, perfectly aware that otherwise he simply wouldn’t have been able to continue the journey. And now, having eaten Valentine’s stew with relish, he felt quite cheerful on a horse. And so it continued. On short halts, Kors took the restorative, and after that he could go further in a good mood. After about three or three and a half hours, he began to get sick, and his mood deteriorated. Hishead became heavy, and unpleasant sensations rolled in a panic wave, knocking down the breath. His body was covered with sticky sweat, and he had no strength to remain in the saddle. But, fortunately, they often stopped for short halts, and Kors immediately “cheered up” in this way, interrupting from hour to hour and enduring this tedious road.

The unclean ones rode day and night. Nothing special happened. But it was enough for Kors that Nik was there. He didn’t talk much to Kors, he was silent and seemed to be tired, exhausted, but he didn’t drive Kors away and didn’t humiliate him. During the halts, Nik didn’t part with his crutch and could hardly walk, strongly dragging his lame leg. His face was still covered with bandages, and he, too, was taking the “restorative”, Kors saw with bitterness that bleeding ulcers reappeared on his son’s arms.

At one of the next short halts, Nik threw back his hood with some anger, and, moving the hair covering his face to the side, pressed his hand to the bandage on his mutilated cheek:

“Oh-oh-oh…”

“Nik, are you hurt? What’s up with you?” Kors immediately became alarmed.

“It twitches terribly and itches under the bandages,” Nik complained.

Kors really liked that, in spite of everything, Nik answered him, it was enough to address him and ask a question. Sometimes in monosyllables, but he answered. And it seemed to Kors that even if Nik himself didn’t want this, he seemed to be unable to help answering. Kors didn’t fully understand the reasons for this behavior. Either this was the law of the Demon’s interaction with people, or obedience hammered into the subcortex of Nik’s brain in front of true blacks. But Kors already understood that he had to turn to Nik, call him by name and then ask a question. Then, realizing that the question was asked to him, Nik couldn’t help answering, couldn’t get away. Yes, he could not even continue the conversation, but he couldn’t but answer and not remain silent. And if he said: “Nik, I asked you a question, answer me…” and then asked, Nik, no matter how he evaded before and tried to remain silent or snap back, answered. And he answered truthfully. It even seemed funny to Kors how the Demon always reacted to the appeal to him — “Nik”, clearly without a doubt considering him his name in this world, although Kors himself didn’t like this name very much. It was too short, like most commoners’, consisting of only three letters, and immediately made it clear that Nik was not from the master race. At times, Kors was angry at Arel for calling his son that, a primitive shortening of the name. But Nik himself, unlike Kors, seemed to be happy with everything.

“Take off the bandages!” Kors asked.

“Are you kidding me? For all this to flow onto my chest?” Nik answered irritably, continuing to press his hand to his face. He swore in unclean language, clearly indicating how tired he was of all this.

“Gods…” Kors was discouraged, “forgive me for my stupid treatment. How to stop it now?”

“I don’t fucking know!” Nik opened his mouth, trying to take deep breaths through the gap cut in the bandages. “It’s hard to breathe…”

Kors was really excited. These last warm days were really unbearably stuffy, and Nik, under his bandages, must have had a really hard time.

“Take the rings out of your nose,” said Kors, “they prevent you from breathing normally.”

“No. Leave me alone!”

“Nik, I want it to be the best, to make you feel better! Pull out the ring!”

“I said no! If you need it so much, pull out your own one, and leave me and my rings alone!”

Kors grabbed his nose with his hand, touching his fingers to a thin ring that fit snugly against his nostril:

“Can I?”

“Ask Arel!”

“Aaah, I see,” Kors removed his hand from his nose in annoyance, “nothing new, just your usual play on weaknesses. So, you know, I won’t even ask the prince, let alone plead! Because of you, I am tattooed, painted with strange signs, all in punctures. You let the prince mark me as a thing. And now you’re teasing me!”

“You are beautiful. You are one of us, and you are beautifully decorated,” Nik answered without responding to the accusations.

“Your father is the marked thing of Prince Arel! And you allowed it to happen!”

“There is nothing wrong with that, and Arel loves you very much.”

Kors just waved his hand in annoyance.

“It’s useless to discuss…”

Nik also didn’t continue the conversation. He sat hunched over with his tightly wrapped head bowed low. It was clear that he wasn’t in the mood to talk right then. He was breathing heavily through a parted mouth, and a thick shiny ring with a black bead strung on it stuck out from under the bandages under his nose. Without waiting for any more reaction from Nik, Kors involuntarily shifted his gaze to Valentine, who was curled up in a ball nearby. The poor guy in his helmet felt obviously worse. His mouth was covered with a wide leather shield, and the holes under his nose were very small. Valentin sat crouched, as if trying to take up as little space as possible. Verniy, tightening the lacing at the back of his head, always left his thin, funny braid outside, and Valentine constantly fiddled with its tip.

This habit had formed since the gloves were put on him, and he could no longer scrape and comb the skin with his nails as before. But Valentine found a new way of distraction, now constantly nervously tugging at his already fairly grown hair.

“Here’s another unfortunate one,” Kors remarked, “but at least he is tormented not by his stupidity, but by the stupidity of his master, who had bricked him up.”

And Nik didn’t object to him and was not indignant. But Valentine’s situation was more hopeless, because sooner or later Nik could remove the bandages, and Arel was not going to remove the helmet from Valentine. The prince just at that moment approached them, finally distracting himself from his horse, and before sitting down next to him, for no reason, he perceptibly kicked Valentine with his foot, knocking him over backwards. Noticing Kors’ gaze on him, Arel arrogantly asked:

“What?”

“Nothing,” said Kors, shaking his head, “nothing.”

After resting for a while, they set off again. Nik didn’tcover his head with a hood, and Korsendlessly admired his hair. The back of Nik’s head was wrappedin bandages, but beyond that, his hair lay in a fluffy white mop on his back, and Kors kept his eyes on it.

It was until Nik finally said to him accusingly:

“Well, maybe that’s enough?”

“I myself don’t understand why I’m so crazy about it,” Kors justified himself, embarrassed, “your hair is my fetish. Hair is dead, how can there be so much warmth, so much life in it? Why do people go crazy for them? You didn’t do anything, you were just born and — hop!”

“Do you want to have the same?” Nik asked.

“No!”

“Then shut up. You think about me all the time, how much can you do it?”

“Yes. You are everywhere. I look into the glass and see not wine, but you. I take bread and bring to my mouth not a piece of bread, but I touch your lips. I hear music and hug you. I look at the sky, I see the whiteness of the clouds and involuntarily compare them with the whiteness of your hair. I look at the ground and see your footprints. I look at the fire and I want you. I look at the water and remember your smell. It seems to me that I will lift a stone and you will be there!”

“What a chatterbox you are,” Nik drawled wearily, but didn’t put on his hood, and Kors tried to save him at least for a while from his annoying attention and uncontrolled lust.

It seems to have worked and brought results. After a while, Nik, realizing that Kors was no longer “wanking to him”, turned to him himself.

They were driving very close, and Nik said:

“Vitor, I need to teach you so that you change, become different from what you are now. Try Please. You can do it…”

Blah blah…

Kors listened to his voice, completely unlike any other, quiet and hoarse, and imagined that he could talk like that himself if he caught, for example, a sore throat. Because their voices were very similar. But there was a difference, something else in Nik’s voice, something deep and alien, especially if he raised his voice and got angry. But now he was not angry, but just chatted nicely, or rather, explained to Kors about training and development.

“Are you listening to me at all?!” Nik suddenly asked with some indignation. “You said that I never listen to you, but you don’t listen to me the same way!”

“I’m listening, I’m listening. Adept, initiation,” said Kors.

“Did I say that? Such words?” Nik asked, puzzled.

“No, of course you said it more simply, but the meaning is the same.”

Nik paused.

“Okay, you have understood… I guess…”

But Kors didn’t understand. He didn’t understand what was now between them? How will their relationship develop further? He got confused. Nik loves him, Kors was convinced of this. But at the same time, Nik never revealed his face to him.

And, since Nik didn’t continue the conversation, Kors involuntarily again plunged into his fruitless reflections.

“Nik told me: “You will not see my human face again,” and for all these days he has not changed his word. He didn’t accept any help in healing from me and threatened that he would hit me if I asked him about the scar one more time. Inside the tent, he ordered me to kneel naked. So how does he feel about me? Like before? Or no more? Isn’t he pushing harder now just because we’re on the road? What will happen when the journey ends? Will the humiliation continue? Well, Zaf wouldn’t just warn me like that. And at the table, Zaf told me: “He just needs to work with you, complete a task with you, but he doesn’t want to, he loves you.” What is this task? Another order from the Supreme Demon? Why doesn’t Nik want to do it? Because he loves and pities me. Does this mean the training will be tough? At the moment, I managed to avoid heavy losses. Yes, I was slightly humiliated, but no longer blinded or beaten. Not only that, I was loved! I was loved!”

But when Kors began to think about what the prince had experienced during his training, he became afraid. He involuntarily remembered Adrian’s words: “The motto of the White Lord is FEAR NOTHING, and I was afraid. I got scared and began to fall down. He wanted the best, I myself didn’t listen to him, didn’t believe him and gave up. I didn't hear what they were saying. As a result, I fell lower and lower. ”

You can’t be afraid. You can’t give free rein to fear, and then everything can turn out in a positive way.

Not to be afraid…

“Nik?” Kors called, and he turned slowly to him. “Why did you deceive me? Why didn’t you tell me that your motto is ‘Fear nothing’?”

“What?! Why do you think so?”

“It doesn’t matter. You told me: ‘I don’t have a motto,’and I believed you and offered my own version. I said, ‘I think your motto is ‘Ask for nothing.’ And you agreed with me, led me astray. And then it turned out that you have a motto ‘Fear nothing’.”

“Don’t be afraid, don’t ask,” Nik said thoughtfully, “Vitor, it seems you really came up with a motto for me.”

“So how am I supposed to believe you now?” Kors said sadly.

“Don't believe me,” Nik replied indifferently and turned away.

The endless journey continued, and Kors lost count, for the umpteenth time they halted.

“Nik, eat, you don’t eat anything at all for several days, you can’t do that!” Kors immediately began, as soon as they settled down by the fire. “Your condition worries me! Let me cook for you, shall I? And not this slop that Valentin cooks. Do you want?”

“No, no, only not that, don’t start…”

“It’s good that I got rid of my dad! Now no one bothers me now,” Prince Arel remarked. “Nik, I am your father, and you deceived me,” he mimicked Kors, copying his intonation very accurately, “I gave you beauty for which you don’t thank me. I treated you and took care of you, and you spat on my efforts. I did everything for you, lost my reputation. Me, me, me, and you… You are a deceiver! You didn’t appreciate my sacrifices, didn’t obey me, didn’t pray to me as to a god, because I am higher in the hierarchy and more important. You dare not admit it, ungrateful. You humiliated me, hit me. How could you! He pleads non-stop. Nik, how do you handle it?”

“I can still hear what’s in his head,” Nik said.

“Shouldn’t I think? If you don’t like it, don’t listen! I didn’t ask you!” Kors responded immediately.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that you think…”

Kors froze.

“Nik…why do I always want to hit you?”

Arel moved closer to Kors and knocked him to the ground, leaning on top. He smiled, obviously playing with him like that.

“Oh-oh-oh,” Kors lay obediently, pressed by Arel.

And he kissed him on the lips:

“Do you love me, Vitor?”

“Yes,” Kors answered honestly, returning the kiss.

“Am I ungrateful too?”

“Yes! But at least you are more honest, not such a deceiver. You don’t respect me anymore, but still I love you, and I love Nik very much. You humiliate me, tease me, but I still respond to your call, I run to you with all my might, as soon as you beckon, like a stupid ram to the slaughter.”

“Why a ram?” Arel laughed.

“Because I have horns!”

And Arel laughed again, let him go, but only to lie down comfortably next to him and unbutton his fly. Grabbing Kors from behind by the base of his ponytail, he commandingly pressed on the back of his head. Kors obediently bowed down and began to satisfy the prince with his mouth, hearing Arel moan softly, and trying even harder. For them, Kors no longer had pride and dignity. He was ready to do anything for them. When finished, Kors reached for the bottle and took a sip of wine, rinsing out his mouth. He looked at Arel. He was very pleased. Beautiful, arrogant and contented face. “The depraved rubbish of noble blood,” thought Kors, unable to stop admiring the prince, seeing his slightly mocking smile and the edge of his front tooth chipped so ugly. Kors remembered how he beat and scolded Arel for this imprudence, but now he no longer considered this a disadvantage, on the contrary, it seemed to him that, probably, only this defect was the last thing Arel had left of a person, which made him alive and warm.

How long ago it was… Arel is a little over twenty years old, but he is already broken, embittered by prison, hysterical and aggressive. He is constantly drunk, and endlessly gets involved in ridiculous fights. Kors sees him fall and can do nothing to help. It pains him to watch how Arel falls down and, coming to meet him, each time looks worse and worse. Risking his reputation, Kors nevertheless referred him to a good doctor. It was dangerous, and unnecessary rumors might spread among Kors’ friends and colleagues, but he couldn’t see Arel with his nose broken and his teeth knocked out. The doctor treating the king himself helped, but when Arel came to Kors once again and, trained, began to smile politely at him, Kors saw that his new teeth were already damaged. Kors was stunned, furious and annoyed. He was very offended. He risked his position, but his gesture was not appreciated, his gift was not treated with care. It was the end of their relationship. Kors smiled sadly to himself, remembering that time. He brought up and forced Arel to change, shouting, kicking and lectures, eventually making a conclusion for himself — “doesn’t change.” And it was necessary to educate him with love and affection, the way Kors raised Nik. But, unfortunately, he realized this too late, and he missed Arel, now there’s nothing to fix, and he has to live with it…

It is not known whether Arel heard him or not, but he again reached out to Kors, put him next to him and affectionately kissed his nose on his ring, on his cheeks and forehead, and Kors was pleased. He closed his eyes, enjoying Arel’s kisses.

Nik called out softly:

“Hey guys! It’s time for us to go, people are already in the empty lands and have come to the crossing.”

They hurried to leave, but the weather turned bad again. The stifling heat gave way to a deafening downpour with a thunderstorm. I had to stop and set up a solid camp.

“Should I order to set up my tent?” Kors asked.

And Nik replied:

“No. You live with us.”

Hearing his answer, Kors was frightened and delighted at the same time. Yes, he was scared, but still it was better than a meaningless vegetative life alone.

Kors was the last to enter their tent, and without prompting he obediently knelt at the threshold. Andsuddenly, Kors didn’t even have time to understand anything, Arel hit him. He hit him with all his might in the face, just like that, and for nothing, without warning. Kors literally had sparks in his eyes. He fell on his side, curled up on the floor, clutching his eyes with his hands. “Gods, he’ll gouge my eye out, I’ll be blind like Valentine,” flashed through his head. How hard Arel beat! A heavy hand and not a drop of pity. Kors didn’t understand this, because Arel treated him well, recently he caressed and kissed him, why wasthat now? Well, simply because Arel didn’t know how to do it differently. For him there was no difference, and love for him was inextricably linked with violence, and he also didn’t know how to beat at half strength, he didn’t beat, he habitually killed. And Kors was not used to beatings, he had never been beaten before. Nobody dared to raise a hand against him, and in battlehe acted with a sword. Only lately has he been receiving blows from Nik and Arel and getting into ridiculous fights with Lis and Varakh, but this was an exception to the rule. His head was ringing, his eyes were full of multicolored spots.

“Arel, don’t do it,” suddenly, as if in a fog, he heard Nik’s voice, and Kors, to his surprise, clearly caught undisguised worry in his voice.

“No need?” Arel asked with some misunderstanding and challenge.

Kors screwed his courage and sit up straight, removed his hands from his face. The eye he had just been hit in couldn’t see anything. Kors didn’t utter a sound, didn’t ask for mercy, just looked up and looked at them. Two “his dear boys.” And Nik, suddenly turning around, abruptly grabbed his crutch and quickly left the tent.

Kors and Arel were silent for a while.

“I can’t live like this,” Kors said at last, “I’m not like you, and I’m not used to being treated like that. You are killing me, I’m scared.”

“Vitor, I was also afraid at first,” Arel answered, “I have already gone through all this a long time ago. I went crazy with love for him and at the same time I was afraid of him and didn’t understand. I didn’t understand his tattoos and jewelry, suffered from how terrible he looked and from the fact that he was a cripple, and at the same time wanted him every minute. I understood that he was destroying me, and I was afraid for my body. I screamed that he was killing me, I wanted to remain human. I resisted. I was doing all this, maybe even more than you. I just went through all of this before. And all attempts to stop him aremeaningless and useless. Humble yourself. You will never defeat him. Humble yourself, submit, and accept it now as his gift to you.”

“Arel…”

“Yes, the stupid handsome prince tells you this,” Arel grinned, “go to him, bring him back.”

“But what shall I tell him?”

“Think yourself.”

Kors stepped out into the darkness of the night. The storm subsided, but it was drizzling with light rain. Kors knew where he could find Nik, he didn’t know how, but he KNEW. Without hesitation, he headed for the shed where their horses were tied. A lone glass lantern with a candle inside, suspended from one of the poles, dimly illuminated the space.

Nik was sitting next to his horse, and he was lying on a bed of hay, turning his black head towards him, and Nik slowly and affectionately, somehow detached, but at the same time with obvious love, stroked his nose, ran his hand from top to bottom. The horse lay with its muzzle exposed to him, and covered its eyes in pleasure.

“Forgive me for disturbing your idyll…”

Nik raised his head.

“What do you want, tall daddy?”

“Sorry, it’s not my fault that I’m tall. I’m just a true black.”

“Okay, what do you want, true black daddy sir?”

“I don’t understand what is going on…”

“I don’t want to break you, that’s all. Without it, you won’t change.”

“But then you won’t be able to complete your task.”

“Yes, so be it.”

“But you will be punished!”

“I’m used to it.”

“No, no, let’s do it! Throw away all your love for me! Torment me, don’t be sorry, and give your Demons as much energy and suffering from me as they need!”

“You misunderstand…”

“Nik!”

“I don’t want.”

“Should I hurt myself? Ask Arel to beat and torture me? He helps you. Now he has helped you. I want you to complete the task with me! Break me like a hurdy-gurdy so I can play another tune!”

“No, you don’t understand what you’re asking for, and you really don’t want it!”

“I want! Get up! Let’s go!” Kors held out a hand to help him up. Nik accepted the help, and, leaning on his crutch, followed Kors.

They approached the tent, and Kors, seeing a dirty puddle near the entrance, suddenly collapsed on his knees into it.

“Okay!” He shouted. “You see? I myself am kneelingin front of you in the mud! I want this!”

Nik shook his head.

“No,” he answered softly and very calmly.

“Yes! I want! Want! Fulfill your mission with me! I want my Mission!” kneeling in a muddy puddle, Kors threw back his head with some anger and looked at the black stormy sky covered with low heavy clouds:

“Fucking Gods! Fucking God! You hear me?! I don’tneed you anymore! Don’t need!” Kors thumped the water with his clenched fists several times, splattering mud. The heavens remained silent, but, apparently attracted by his cries, Prince Arel came out of the tent.

Kors turned to him.

“Arel, come on! Well?! Dip me in the shit!”

But Arel didn’t move, didn’t budge.

Kors literally howled from powerlessness:

“Humiliate me! Punish me! What are you worth?! Me, true black, crawl in front of you in the mud like a worm! Enjoy! Or is that not enough for you?!” And, as they were still standing and silently looking at him, in some outburst of hopeless despair, Kors scooped up a handful of liquid mud from a puddle and rubbed this liquid over his face, not sparing himself, smearing the mud on his cheek and lips:

“What else can I do? Look at me! I am your! I’m as dirty now as you!”

Arel turned around and, without saying a word, went into the tent. And Nik, passing by Kors and no longer looking at him, silently left after him. Kors was leftalone in a puddle, wet and dirty. Somewhere in the distance, lightning flashed, nothing happened. Kors rose from his knees. Dirty water dripped from his leather pants and expensive boots. Stunned by their indifference and not understanding what was happening, he perplexedly sat down on some kind of wooden block near the wall of the tent. He didn’t know what to do. He tried to wipe the dirt off his face:

“Fuuuck…”

Verniy approached him, in his paws he carried a bucket of clean water and a rag:

“Wash yourself, sir, and go better to the tent,” said the dog and quickly looked up at the sky, “a thunderstorm will soon begin.”

Kors looked at him gloomily with his now unswolleneye and silently took the rag. He washed his face and dried his clothes as best he could. Proudly straightening his back, he entered the tent, trying not to look at them. Nik and Arel were sitting at the table. They didn’t eat, didn’t smoke. Kors didn’t stop at the threshold, didn’t kneel. With a crash, he pulled a chair up to the trestle bed, took off his wet clothes and hung them neatly on it. He lay down on the trestle bed, on his side, defiantly turning away from them, but still leaving some place for Arel, and covered his head with a brocade blanket. They continued to sit at the table, not taking any action, and still silent, not talking to each other, and not saying anything to him. Under the thick blanket, Kors warmed up, and the small shivering stopped pounding him. He heard torrents of rain fall on the roof of their tent, and the wind began to beat furiously against the walls.

“I just need to try to sleep.”

Chapter 11

Since Nik and Arel were quiet and didn’t touch him, Kors was indeed able to fall into a restless and disturbing sleep. And in the morning the nightmares began. He was blinded again, but this time not by plaster, but by iron spoon glasses, the same as those of Zaf’s mutilated slave. The flaps dug into the delicate skin around the eyes, injuring it and causing incessant aching pain. Kors tried to free himself, to pull out the bar threaded through the bridge of his nose, but he couldn’t do it, because in addition to the “glasses” and over them, Kors was wearing a mask. The mask was iron, but not smooth, decorated with engravings and slightly raised patterns of some incomprehensible symbols. Kors could feel their curved contours with his fingertips as he touched its surface. The mask fit snugly to his face and delivered no less discomfort than shielded eyes. In an unsuccessful attempt to free himself from such a dubious decoration, Kors tugged at the mask, pulled, tore it, experiencing sharp pain in those places where the iron was literally screwed to his flesh. At the cost of painful efforts, and more by some miracle, he still managed to tear off the steel shield of the mask from the lower part of his face. Freed, he opened his mouth, breathing heavily and realizing that the main part of the mask was still on his face, he felt its hard edge on his cheeks and under his nose from ear to ear. The sensations were so real that Kors awoke with a start. Habitually throwing Arel’s hand off his shoulder, he abruptly sat down on the couch, taking convulsive breaths of air and continuing to choke. Hisbody was wet from the cold perspiration that covered it. His face burned, his injured eye throbbed from within with dull jolts. Maybe from these painful sensations he had such an unpleasant dream? “Iurgently need to get out into the fresh air,” thought Kors and stood up. Neither Arel nor Nik, who was lying on the floor, woke up.

“What’s the problem asking for another trestle bed?” Kors thought, looking at Nik, who was sleeping in clothes and not covered by anything. “He doesn’t need anything, he is an animal. But hell, even animals like to sleep on soft stuff!”

Kors left the tent. It was very early, the rain had stopped, but apparently not for long, and the sky was still covered with low gray clouds. A damp, refreshing coolness enveloped Kors, clearing his head of an unpleasant dream. He mentally called Adrian and ordered him to bring a bucket of water. He tried to put himself in order, washed his face and comb his hair. Nobody bothered him or called him. In this pre-dawn hour, the unclean ones were sleeping, and there was dead silence in the camp, not even the snorting of horses was heard. Kors looked bitterly at his face in a small mirror. The eye was completely swollen, hidden by a maroon hematoma, and the right cheek was swollen and swollen. Kors was swollen and squint-eyed. “Thank you, Prince Arel!”

With a heavy heart, Kors returned to the tent and began to dress.

Apparently, having nevertheless heard the sound of fastened metal buckles and the rattling of weapons, Nik woke up and raised his head:

“Where are you going?” He asked sleepily, staring in surprise at the fully ready Kors.

“I want to go check on the unclean ones given to me,” said Kors.

“Check them mentally,” drawled Nik, “or let Parky report to you.”

“I want to check myself, personally.”

“But your face is broken!”

“So what?” Kors snorted, shrugging indifferently. Oddly enough, but now he really didn’t care — just think! “In your environment, this is not something out of the ordinary,” he noted.

Nik paused, obviously digesting Kors’ last sentence, but still he was not so easily fooled:

“Then where are you going?” Nik sat on his skin, staring intently at his father, and his bright transparent eyes literally burned from the gap between the black bandages.

Kors felt uneasy:

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t lie! To Zaf’s?”

“I wanted to go to Zaf’s, but then I changed my mind,” Kors answered quickly as casually as possible, as if it were a meaningless trifle.

“No, you didn’t change your mind!” Nik raised his voice, and Arel, waking up, stretched lazily, stretching his arms up and yawning.

“Nik, I don’t understand your irritation…” Kors began, but Nik interrupted him rudely:

“You aren’t going anywhere! And even more so for Zaf!”

“Before, I didn’t let you go to the unclean ones, and now you don’t let me, what an irony,” Kors chuckled.

“I don’t forbid you to go to visit Zaf,” Nik immediately objected, slowing down his tone.

Kors couldn’t see the expression on his face, but he knew perfectly well that Nick was dissatisfied and annoyed.

And, confirming the correctness of his conclusions, Nik, nervously touching the ring hanging under his nose, literally blurted out:

“We’re breaking up the camp and leaving!”

“Nik, now?” Kors was stunned, not expecting this turn of events. “We just set it up last night, didn’t we?”

“So what? And now we’re leaving!”

“What kind of strange decisions?”

“We are far behind the people, we are leaving!”

“We’ve been riding with minimal stops lately. We are almost at the crossing and not much behind,” Kors tried to give some reasonable arguments.

“Now!”

“And it won’t hurt you to rest, lie down calmly. Endless shaking in the saddle doesn’t allow your wound to heal…”

“Vitor, shut up! That’s all! You ride next to me! Or should I chain you up?” Nik pointed pointedly at his belt, where a chain twisted in several turns hung:

“Do you want?”

“No,” said Kors obediently, “I’m right there, Nik.”

On the one hand, it pissed him off, but on the other… “What stupid things, dear Nik, you do to hide your jealousy”. Kors was flattered by this.

And Nik, despite the early time, seemed to no longer want to sleep at all. Sitting on his couch, he leaned his back against the wall, his legs widely apart and bent at the knees, as usual. He put his straightened arms on them, stretching them forward. From the wrist to the elbow, they were tightly wrapped in black bandages. Slightly tilting his head up, Nik looked at Kors standing in front of him in confusion, but he couldn’thelp but look at his crotch, so seductively covered in black leather pants. A little more, and the leather will burst, the seam will open. And how Kors wanted to put his hand there now! To press his palm to such a well-marked bulge. To apply a little pressure, but it’s better to take off those depraved pants that are too tightlyfitting his legs and ass, take them off and turn Nik back… and put his own hand between his thighs, behind him, grope for his balls and squeeze … Kors involuntarily swallowed. And Nik made some kind of short sobbing sound that was completely unusual for him, and quickly closed his legs. He clearly heard Kors, literally felt it, and he didn’t want to be the object of his endless sexual fantasies right then.

“Stupid whelp, you can’t even hide that you’re jealous of me for Zaf,” Kors grinned in his thoughts, “not only are all emotions reflected on your face, also your actions are just as primitive in an unsuccessful attempt to hide the true motives. But at least you learned to stupidly hide your face behind a mask, but you can’t hide your actions. ”

“Vitor!”

Kors realized that Nik heard him:

“Sorry, thoughts are not words, and I can’t keep them under one hundred percent control, thoughts are like black fish in the depths of the mind. They will flash and disappear in an instant, and you will not catch them…”

“Oh, everyone, shut up,” Nik almost groaned. “We are going!”

And Kors smiled contentedly, realizing that, to some extent, thanks to him, the unclean ones didn’t really rest and would go on the road in the rain, and… he liked it!

Nik drank the rest of the way to the prince’s Estate. InKors’ opinion, he simply shamelessly jammed this vile moonshine of the unclean ones, from morning to evening, without stopping, and Prince Arel didn’t lag behind him. The guys drank strong alcohol without restraint, drank it just like water, and this was tearingthe heart of Kors. This was both because Nik openly ignored him, and because Kors was tired of seeing them drunk, and they didn’t dry out.

At some point, at the next short halt, Nik, getting off his Unclean Power, got tangled with a lame leg in the stirrup and simply collapsed on the ground with a bag. It was not surprising and quite predictable. Kors was looking forward to this all the time and was amazed that it hadn’t happened much earlier. He couldn’t even imagine that in such a state it was generally possible to stay in the saddle, ride a horse and not fall under his hooves. Jumping up to Nik, Kors lifted him by the armpits and dragged him to the couch near the fire. In response to his actions, Nik only mumbled something incoherently. And Kors thought that he could now unbandage his face and see what’s with the scar, but he was afraid that Nik would sober up and understand. And Kors wouldn’t be able to wrap bandages around his head like before, and it will be noticeable that he was looking at his face. So Kors simply laid his son on the skin, trying as best he could to smooth the matted and dirty white hair that Nik didn’t comb and didn’t care for it at all, however, as well as about anythingelse.

“Stinking, unwashed and uneducated!” Kors thought angrily, while not for a second ever ceasing to love him and madly want.

Prince Arel came to the parking lot himself, and, having collapsed on the skins laid out by the fire, with confused movements began to unbutton his fly, taking out his cock and starting to piss, lying straight on his side.

“You motherfucker! Do it not here!” Kors yelled at him, pushing him from the perimeter of skins into the grass.

Having buried his face in the ground, Arel didn’t even wake up.

“Well, at least not in your pants,” Kors shook his head, “crazy creatures!”

After a few hours, the friends recovered a little, got up heavily, and, staggering, returned to their horses, while already clutching another bottle in their hands. Taking a couple of sips straight from the throat, they passed it to each other, like a cigarette, and very quickly threw the already empty one aside. Looking at all this lawlessness, Kors involuntarily thought that, perhaps, that was also why Nik and Arel got along so well and fell in love with each other. They were tightly boundby an irrepressible attraction to drinking, and they found themselves an ideal companion and partner in this destructive passion. Because hardly anyone else could make them a worthy couple in such an immoderate use of strong drinks as they were to each other, and they were on the same wavelength. Kors was very tired from their drinking, but he couldn’t say anything to them and stop this mess.

He only hoped that in the end they would calm down and come to their senses.

Meanwhile, the black warriors of Zagpeace and Tol, who arrived in the prince’s lands a little earlier, had already settled in a nearby town and were celebrating their arrival and the successful completion of the campaign with might and main, having fun with the locals at the fairground. Many unclean ones, as soon as they arrived, immediately joyfully joined them. And those who didn’t go for a stroll to the fair pitched their tents in the vicinity and also began to have fun and celebrate with no less enthusiasm and scope.

On the porch of Prince Arel’s mansion sat a large and very well-fed black-and-white tomcat. He slowly turned his head, showing his beautiful white chest, and looked with an indifferent, unblinking gaze at the riders entering the yard. The clatter of horses’ hooves, the jingle of harness and weapons didn’t agitate the animal in the least, the cat didn’t even move its ear. He raised his hind paw and began to lick it thoroughly with great diligence.

Nik, Kors and Arel with Valentine entered the living room on the first floor of the estate.

“Gods! I’m not even happy because I can finally spend the night under the roof,” Kors said with relief. “I’m glad just because you’ve finally finished your bad competition over who will drink more!”

Nik thought for a moment, but then, apparently, he understood:

“Aha, we didn’t compete at all.”

And Arel laughed too:

“I don’t compete with anyone and never, I just do what I want!”

“Yes, I know, I know,” Kors muttered, “does your head hurt?”

“What?!” Arel laughed again.

“Well, yes, if it’s empty, why hurt there, what am I talking about …” Kors agreed. “Actually, do you know that at the crossing your stupid Beauty plucked grass near the sandy shore? You were not up to it at that moment, of course, and now he probably has a stomach full of sand.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Arel replied.

“How? It must be pumped up with water properly, andhis stomach — washed through the tube.”

“Vitor, watch your own horse. Forget about my Beauty, he’s not yours anymore! Arel turned away in displeasure, and Kors, looking at his arrogant and painted face, thought about how crazy one still neededto be in order to cover his face with gray dye for most of his life and be with those black lips and black paint smeared around the eyes. Live with such a face. “Arel, everyone thinks that you are not afraid to be yourself, but really? It’s high time to put you in a psychiatric hospital, Arel,” Kors thought, but said:

“Eh, I forgot about this horse a long time ago, I just feel sorry for him. Stupid horse, I had to tinker with him, educating him, and you ruined him again.”

“It doesn’t concern you!”

“You will live with us in Arel’s room,” Nik told Kors.

Kors remembered this room very well, only everything had changed too much since then.

“It’s small,” he remarked, “won’t the three of us be cramped? You, probably, will also put Verniy and Valentine there? There were large rooms in the Fort, and the Prince’s Estate was of an ancient construction. There are thick walls, but cramped rooms, low ceilings.”

“We won’t be cramped,” Nik objected.

“Nik, I understand that you are used to living in small kennels, and often not alone, and you have no idea what personal space is, but maybe I’ll live nearby? In the room where I used to live? I’m used to living in spacious apartments. I will come to you at the slightest call.”

“No! And Ver and Valin I will settle in the former room of Lis. They will go there,” Nik immediately objected categorically, “and you will live with us. And you will leave the room only when I allow it!”

“Law of reflection,” Kors nodded knowingly. He defiantly removed his iron stick from his belt and handed it to Nik:

“Hold on! I assumed that it would be so, and I am ready to endure all this shit to the end.”

“What? No! I’m not going to shove you with a stick like you did to me! It’s painful and unpleasant.”

“And humiliating,” added Kors, “well… it would definitely be humiliating for me, so come on! Don’thold back!”

“No. And I behaved badly then, I was guilty. I didn’twant to wear glasses and reminded my father of the past. I behaved very, very badly and received little more for my such disgusting behavior, I received an undeserved punishment. You should have punished me even harder, you took pity on me, daddy. I love you, I won’t do this to you!”

“Nik…” Kors even stammered, “sometimes you sneer so cynically that I feel uneasy…”

“You speak very clever words, daddy master, you understand everything, and I’m a fool, you know.”

Kors took a deep breath.

“I know, Nik, that you and Arel love me very much, okay?” He unconsciously touched his injured eye. The tumor had already gone, but there was still a black bruise under the eye, and the skin around it was a bright yellow-green color.

“Yes! Is it clear now!” Nik rejoiced. “But when will you understand that I am not punishing you?”

Nik turned to Arel, behind whom Valentine stood like a shadow. Thin and lanky, dressed in expensive leather clothes, but at the same time in a slave helmet, Valentine was heavily stooped, tilting his head down and forward.

“Valin,” Nik asked, and he shuddered in fright, bending his head even lower, as if he wanted to completely squeeze it into his shoulders, “Valin, what do you think we are doing with sir Kors? Answer me!”

Valentine hurriedly knelt down.

“Y…Y…You are changing s…s… Vitor K…Kors, j…just like you, sir Nik…you were changing m…my m…master sir Arel, and m…my…master…is changing… me,” Valentine barely managed to utter, as he alwaysbegan to stutter violently when being nervous.

“Why are we doing this?”

“T… to…become better, sir…”

Nik looked questioningly at Kors.

“Here you see? Even Valin understands the essence of what is happening, and you still continue to think that I am punishing you for cooling down.”

Kors grimaced in displeasure, he was insanely annoyed by Valentine’s eternal bleating, how much he stuttered, and now he was also infuriated by the fact that Nik compares him to some kind of miserable slave, and even sets him as an example. Allegedly, Valentineunderstands everything, but Kors, you see, does not understand. He barely restrained himself:

“Nik, you need to understand that punishment is not used out of revenge for a mistake, but to prevent it in the future …”

“Fuck, this is not a return to you!” Nik shouted in annoyance. “You really are obsessed with punishments. This is not a punishment! But you know what?! Until you understand this, for you it will be so!”

“Okay, so I don’t get it yet,” snapped Kors.

“Well, if you don’t understand,” Nik immediately responded, “then let’s go!”

They went upstairs to Arel’s room, where everything remained as it was, as if they had never left, and the wide bed was neatly covered with a silvery northern fox fur coverlet.

Valentine immediately knelt at the front door, and Nik said, turning to Kors:

“Take off your clothes, undress and go over there,” he pointed to the post near the bed.

Kors understood what awaited him, but didn’t object, some crazy anger and stubbornness continued to bubble in him.

“Don’t be afraid, don’t ask and… don’t think about it, damn it!”

He undressed, went up to the post and knelt down:

“Yes please! Since this is not a punishment, I will fulfill any of your thematic requests!”

“What?” Nik and Arel looked at each other and laughed.

“Fuck, Vitor, I’ll probably never get used to your expressions,” Nik said through laughter. Bandages prevented him from smiling broadly.

“Just like me to your piercing!” Kors didn’t remain in debt and pointedly looked at the ring sticking out from under the bandages.

“Did you mean to say that you can never stop jerking off to my piercing?” Nik’s shoulders shook with laughter again.

“Enough!” Kors shouted. “The fact that you don’t understand my noble expressions, and you have a meager vocabulary, is not my problem!”

Nik attached a chain to Kors’ collar and tied him to a post. But he left a considerable length, Kors realized that he could easily get up and lie down, and even move a few steps away from the pillar. He didn’tmove. Let it be, what will be, and he will not call Zaf for anything! Nik is jealous of Kors, and this can only aggravate the situation. Kors would endure now, whatever it was: punishment, reflection, training, and when they returned to the city, he would ask Leonardo for help, so he decided.

Nik and Arel obviously didn’t plan to stay in the room, they began to gather, and Nik covered his bandaged face with a mask.

“Nik…” Kors asked cautiously.

“What?”

“Are you going somewhere? It’s hot outside, don’t put on a mask over the bandages as well, this can aggravate the already deplorable situation with your face.”

“What am I supposed to do? I’m going to go outside, and there are people.”

“Are you going to the holiday? Nik, to drink again?! Damn, how much can you?!”

“Not to the holiday, and you yourself explained to me that I should not open my face in front of people, like my mouth.”

“Did you ever listen to what I told you?”

“Yes, and more than once! I listened to you and obeyed. Are you my father? Or no longer? I always told you that I listen to you! I love you and listen to you!”

“Yes, yes, I am your father, and I told you this, and if you are doing this because I ordered you…”

“I promised you!”

“Nik… I’m canceling my order. You can not wear a mask and talk to people with whom you want.”

“Hmm, if you’re trying to ease your situation this way, it doesn’t work that way, Vitor.”

“No. My position is irrelevant here. Limit me as you wish, do whatever I did to you…”

“I don’t reflect! Well, you motherfucker! This is not a return or revenge! How many times do I have to repeat this before you get it?!”

“Okay, okay, you’re changing me, I get it… Training. It’s not very clear how I can change and develop from the fact that I was strapped to a pole … but okay.

“I just limited you a little. What's bad about it?

“It’s probably familiar to you, but I haven’t been a slave for ten years!” For me it's bad!

Nik shrugged.

“I left enough space for you,” he turned to Valentine, “Valin, bring a bucket from the bathroom.”

Valentine immediately followed the order, and, understanding everything, put the bucket next to Kors.

“Here. If you feel like it,” Nik said.

And Prince Arel silently handed Kors a bottle of wine. Kors looked frowningly at the prince and took it.

Nik didn’t listen to Kors, didn’t take off his mask, and, putting on gloves, adorned his finger with a ring as usual.

“Don’t wear a ring over a glove! Complete bastard!” Kors thought angrily, watching him, unable to restrain himself.

And Nik froze, then turned sharply to him:

“And you’re whining about humiliation?! Am I humiliating you?! I’ve never hit you with words the way you do! Never! And you lied to me! You knew from the beginning that you would never introduce me to the world of true blacks. Because I’m finished for you, and such a son can never be shown to noble friends! You knew it from the start! You fed me with empty promises!”

“No, no…”

“And you haven’t told me anything about your true black world! You thought I didn’t need it! Of course, why, if I’m a jerk! You haven’t revealed any of your fucking secrets! You didn’t tell me about your secret language of communication, your phrases, gestures, which, like a password, open doors only for the elite, immediately make it clear whether you are yours or the dirt under your feet! I have told you much more about the Demon world than you have told me about the true black world! And then I’m a liar to you?! I’m a liar, right? Not you?”

Kors froze, but caught himself quickly.

“What secrets? Prince Arel is a true black, why don’tyou reproach him? Why don’t you demand from him the discovery of a secret behind seven seals?”

“Arel got kicked out, thanks to you too!”

“He had to behave normally!”

“Yes, he is an apostate, and he put a dick on all your pretentious rules! He ignored them!”

“Whatever the prince, Arel was in the system and knows a lot. I don’t understand what you want from me now? I pulled you up as best I could! And, you might think, you don’t know everything yourself, Demon, all the secrets. Are you looking for an excuse to hit me? What are you accusing me of now? You pretend as if you believed my words!”

“I trusted you and your opinion,” Nik replied softly and resentfully.

“Fuck it, what a show!” Kors shouted in annoyance. “You were just playing with me! You already know everything about true blacks!”

“I wanted my daddy master to tell me about it.

“Enough! What kind of daddy master am I to you?!”

“Why not?”

“I am the physical father of a human, that’s all.”

“You said you were the Demon’s father too.”

“But you laughed at it! You just played along with me.”

“No! And when you say that now, you hurt me! I really feel like an orphan!”

“Okay, okay,” Kors held out his hands with open palms slightly forward and towards Nik in a conciliatory gesture. “If you want me to be your Demon father, I’m only too happy about it. But then I’m higher than you in the hierarchy, why don’t you obey me?!”

“I obeyed you!”

“You didn’t fucking listen at all!”

“I obeyed as best I could! Just because I am like this!”

“Incorrigible?”

“Yes!”

“Okay, I’m sorry if I didn’t believe you and didn’t understand that you weren’t a liar and I… I honestly worry about your physical condition,” Kors tried to turn an unpleasant and dangerous (as he decided) conversation for him into another direction.

“It’s fine with me, and I don’t want them staring at my bandages anyway,” Nik bought into his ruse, changing the subject to one that Kors had carefully directed him to. “I don’t like it when people stare at me. And everyone got used to me in a mask.”

“And that’s sad,” Kors breathed in relief.

“I’ll be right back,” Nik said.

They left, and Arel took Valentin with him. Kors was left alone. For a while, he just sat on the floor and drank wine from a bottle, trying not to think about anything. But it was hard for him to sit like that. Moving a little closer to the bed, since the chain allowed him to do this, and the pillar was close, Kors pulled the fluffy coverlet of the silvery fur of northern foxes. He pulled it off the bed, folded it into two layers, and lay down on top of it. It became softer, but not more comfortable. Soft fur tickled the body, and it was hot. Kors felt himself sweating and the fur sticking to his damp body. He stood up and folded the coverlet with the fur on the inside and the silky quilted lining on the outside. So it was much more comfortable, but there was not enough pillow. Kors pulled the pillow off the bed and lay down. “Are they coming soon?” He tried to see them, but he couldn’t. Nik closed him not only in the room, but also from being able to hear and see them.

“Nik said they weren’t going to party. Okay, they’reprobably just handing out some housekeeping instructions. In the end, Arel is the owner of a large Estate, and he needs to check what happened here without him. What was the harvest. Arel has huge areas planted with grapes, and he will surely take care of the wine. Or did they still go to the party? To the unclean ones? Hardly, though…” Kors tried to stop guessing and torment himself. In order not to think about anything and not to panic, he simply recited in his head all sorts of verses and passages of texts that he remembered by heart. Over and over again, he repeated the same thing, eventually sliding down to several lines and just stupidly repeating them like a clockwork:

"Every night and every morn

Some to misery are born

Every morn and every night

Some are born to sweet delight

Some are born to sweet delight

Some are born to endless night"

Every morn and every night

Some are born to sweet delight

Some are born to sweet delight

Some are born to endless night"

Some are born to sweet delight

Some are born to endless night"

Chapter 12

About four o’clock in the morning they returned, and Kors jumped up on his couch. Nik walked into the room very confidently, he was without his crutch, which Kors had become so accustomed to lately that he even put up with it. Nik’s face, as always, was covered by a mask, but Kors immediately realized that his son had removed the bandages. Kors noticed it instantly, as soon as he saw Nik and how his hair, now unrestrained, scattered on the sides of his face, obscuring the entire right side of his face. And it was the same, no matter how Kors combed it and smoothed it. What was the point of cutting his bangs if it instantly grew back? And Nik, apparently, didn’t want to be any other, only shaggy. Kors also saw that Valentine was wearing a leather band over his helmet that limited his vision, exactly the same as the blue cleaning slave in the Limit. Now Valentine could only look at his feet. Arel was leading him on the chain.

Kors looked at them in surprise.

“Where have you been?!”

“In my Limit,” Nik answered calmly and without any tricks, and Kors couldn’t believe his ears:

“In the Limit? But how?!”

“A local old witch used to live here not far away. Well… she was also stirring up all sorts of drugs, she was very bad at it. But the Port remained in her cave, I already opened it before and went to my Limit,” Nik explained in detail.

“But why didn’t you take me with you?”

“Did you want to?”

“N-n… I don’t know, probably not…”

“Vitor, we didn’t stay there for long, I just needed to recover a bit. I will take you there next time. My word!” Nik promised.

“To recover? You have taken off your bandages! Did you take Black Water there?” Kors bombarded him with questions.

“I have recovered,” Nik repeated evasively, “and now I will continue your training.”

“Now? At four in the morning?”

“Why not?” Nik turned away and began taking his damned tools out of his bag and laying them out on the table.

Prince Arel approached Kors. He saw Kors take the coverlet and pillow from his bed. And Kors shrank a little, expecting that Arel would now take them away from him, and even hit him for taking his belongings without asking. But Arel didn’t. In his commanding manner and slightly drawing out his words, he said to him:

“Wake up, Vitor, wash your face and don’t forget to brush your teeth,” the prince laughed, took from the bedside table a decanter filled with water, and, taking a big sip, forcefully splashed all this water from his mouth right into Kors’ face, dousing him with cold spray. Kors didn’t have time to cover himself. Arel’s actions were always abrupt and unpredictable for him, and he closed his eyes, quickly bending his head down, and tried to wipe his face with his palm.

Arel collapsed onto the bed, and Valentine immediately began to take off his master’s boots. When he finished, he got down on all fours, habitually pretending to be a bedside table.

“Valentine, get out of the room!” Arel ordered rudely.

And Valentine, hurriedly getting up and stretching his hand forward, walked a little hesitantly towards the door. It was noticeable that, being limited by a leather strip pulled low over his eyes, he could still poorly navigate in this room.

Kors wiped himself with the covers and said as indifferently as he could:

“Arel, your jokes are stupid,” of course, he was very unpleasant, but he tried not to show it.

Arel constantly humiliated him. “He will finish me… finish me. He’s going to torment me,” thought raced through his mind, but Kors tried to pull himself together.

“You know, prince, your act is the level of a bully in elementary school, nothing more. In my school, I remember, there were a couple of these jerks who, in their opinion, “had fun”. I quickly put them in place. I don’t answer you, Arel, only because I myself voluntarily agreed to endure this… training.”

“I didn’t go to school,” Arel said, and affectionately tickled Kors with his invisible fingers under his chin, stroking his throat.

Kors froze, and Arel laughed contentedly and let him go.

“Unfortunate, you were even deprived of this smallness,” Kors said through force, “your tyrant father kept you in your castle as in a prison — without friends, without communication with other children.”

Arel lit a cigarette:

“Vitor, do you remember how you threatened me that you would make me your slave?”, he suddenly said, “remember?”

Kors remembered. Strongly worried about getting a reflection of his actions from Nik, he completely forgot about Arel. Yeah, it was very thoughtless — to threaten him then like that.

“You promised me to cut something out of my ass, so that I could no longer squeeze it, and so that all the shit would fall out of me. Some restraining muscles. Well, remember!”

“Forgive me,” Kors said humbly, “forgive me, please, for those thoughtless words!” He started shaking involuntarily. “No, no, Nik won’t let that happen to me!”

“You are trembling so much,” Arel was very pleased, “now live with it and wait. What saves you now is that Nik will take care of you, but don’t forget about me too.”

Curling into a ball, Kors remained silent.

“Vitor, lie on your back and don’t move,” said Nik, finishing his preparations.

He calmly waited for Kors to obediently carry out the order. Seeing that Kors lay down, he approached, and, carefully kneeling beside him, bent over Kors, bringing a thick needle to the bridge of his nose.

Kors understood everything:

“No, please, don’t do it!” He pleaded. “Please, take it away!”

But Kors didn’t raise his hands to his face to protect himself. He pleaded, but didn’t resist, because he knew it was pointless and would only make things worse. They will end up doing whatever they want with him anyway, because they have the power and he doesn’t. And all the prayers are absolutely in vain. But he was so scared that he couldn’t remain silent, showing weakness. And because of this, he became disgusted with himself.

“Come on, you said you were ready to change,” Nik said very calmly. “You said you wanted to study. You told me that I was a bad student, so let’s see what you are!”

“How long will I have to wear them?” Kors whispered in some attempt to clear up the hopeless situation. Panic washed over him.

“It will be up to you,” Nik said, and drove the needle deep into the bridge of his nose.

Kors was sitting on his bedding, his head bowed low, and now iron shutter glasses were tightly fitting to his eyes.

“Why did I only mess up with you? What for?” He said bitterly.

“Why?” Nik asked. Kors could hear him standing near the table, his bottles clinking a little. “Vitor, answer yourself honestly! Don’t tell me you did it to help your son and bring him into the world of true blacks! You like to fuck with me! That’s all! And in addition, you wanted to get power from the Demon! You just got afraid!”

“I’m not afraid anymore!”

“You are afraid.”

“No, I’m not! I endure everything from you!” Kors shouted in despair.

“Aren’t you used to enduring?”

“No, I’m not!”

“Lucky for you, you got a good fate.”

“It means I deserved it!” Kors straightened his shoulders with some kind of doomed pride and raised his face, turning approximately in the direction from which he heard Nik’s voice.

“Think about it, and don’t forget to ask why you’ve been treated this way now.”

“It’s just that you enjoy torturing me!”

“Would you like to torture us like before?”

“I would like, as before, to love you and take care of my dear boy! Give me back my boy!”

“Return him,” Nik said, “I don’t mind, take him back.”

“How?! I’m tied and blinded!”

“Don’t know how? Then shut up!”

Kors fell silent, and Nik said:

“Say a word, I’ll pierce your tongue and fasten it. Do you understand?”

Kors nodded convulsively.

He heard Nik coming up to him, shoving a glass into his hand.

“Hold it, drink and relax. We will be loving you.”

“I love you too,” Kors answered him mentally and, taking the offered wine, took a long sip.

Nik and Arel fucked him in turn and at the same time. He could tell them apart, felt Nik’s hands as he squeezed him, and felt the absence of a finger on his hand. Kors really continued to love them and was afraid. But he was more afraid of Arel, because Nik was affectionate with him, and the prince could start fucking him and then hit him. Arel beat him, but still not as hard as before. He could just fuck and then kick him off the bed like a used thing. And Kors, crawling back to his post, endured it. Having played enough, they didn’t leave him alone, but stuffed a long and thick dildo into him like a plug. It was especially painful for Kors if Arel did it. He pushed this thing very roughly and as deep as possible, and Kors had to endure this stick inside for as long as they themselves didn’t use him. But they didn’t take away the coverlet and pillow from him, and he still lay on his soft bedding.

Blinded, he lost track of time, but it seemed like a couple of days have passed. Kors tried to determine the time of day by the loud bird that whistled outside the window only in the morning. Nik didn’t call Verniy, but he took Kors to the bathroom and toilet. He pulled him by the chain, and Kors followed him on all fours, or if Nik was too lazy to get out of bed, he would give Kors a bottle to empty himself. From time to time, Nik made for him the sweet drink of the unclean ones, gave him wine and gave Kors injections. He took care of his natural needs, yes, not too diligently, one might say, so-so, but he did so not out of malice, but simply because he himself was messy and stupid. Nik couldn’t take care of himself properly either. Kors knew his nature too well and was grateful to Nik just for this little thing, realizing that Nik himself was sincerely sure that he was taking good care of Kors. But time passed, and Nik still didn’t release him and didn’t let him go anywhere. Kors obeyed them implicitly. It was hard for him, but he endured, not asking for indulgence. He believed that sooner or later it would end, because they couldn’t stay in this house, in this room forever. On the one hand, they tormented and limited him, and on the other hand, they gave him incredible sensations of pleasure from their caresses. Crazy orgasms overcame all the torment, Kors felt that if Nik told him now, as he once told Arel: “I allow you to come”, Kors would come. He would have come just from his word.

One day, when Kors was lying on his bed, trying not to move, so that the stick inside would not bite into his insides more, and “his boys” were resting on the bed, he heard Nik call out to him in a low voice:

“Vitor?”

Kors slightly raised his head, turning his face in his direction. He didn’t have the strength to get up and sit down.

He heard Nik get off the bed and sit down next to him.

“Vitor, well, try…”

Kors felt the gentle touch of his lips on his own ones, no longer covered with bandages. Kors felt his soft, always so sweet, as if slightly capriciously poutedlower lip, and the metal of the rings in it. He choked with happiness and the pleasure that flooded over him, answered with all the passion and dared to timidly touch Nik’s face, his scarred cheek, not feeling the usual crack and unevenness of dead skin under his fingers. Kors’ heart pounded wildly. He realized that the treatment, his treatment helped, and Nik was no longer disfigured! How Kors wanted to see him now! To confirm his feelings, he quickly ran his fingers under Nik’s bangs, across her forehead, feeling only smooth skin. And, since Nik didn’t push him away, Kors grew bolder and began feverishly stroking his face with his hands, feeling, bumping only into the piercing in his nose and lip, but no longer feeling the dent from the scar. He wanted to scream and cry with happiness, but Nik forbade him to talk. And, although his tongue was not limited by anything, like Arel’s one in the past, Kors was very obedient without restrictions and screamed only in his thoughts and never aloud. Nik let him stroke his face, he didn’t let him see him, but he let him touch him. Kors began to pull Nik towards him, simultaneously spreading his legs. He wanted Nik to pull the stick out of him and stick his cock in, alive and warm. Nik succumbed, pulled a dildo out of Kors and began to fuck him. With the same passion as Kors gave himself to him, Nik took him. Breathing heavily, he moaned, sometimes his singas he was getting completely carried away. Kors imagined his face, remembering it as handsome as it had been in the Limit. He clung to him, hugging him, and Nik smelled so sweet of death, and even stronger than before. Kors howled and whimpered, it seemed to him that not only sperm would now spring out of him, but all his insides, all his essence, everything would break out of him, from his physical body, through this small hole. He was literally twisting and bursting, it seemed that his cock would not withstand such tension and would burst, tear to shreds, and all of it would splash out on Nik, and, mixed with him, would return back to Kors with incredible pleasure when Nik, hissing, came into him. It was a unity of nonhumans. And after that, Kors felt like had died, left his physical shell, devastated it and gave everything to the Demon to the last drop, and then returned back, filled again, but already with something different, with an alien admixture. And it was fine, and all the humiliations no longer mattered.

Time stopped. Obeying the orders, Kors got on all fours, lay down, climbed onto the bed when he was pulled by the chain. He sucked, swallowed, licked and did whatever was asked of him. He didn’t ask for anything himself, but if Nik gave him a drink of the unclean ones or some bread and said “drink” or “eat”, Kors obediently drank and ate everything. If Nik tugged at his chain, Kors crawled on all fours to the bathroom and tried to fulfill all natural needs as carefully as possible. Nik continued to tattoo him. He hammered paint over the patterns he had previously painted with dye on his ankles, wrists, and chest. He didn’t deafen Kors, but Nik and Arel barely spoke, or spoke in their minds, blocking their internal conversations from Kors. “Nik, leave the cigarette” or “Arel, bring some wine” didn’t count.

“Someone is coming to see you now,” Nik said, and Kors froze on his couch. He was afraid that Nik would give him to others. In tension, he began to listen to the footsteps in the corridor. There was a knock on the door and Nik said:

“Come in.”

He didn’t name the guest, but Kors intuitively, with some animal instinct, guessed who it might be, and he was not mistaken.

“Hi!”

“Hi, Zaf,” Nik answered as if nothing had happened.

And Kors involuntarily imagined this sight: a mess reigned in the room, because all these days he had not heard either Verniy or Valentine. Nik didn’t let them in, which meant that rubbish was not removed either. The bed was spread out and crumpled, naked Arel was lying on it, Kors knew about this, and knew that they were without clothes. And Kors, tied to a post, stood on his knees with iron “spoons” before his eyes, with a painted, partially tattooed body, bruised from Arel’s blows, with scratches from Nik’s claws and traces of their bites. Disheveled because Nik didn’t comb his hair, dirty, smelling of sweat, cum and shit, and lost all his aristocratic gloss.

“Will you drink?” Hospitably offered Nik to Zaf.

The belt buckle rattled, Nik began to put on his pants. Kors sat with his head bowed and not moving. Nik ordered him to be quiet, and he would not say a word. He heard them drinking and Nik asked Zaf how he was doing. What was the point of keeping up a conversation about business if they could communicate mentally in whole information blocks, and Nik already knew and saw everything? But they seemed to really be people, exchanged a few phrases.

They are forced to live according to the laws of this world, should they interact like people? But now it doesn’t seem to bother them. They even had fun. It seemed to Kors that they liked to be human and diligently speak in simple phrases. It seemed to amuse them, just as an adult sometimes takes part in children’s amusements, for example, sits on a horse on a carousel, and he has fun. So Zaf and Nik seemed to be having fun, talking and doing it as if for real, diligently, according to the rules:

“Zaf, what’s new in the camp?”

“Eh, nothing special, everyone is having fun and drinking, and Marbuel got into a fight with his brother.”

“Aha-ha! Because of what?”

“It seems they argued who would eat the heart and stomach of a pigeon.”

“A pigeon?!”

“Yes, because of such nonsense, they are not inferior to each other even in small things.”

“Do you lack pigeons?”

“We have a lot of pigeons!”

“What prevented them from taking another one?”

“Well, you see, my Lord, that they both needed this pigeon.”

“Aha-ha!”

Kors listened how they played “people”, a little clumsily, but according to the rules, and it began to seem funny to him. Now, when all his senses were sharpened, he noticed that all this was not real, but quite realistic. He completely forgot that Nik said:“Someone is coming to YOU now,” and suddenly he heard Zaf ask:

“Can I take Vitor to my place for a couple of hours?”

And to Kors’ dismay, Nik replied:

“Yes.”

“Where is your jealousy, Nik? Or are you punishing me like this for teasing you about my friendship with Zaf? Yes, Nik, you know how to reflect!” And it hurt a lot. Kors wanted to howl from being powerless, and at the same time he didn’t want to show his suffering. Let them do what they want. It wad possible that they agreed on everything in advance and were again playing a performance in front of him. Allegedly, Nik was jealous of Kors, but in fact … they just laughed at him for the umpteenth time, it would be very much like they enjoy. Of course, it didn’t look at all like they had agreed and were playing with Kors, fooling him, and why did they need it? But then what was happening? How could Nik give him to Zaf now? What a betrayal! He said that he would train him, made him an obedient slave, and now what? Nik wants to punish him for that terrible evening when Kors, in his thoughtless bravado, really wanted to suck Zaf to spite Nick. “Well, now get what you wanted, catch a return,” Kors thought bitterly, scolding himself. In order not to show Nik his pain, he habitually began to read the quatrain in his mind again and again.

Nik unhooked him from the post:

“You can get up.”

Kors got up. His legs didn’t obey him. Nik covered him with some kind of cloth, like a cloak, put something on his head, completely covering his face. Was it a bag? No! This was a cape! Nik put on him a woman’s cape, as if he were a slave woman. Kors cringed.

“Zaf will take you to him like that,” Nik explained, “I don’t want others to see you. You will be his slave.”

“What a tall girlfriend,” Arel laughed.

And Kors stood crushed, his head bowed low, and was silent.

“You can talk to Zaf, I allow it,” Nik said. But Kors said nothing. Zaf firmly took his arm and slowly led him along. Confused in the cape, Kors felt the cool floorboards in the corridor with his bare feet. He barely hobbled, Nik didn’t pull the dildo out of him, and he was in pain. Fortunately, it was not long to go, and when they arrived, Zaf immediately removed the humiliating cape from him. But Kors didn’t know if anyone else was in the room, and he only hoped there wasn’t.

“Sit down on the bed,” Zaf slightly directed him, and Kors carefully sat down. Why didn’t you call me? Zafasked.

“I’m all right,” Kors barely said, and Zaf ordered: “Lie down on your side.”

Kors immediately obeyed the order and lay down, as ordered by the unclean one. He was in their power, Nik gave him, and, therefore, he will obey Zaf.

Zaа gently lifted his leg to the side and pulled out the dildo, but Kors wasn’t happy, although he was relieved from the stick that tormented him. He knew that just now Zaf’s cock would replace the stick, and he would move, which would be even worse.

But Zaf was clearly not in a hurry, but for some reason covered Kors with a blanket:

“Sit up, have a drink, you’ll feel better,” he said.

Kors drank the offered wine.

“You will fall asleep for a couple of hours, rest. Anddon’t be afraid, Vitor, I won’t touch you. I have taken not you for this.”

“And for what?” Kors asked indifferently. Now he didn’t care anymore, and he was really tired.

“I took you to get some rest from them. I can’t take your glasses off, but I can do everything else, and you can just rest at my place.”

“But why?”

“What — why?” Zaf didn’t understand.

“Why are you kind to me?” Kors lifted his swollen face approximately in the direction from which he heard Zaf’s voice.

“I like you,” Zaf explained and ran him over his head, straightened his disheveled hair a little, “and I don’t know how much longer they are going to torment you.”

“You don’t know?” Kors was embarrassed by his impulse, it was impossible to show weakness.

“No, I don’t know,” Zaf replied sadly.

Kors wilted, but gathered his courage and said without any intonation:

“No, they don’t torment me, it’s training, examination and initiation,” Kors realized that it turned out very unconvincingly.

“In our tribe, young guys also go through initiation,” Zaf said, “not the same, of course, as yours, but also not easy.”

“And those who passed it are put plugs in their noses as a reward?”

“Yes.”

“What about those who can’t get through it? What does your tribe do with them?”

Zaf hesitated with the answer:

“They are eaten,” he finally said. And Kors covered his face with his hands:

“Ooh, it looks like this awaits me! I am a mediocre student, I laughed at Prince Arel that he was stupid, but he was no better. I’m probably dumber…”

“Vitor, sleep,” Zaf said softly and carefully, “stop stuffing your head with all sorts of thoughts, lie down.”

Maybe Zaf had slipped something into his wine, but Kors really wanted to sleep unbearably. It was as if a soft cobweb wrapped around his head, there were no thoughts, but it was pleasant, because along with his thoughts, his worries and fear disappeared. Dark blue clouds floated slowly before his eyes. They stretched out in long rows in the sunset sky. He saw a flat, endless steppe covered with dry grass, and the ground, dotted with some kind of small minks. Kors relaxed, lay down more comfortably, falling into sweet visions, when he suddenly heard the voices of Nik and Arel, he didn’t see them, but he heard them. Arel said:

“He doesn’t change,” and by the way he sucked in air, Kors realized that the prince was taking a drag on his cigarette.

“He needs time, not a long time has passed,” Nik objected.

“No matter how much time passes, he won’t change,” said Arel, and Kors heard him puff out smoke. “Vitor has lived his life,” Arel continued, “he is many years old. At this age, people don’t change.”

(Hearing this, Kors went wild with indignation — well, Arel, I’ll remember it!)

“On average, people live fifty or sixty years, and he is fifty.”

“But he is a true black,” Nik disagreed, “he is not an ordinary person and can easily live more than a hundred years, which means that now he is not old yet.”

“This is only a state of the body,” Arel disagreed with him again, “but the state of mind of true blacks is the same as that of ordinary people, and the lived years leave their mark. I, too, can live a hundred years and even more, my blood is purer than Vitor’s. Then, by your standards, I’m still a child. Do I look like a child?”

“No, well…a little…”

“We don’t age in body, but we grow up just like ordinary people, and his mind is the mind of a person who has passed his life. He’s old inside, he calls us “my boys” himself, and like all old men, he likes young lovers.”

“I love that stern yet loving look of his, when he looks at me like a father,” Nik said, and his hoarse voice became so gentle at the moment when he said this that Kors’ heart beat with happiness.

“I also love Vitor,” agreed Arel,

(Fuck you, Arel!)

“But Vitor has long been fully formed, his life rules and principles have grown together with him tightly, he is full.”

“He has a lively mind,” said Nik, “he perceives the new. I don’t believe my Vitor is hopeless.”

(And Kors was so grateful to him for those words, especially for “my Vitor”).

“Then you need to push harder,” said Arel.

“But he is obedient, he does everything. He tries.”

“Of course, because he has been serving someone all his life. He knows how to do it and has gone far in his career. In the army, in the Black City, he serves the king for many years. He is accustomed to serve, obey the orders of his superiors and carry them out. I’mtalking about this to you. It’s not that hard for him to follow orders.”

(“Arel, I’ll kill you!” Kors thought once again).

“He needs to be tied to a post,” Arel continued, “he is used to serving, but not used to physical suffering, not used to the restriction of the body. You need to lift his hands up and tie him high, and let him stand at the pole on his toes.”

“He will handle it,” Nik said, “I know.”

“Yes, he is stubborn as a ram,” Arel agreed, “but you need to try different options. You know, I’ll come back in the evening and beat him, tie him to a post… maybe this will work.”

(“Arel, what?! What?!” Kors literally yelled in his thoughts). And then he heard Nick quickly say:

“Damn, he hears us…”

And everything collapsed.

Kors jumped up on the bed.

“Zaf!”

Something large, covered with dark brown, almost black hairs, like thick fur, stirred in the corner. It sat there, curled up in a ball and tucked under itself, folded on both sides of the body, numerous powerful paws. Two dark green round eyes stared at Kors.

“I’m here,” said Zaf, “you didn’t get much sleep.”

“I have rested, thanks! Take me back please!”

Kors decided that if Arel was going to leave somewhere and would return only in the evening, he would have time to beg Nik not to do with him what the prince suggested. No matter how, beg mentally, and if Nik closes his thoughts, then out loud, he doesn’t care! But he will convince him that he is not old and that he will change and learn new things, and there is no need to push harder. Arel is wrong, and physical pressure on the verge of human capabilities will only destroy him.

“Zaf, take me back to Nik, please!” he repeated again, he needed to act. Now!

“Yes, Vitor, only you will have to put on the cape again.”

“Put it on me!”

Chapter 13

Once again covering Kors with a cape, Zaf took him back. He didn’t put the hated dildo into him, and therefore Kors movedmore cheerfully, especially since now all his thoughts were completely absorbed by the upcoming conversation with Nik, and he paid little attention to reality.

Kors’ hope came true, Nik was alone. Arel had really gone somewhere, probably to the stable, where else could he go? It was a good start. Without saying a word, Nik habitually fastened Kors to the post, and lay down on the bed. The pause dragged on, and the initial fighting spirit of Kors began to disappear. He sat stupidly on the bedspread and didn’t know how to start a conversation. What if Nik had fallen asleep? How to call him? Just call out in the mind — “Nik?” How to start pleading? Nik will just tell him to shut up, that’s all. But Kors also had no intention of retreating. “Wait, wait, you need to think about everything… it won’t take long, Arel won’t have time to return. I need a plan. Maybe ask Nik mentally for water? So that he somehow reacts, to check what mood he is in, to get at least some kind of response first…”

Kors darted from one plan to another, not daring to act. In desperation, he covered his face with his hands, literally physically feeling that his skin was dirty. Nik hadn’t taken him to the bath for a long time, didn’t wash his face, and there were those damned glasses on his eyes! And in the evening Arel will beat him up and tie him to the post. “This will never end, I will just die! No matter what I do, they have power and I can’tchange anything. All my hopes are in vain.” Some kind of absolute indifference swept over him, forcing him to abandon all his plans for salvation. Kors slowly removed his hands from his face, lowered his hands, and suddenly he saw! He saw everything around him as if his eyes were open.

The room was in twilight, the shutters on the windows were tightly closed as always. On the nightstand next to the bed, a single candle was barely flickering in a gold but dirty and sooty chandelier. It flowed slowly over graceful, once shiny, now wax-drenched curved horns with cups for six more candles, now empty. Kors remembered that candlestick. Verniy once was cleaning it. It was a luxurious and beautiful item, especially when tall thin candles burned in it.

And Nik was sitting on the bed, and he wasn’t asleep. With his trousers unbuttoned, shirtless, he sat sideways to Kors, ugly hunched over and his head bowed low. He just sat, not moving, as usual, stretching his lame leg in front of him and slightly bending his good knee, and looked aloof, somehow sad, thoughtful and infinitely far from what surrounded him, from this whole world. His posture seemed unnatural and uncomfortable to Kors. “Like a broken toy” — involuntarily flashed through his mind, and Nik slowly turned to him. Kors saw his face, pale and still pierced, but it was no longer scarred. And Kors knew that these were not fantasies, not hallucinations of a man deprived of sight for a long time. He doesn’t think so, it’s for real! He could see Nik with his eyes closed, could see everything as it really was! He saw everything that was happening now in this room. And Nik looked at Kors, and he realized that Nik knew: Kors saw him!

Kors rushed forward, crawling towards the bed.

“Nik! I see you!”

And Nik reached out his hands to him and spun the bar out of his nose, taking it out and removing the shutters. Kors screwed up his eyes and began to rub them, feeling tears coming out of his eyes so treacherously from strong feelings.

“I saw you,” he whispered, “I could see you with my eyes closed!”

“Now you can see with your inner vision in the dark,” Nik said.

“Have I evolved? Have my eyes adjusted?”

“Yes,” Nik replied, “forgive me if that was cruel.”

“You did everything right!” Kors shouted. “It was me who acted like a stubborn idiot. I was angry at you. I need to ask for forgiveness! What can I do to make you forgive me?”

Nik shook his head.

“Nothing, everything is alright,” he unfastened the chain from the collar of Kors, “you are free.”

“And…and you won’t tie me to the post?” Kors asked apprehensively, but with obvious hope.

“No.”

“And can I clean myself up and get dressed?”

“Yes. There is a box of medicines on the table.”

“Can I heal the puncture?” Kors was very worried about his ruined face.

“Yes.”

Grabbing the box, Kors rushed to the bathroom. When he finally returned from there with a healed bridge of his nose, clean, combed and neatly dressed, he saw that Nik had not changed his position and was still sitting on the bed.

“Nik?” Kors called cautiously.

Nik raised his head and, looking at Kors, tried to force a smile.

“Nik, can I add some light?” Kors glanced at the candlestick.

Nik shrugged indifferently.

“As you wish…”

Kors roughly imagined where candles could be stored. He opened the closet, and next to the textbook, according to which Prince Arel once was learning the unclean language, under a notebook covered with clumsy handwriting, he found what he was looking for. He set the candles in the candlestick, replacing the almost burnt stub with a new one. Kors lit all seven candles at once, he wanted to get a good look at his son's face. Nik, it seemed, understood this and moved a little further on the bed.

“Nik! You look good! You no longer have a scar!” Kors exclaimed with genuine joy in his voice.

“A small trace remained, but in general, yes,” without any emotions, Nik agreed with him completely indifferently.

“Nik…”

“Thank you for the treatment.”

Kors sat down next to him:

“What happened to you? Why are you sad?”

“Everything is fine.”

“What can I do for you to make you feel better? Take my blood, my flesh, whatever you want! Just don’t be so miserable!”

Nik barely smiled out of the corner of his lips and did not answer.

“You miss your world,” Kors guessed. “Yes, I can’t help you return to your world, but I can do whatever you order in this world! What should I do? What?”

“Just love me,” Nik replied.

“I love you!”

“So, as you said, un… without… conditions?”

“I love you with unconditional love!” Kors shouted very sincerely. “I love you in any way! Both black and light! I was a fool when I got scared and threw you away! I was fool!”

“My daddy,” Nik said with some pride and smiled more cheerfully.

“How can you reconcile with your human part? How can you reconcile with this world?”

“No way. It’s all right, drink with me,” Nik got out of bed, went to the table and poured red wine into two glasses.

And Kors looked at him and didn’t recognize him. It was still the same Nik, but… as if different. Kors was surprised to realize that Nik wasn’t that small after all. Why did he look like this? At first, when Kors was a master, the head of the king’s security service and the father of only Karina, Nik seemed to him a pretty half-blood. Then when Nik became his son, he was his handsome little boy. But Nik was neither this nor that. And now Kors understood that his son was indeed taller than an ordinary commoner, the blood of true blacks, the blood of masters, was visible in him. He was well-proportioned, well-built, with broad shoulders, a narrow torso, and legs that were not at all short, but exactly as they should be for his height. It’s just that true blacks often have naturally long legs, and because of it they are tall. And Nik was just as he had to be. He was thin, but not as emaciated as Kors saw, and his ribs didn’t stick out at all. He had dense, firm, relief muscles. His shoulders, arms, and abs were noticeably pumped up, only the thighs were probably thinner than necessary. Unfortunately, limited by his disability, Nik didn’t walk much and couldn’t run and jump like the others.

Nik handed him a crystal glass with maroon wine inside.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Kors took the offered wine:

“Why did you look so thin and small to me?!”

“Probably, to loving parents, their children often seem like that. Small and skinny. Therefore, they take care of them, constantly feed them so that they grow up and get more bulky,” Nik laughed shortly. “I told you a hundred times that I’m of normal height! And not skinny! You yourself ordered the red doctor from Ore Town to weigh me. And he told you I had normal weight, remember? But you seem to be blinded. And you were constantly feeding me!”

“You really are not exhausted and not small!” Kors even was delighted.

Yes, of course, Nik was shorter than the black gentlemen, but not as short as he seemed.

“I told you that! Vitor, I’m of normal height, but you seemed to like to belittle me, to see me small, and I reconciled.”

Kors smiled.

“Why are you smiling?” Nik couldn’t understand his joy.

“I’m glad you’re not small!”

“Oh! I probably grew up and gained weight these days? Really? You think so?”

“No, but…”

“Vitor, you just perceived me as a little boy.”

“Who was taken from me. Yes, yes, I understand everything,” Kors couldn’t stop smiling stupidly.

“Let’s have a drink!” Nik raised his glass.

“Yes,” said Kors, “for you, Nik!”

“For me?”

“Because you’re not small!”

Nik sincerely laughed, and Kors was glad that he managed to distract him from his sad thoughts and cheer him up.

“No, no, Vitor, let’s drink for you then!”

“Why for me?”

“I’ll drink to my daddy, who took care of me and fed me so well that I grew up and got more bulky! For your hearty and healthy porridge!”

“I thought you liked my blood better,” said Kors.

“And blood, too,” Nik agreed slyly.

Kors had long forgotten this feeling of happiness when they were sitting like that, chatting about all sorts of nonsense and laughing.

“What happened to your scar, will you tell me?”

“Either pus or poison began to flow from it, or it flowed and flowed, all this shit… And then it all flowed out, and everything healed, and there was no more scar on the face. You have cured me!”

“I’m happy!” Kors breathed out. “Tell me, are you a Demon now?”

“I’m merged with the human, and I am half human in this World. You know it.”

“Do you have a lot of him in you?”

“I can use everything he has, and he doesn’t have much. You told me yourself that your son is a stupid thoughtless boy.”

“Does it make you sad? Is that why you’re sad?”

Nik shook his shaggy head.

“I’m used to him, and I accept him, I am him. And whenever possible, I supplement him, as far as I am allowed.”

“You seem to have two personalities.”

“I can’t be the Demon here all the time, but I can’t be the only Demon either.”

“What a hellish mixture,” Kors smiled, “and I love you just like that!”

Nik drained his glass to the bottom and lay back relaxed on the bed, turning over on his side. And Kors couldn’t stop admiring his now not disfigured face and thought that, despite the fact that Nik had been abusing alcohol for a sufficient amount of time, this had not left an irreparable imprint on his cute appearance. “It is said that divine creatures drink the nectar of heaven. My fallen Angel, instead of that you are now drinking moonshine of the unclean,” Kors thought sadly and tenderly.

Nik got up. He propped his head on his bent elbow and looked at Kors.

“Well, what is it again? You just devour me with your eyes, you can’t have enough of seeing.”

“I miss you, I haven’t seen your face in such a long time! I love my human son with paternal love, I love the Demon as his devoted slave, but with unconditional love I love this combination of man and Demon. In your merger, for me, you are the real one.”

Leaning on his fist, Nik listened to him, smiling slightly.

And Kors enthusiastically continued:

“You add inner fire to the beautiful appearance of my son, and this is the perfect combination! External and internal complement each other. When they are not separate, but together, then you become one, you become a person.”

“You are being carried away again,” Nik drawled. “Why do you always philo… philosophize? Just like Tol. Don’t forget that your son is a fool, and most of the time I can only use his mind.”

“The inner strength of the Demon gives true beauty to the human shell. You are beautiful! Feelings for you have conquered me! Really, the most powerful weapon in this world is love! And it had disarmed me! This is the effect of a broken dam! When you truly love, it’s like a bright light shines on you, and you bathe in this light. I…”

“Vitor, I’m not as beautiful as you think!” Nik interrupted him, apparently suspecting that this would go on a long time, “just as I seemed small and thin to you, I also seem beautiful to you now. But not to such extent!”

“For me — to such extent!”

“It’s just that something coincided in your head — the idea of beauty and my face, the appearance of Inness. When you were young and saw her, she immediately stuck you. And then it started. And that’s why I look so beautiful to you. It’s a because of Inness. I agree, for many people I am cute, but not to the point of madness, as for you. And when you saw me for the first time during interrogation, you were not so impressed.”

“I was impressed.”

“But you didn’t want me then, did you? And then, when you came to the Estate, we talked for a long time, you didn’t even think of me as a lover.”

“You were very dirty.”

“Damn, I was the same! Everything was the same! Your look has changed, you got feelings for me, Lis had spurred you on.”

“As well as you. The redhead brought us together because he understood everything before we did.”

“Someday you will see me again … adequately, and you won’t understand why you were so crazy before.”

“You want to explain to me that beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” Kors nodded understandingly, “so be it. But now I can’t change anything. Not only that, I love you with scales too.”

“Oh, no,” Nik, it seemed, was even frightened, and sat up on the bed. “No, you don’t love it.”

“I love it! I know it’s just one of your skins. I was frightened, I won’t hide it, but everything quickly returned to normal. Anger and resentment subsided in me for the umpteenth time.”

“Subsided so much that you thought to run away from me to Leonardo!”

And Kors froze:

“Forgive me! I beg you!”

“You wanted to betray me when we arrived in the Black City!”

“No! No! I wouldn’t have survived it myself! I would kill myself, I swear!” Kors folded his arms across his chest.

Nik looked at him carefully. His eyes were like a bottomless sky on a cloudy day:

“I have always been drawn to you, people, even though I have been so cruelly betrayed by you many times… Maybe at least you won’t betray me.”

“Never!” Shouted Kors, continuing to press his cupped palms to his chest with all his fervor.

“No, you will still break my heart, Vitor,” Nik said. It seemed that Kors’ emotional demonstration of feelings didn’t make the right impression on him. “You try to do it this every time and hurt me, you will get your way sooner or later, I feel it.”

“No! No! I won’t!”

“But that’s what you are doing! How many times have you broken my heart when you showed me to the masters, humiliated me, tossed me aside, beat me with words, every day you told me that I was a fool and drunkard…”

“But you're really a drunkard…”

“Vitor! Go to hell!”

“I was just stating a fact.” Kors was barely able to keep from laughing. He was so amused by these ingenuous emotions of confusion, indignation and misunderstanding of such impudence from Kors, they were changing on Nik’s face one after another, making him look warm and familiar.

“That’s all, Vitor, go to hell! Now I myself will tie you to a post and beat you!”

“No,” Kors shook his head, “you really don’t like beating me. You hand me over to Prince Arel, you don’t beat me yourself,” Kors smiled slyly, “and you’re a drunkard,” and, looking again at Nik’s facial expression, he laughed out loud.

He heard that Nik loved him, and therefore wasn’t afraid of anything. He was happy and relaxed.

“Well, since I’m a drunkard, let’s have a drink then? Will you pour me?”

“Yes,” Kors took the empty glass from him, went to the table himself and poured wine, gave the glass to Nik.

They drank. After several days of torments and restrictions, Kors was unusually well, and he was literally being carried away.

After drinking his wine, Nik moved closer to Kors, hugged him around the waist and buried his face in his chest, pressed himself like a child, like his son. Kors was overwhelmed by a wave of tenderness.

“Nick, my favorite boy…” he stammered from overwhelmed feelings. “Have I brought you back? Have I got my boy back? Have I returned him?”

“Yes…”

“Will you forgive me for everything I’ve done?”

“Won’t you stop loving me again?”

“No! Never!”

Nik pulled away from him a little and raised his face:

“Now that I don’t have a scar, you’ll like me even more, right? I am no longer a cracked porcelain figurine. Or did you actually like the scar, just like Arel did?”

Kors grabbed him impulsively and held him close again.

“For me it doesn’t matter anymore, I love you with any scars with unconditional love! But I’m so glad I had cured you!”

He stroked Nik’s hair, burrowing deep into it and feeling the tangled clumps of mats under his fingers, pressing his face against the top of his head, inhaling the smell of tobacco, as if he couldn’t breathe enough. Nik trustingly clung to him, consoling himself like a kitten.

And Kors whispered passionately:

“Be yourself. If you want, be with your black face, squeeze me with your spider paws. I’m not afraid, I won’t be afraid.”

“No, no, I don’t want to. I didn’t do it on purpose before, I didn’t mean to scare you. And this is not my only image, but just one of them.”

Kors pushed slightly away and then peered tenderly into his sweet face, then again, in a fit of feelings, he pressed his head to his chest.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry that I was playing with you. You were right, Nik, I enjoyed taking your freedom, taking your fellowship away. And yes, if it were my will, I would lock you in my basement. I would put a bag over your head, tie you up and lock you up. I’m a monster! I didn’t teach you properly and didn’t treat you! Peace told you the truth, I humiliated you and asserted my power. Will you forgive me for it?”

“What are you talking about? You are a good father! You didn’t come to the estate just for Karina, did you? You said that your son was not indifferent to you, you came for me too. Yes?”

“Yes.”

“You took care of me! I didn’t have a father before, and people could beat me, but now they can’t!”

“But I myself had severely beat you with a belt for an unlearned lesson, and there were marks from my buckle on your body…”

“Well, let that be. I wanted to have the memory of my father’s love on my ass.”

“I’m ashamed!” Kors released him, covering his face with his hands. “I had punished you so unjustly!”

“You punished me because I was uncontrollable and stupid,” Nik said conciliatoryly, pulling at his hand. He clearly wanted Kors to keep holding him close and hugging him.

“No! You are obedient and smart, and grateful,” Kors immediately understood Nik’s ingenuous and persistent hint, and hugged him again. “It’s just that you don’t know how people truly care. You have nothing to compare with. It’s done not the way I did it, trust me. I took terrible care of you!”

“But you are my father. And that’s how you did it. I’m very grateful to you for this.”

“I drew my initials on your face!”

“Just because I’m only yours.”

“I made you wear a mask!”

“I’m used to wearing a mask.”

“Oh, Nik, I just liked to feel powerful.”

“Well, so be it. I myself didn’t want people to stare at me.”

“I… I had punished you so unfairly in Ore Town,” Kors sobbed, “you did the right thing in not wanting to put on those fucking glasses.”

“I remembered my father the past and reproached him for it.”

“And serve me well! How could I do that! I understood that you were my son from Inness. I figured it out during that first interrogation! But instead of getting it right, I immediately started fighting the Demon, what an idiot! I will never forgive myself for this! As soon as I remember how I put you out for fun at this festival, my heart shrinks into a ball. And yet… I also really lied to you when I said that I would introduce you to the world of true blacks. I have lied!”

Nik pulled away and Kors didn’t hold him back, just sat with his head down.

“Thank you for confessing. For honesty now,” Nik said.

“I…I wanted this! But I just didn’t understand how it could be done. You see… Nik… these piearcings on your face, they immediately make it clear to any sir that you are bottom. Understand? That you are a slave, a boy-toy, decorated in such a way as to embody the sexual addictions of the owner. You are a sex toy! But even if you pull it all out and heal the holes… I don’t know what to do with it,” Kors sadly stroked his tattooed cheekbone, and Nik allowed him to do it.

“And your hands,” Kors continued, “I don’t understand how to fix it now either.” — Kors gently took his hand, and, bending down, kissed his ring. “These black… nails… Nik, I wanted to think of something, to tell my friends from the Upper City that you were a prisoner of the unclean ones, and they had disfigured you. But I realized that all this wouldn’t help. They wouldn’t see you as a person equal to themselves. And after this spring holiday, nothing matters anymore. Whatever I tell them about you, they won’t open their heart and their world! And now for me too, Nik. We won’t come to them, neither I nor you.”

Nik smiled thoughtfully.

“I’m so beautiful that you think I charmed them all with my beauty at that ball? Tell me!”

Kors was embarrassedly silent.

“Fuck, they made fun of me! They beat me on the head with a stick, laughed and called me names. All as you just said. They didn’t see me as human because I didn’t look like them. They looked at the chastity belt and called me Prince Arel’s plaything.”

“I can’t fix it, but tell me, tell me, who hit you on the head? Who poked a spear shaft at you and laughed? I won’t leave it like this! I will find and punish everyone, everyone who hit you that night!”

“Humiliate and punish. Shepherds of sheep, why is this your favorite pastime?”

“Who of the sirs poked you with a shaft and hit you on the head?”

Nik didn’t answer him, and Kors raised his voice:

“Who hit you?! Answer me!”

“Do you think I know the black sirs by name? There were many!”

“Oh!” Kors shrank back, but Nik himself moved closer to him, turning his head slightly to the side and pressing his cheek against his chest. He nestled comfortably in his father’s arms.

“It’s all in the past, daddy sir, forget it. And if so, fuck all these puffy true blacks with their fucking world full of stupid rules. I have nothing to be offended by you. I felt good when you didn’t beat me up and tie me up for a long time. I felt good with you and from your care. Even when I was choking on that damn porridge. You called me affectionate words, it was very nice. You gave me a lot of attention. I believed that you love me. I liked being yours. I felt… you know… somehow protected. Under your protection, because I am yours. Your thing that you cherish and protect. And you take good care of your things. They are always good for you.”

“That’s it for things, but you’re not a thing!” Kors said bitterly, holding him tighter. “And I treated you like my own thing!”

“So what? I am nobody, I am a thing. I am not human.”

“You are better than anyone!”

Without letting go of Nik’s embrace, Kors leaned towards him, looking for his lips. Nik immediately threw back his face more and answered, slipping his tongue into his mouth.

When Arel returned in the evening and saw them lying in bed together, he understood everything.

“Congratulations,” the prince said, glancing arrogantly at Kors, “you are starting to succeed.”

“Yes, I’m not such a fossilized fool as you thought,” replied Kors, not without pride.

“I’ll join you now,” Arel said and quickly went to the bathroom, and Kors and Nik looked at each other and began kissing again.

Chapter 14

Kors woke up because of a bird whistling loudly outside the window. He didn’t sleep almost all night, making love with “his boys” who returned to him again, and this magical night was full of love and tenderness. But now he was terribly sleepy. And the bird was whistling loudly, as it seemed to him, right above his ear.

“Piu! Piu! Piu!”

In minimal pauses, the bird took in as much air as possible, and then again emitted a heart-rending whistle, like a children’s squeaker toy, which was sharply clenched in a fist.

“Piu! Piu! Piuuu!”

It was completely impossible to fall asleep again, and Kors opened his eyes in annoyance, involuntarily meeting his gaze with Prince Arel, who was lying next to him, not sleeping either. He looked at Kors with his bright brown eyes, as it seemed to him, a little provocatively, perfectly understanding what Kors had woken up from, and inwardly making fun of him and this funny situation.

“Prince Arel!” Kors was outraged. “It doesn’t fit in any frames! Order the tree to be cut down immediately!”

But Arel only smiled lazily and yawned:

“Why so?”

“Don’t you hear why?”

“We’re leaving soon,” Arel stretched sweetly, so that his joints crunched, “what’s the difference…”

“Well, you know! For me there is a difference! Especially if we’re leaving soon. I want to sleep well before the road!”

“Fuck off from my Whistle.”

“Whistle? Ahhh, that is, it even has a name…”

“Vitor, let’s go for a ride?” Arel said. “Will you go with me?”

Kors glanced at Nik, who was sleeping next to him. His affectionate boy was sleeping so soundly and sweetly, lying on his side, and the “singing” of the bird wasn’t bothering him. Kors admired his relaxed and serene face. Let him sleep, he thought.

“Yes, Arel, I will go with you.”

The morning coolness had not yet been replaced by the midday heat, and they galloped for a long time along country roads, from time to time going off them and simply crossing fields overgrown with silky grass. A light breeze swept it in one direction, then in the other, rolling it like the waves of the sea. Having galloped far away from home, Kors and Arel finally stopped in a small shady grove. Nearby, the skeletons of once solid huts burned to the ground, the remains of a small village, blackened. At one time, the Reds got here. They famously ran errands on the borders of the prince’s possessions.

Dismounting, Kors walked over to a small but deep stone trough for horses. It was installed near a spring under the canopy of trees, especially so that travelers heading to the desert lands could refresh themselves and water their horses before a long journey. He gladly dipped his palms into the cool water, transparent on the surface and mysteriously dark green in the depth, pierced by thin sunbeams breaking through the crowns of trees. Clasping his hands, he scooped up water, at the same time bending down and pouring it over his face flushed from the race. He did this again and again, unable to stop and closing his eyes with pleasure. He was in good spirits, he was glad that he agreed to this walk. Finally stopping, Kors with some boyish enthusiasm, smiling, turned his wet face to Arel. Arel stood and looked at him, looking somehow very strange, and there was not even a shadow of an answering smile on his face.

“Arel, are you all right?” Kors continued to smile by inertia, but the expression on Arel’s face already frightened him, and he didn’t like it.

“Yes,” Arel answered, and his voice was strange.

“What’s wrong with you?” Kors was seriously worried. Arel looked like he was about to have an epileptic fit.

“Arel? Arel!” Kors quickly approached him, slightly shook him by the shoulders, trying to pull him out of his bad state. Obeying an inner unconscious impulse, he suddenly hugged him tightly, trying to calm him down like a child and get him out of this strange stupor. Arel didn’t move away, he stood motionless, petrified in the arms of Kors, like a statue. And the horses, without waiting for the command of the owners, themselves approached the drinking bowl and began to quench their thirst, snorting loudly and spinning their ears.

Finally, feeling that Arel became softer in his hands, and seemed to relax a little, coming out of his stupor, Kors let him go:

“Maybe you will sit down?” he asked with concern. “Because of your damn makeup, I can’t see the color of your face, whether it is pale or red, and determine your condition in order to provide the right assistance. How do you feel? Tell me, I’ll try to diagnose according to your feelings.”

“It’s all right,” Arel said somehow forcedly, “let’s get out of here!”

He walked over to the drinking bowl and jerked Beauty’s reins sharply, pulling him towards himself, preventing him from drinking any more. He jumped into the saddle, turning to Kors for a moment.

“Vitor! Let’s go!”

“Well, well,” Kors shrugged, “as you say.”

He didn’t understand what happened to the prince, and wrote it off on his sore head, once again confirming for himself that Arel, unfortunately, inherited madness from his mother.

They turned towards the house, and Arel drove Beauty like crazy all the way back.

At this time, the stables were already bustling with activity. The unclean ones spoke loudly among themselves:

“What the time? Do you know? Noon, heh? Eh?”

“How do I know! What are you doing, are you hurrying somewhere? To your mommy? Aha-ha!”

Some of them were leaving through the gates, others came. All actions were accompanied by shouts and swearing:

“Thousand devils, get out of the way! Step aside!”

“Fat-faced, stop staring! Get out of here with your lousy nag!”

“Stop yelling, can’t you pass? Bitches!”

“Shove a dick in his pie hole!”

They yelled at each other, seeming to be having more fun and making a fuss than actually quarreling.

Inside it was a little quieter, but not considerably, and the grooms chattered non-stop among themselves:

“You see, I dozed off, imagine, in the hay, near this colt, and this fucking rat bit me here! Look here, see?!What the fuck!”

“Ha-ha-ha, your paw! You got drunk like a brute, and what the hell were you waiting for? It could bite your finger off!

“Death on four legs!”

“Thank your Gods that the ghoul didn’t drag you away, but only a rat bit you! They say that not long ago, it was flying around again, bled Kravshay.”

“The undead from Crimson Rock?!”

“It’s not from the Rock! It’s all because of the blacks! People dragged it with them from the city! I’m telling you, it’s all because of the people!”

Kors winced.

“Well, I’ve had enough of this shit!”

Handing Grrkh over to Adrian, he hurried out of the stable and quickly returned to the house, because he was already missing Nik.

Passing by outbuildings, near the well, he saw three women who were drawing water and also loudly clattering:

“This Estate is cursed! Damn! I wish to get out of here as soon as possible!” One said very emotionally.

“I don’t sleep at all,” the second one supported her, “the bear growls from night to morning, I get goose bumps from his growl, I feel fear!”

“Eh. The bear is nothing!” the third intervened. “The ghoul flies at night again! Huge, with black wings, like a bat!”

“Terrible!”

“I’m telling you, this is a cursed place!”

“It’s all because of the unclean ones! They dragged the ghoul with them out of their Limit! I tell you, everything is from the unclean ones!”

Kors tried to quicken his pace so that he no longer heard the chatter of the lower ones and exploded at their stupidity.

Entering the room, he saw that Nik was still lying in bed. He looked disheveled and sleepy, like he had just woken up, and lay back relaxed against the pillows. A fat black-and-white tomcat sat on his chest, and Nik petted him. Seeing Kors enter, Nik immediately got up and sat on the bed higher, smiled gently and a little embarrassedly:

“Hi…”

At the same time, he continued to stroke and hug the cat, and he purred loudly to him.

Kors froze.

“N…Nik.”

And some tension on Nik’s face immediately appeared.

“Nik! Are you out of your mind?! Why did you bring the cat to bed?”

“He came himself,” Nik justified himself somehow uncertainly.

“And you are glad to let a dirty animal into your bed! You are totally abnormal! Gods, what for do I have it?!”

“He’s not dirty…”

“He is full of fleas!”

“He has no fleas!”

But Kors confidently approached the bed, and, taking the cat by the scruff of the neck, removed it from Nik’s chest. The cat hung in his arms, not resisting. Kors went to the open window, and, swinging a little, threw the cat out the window.

“What are you doing?!” Nik jumped out of bed and rushed to the window. He leaned over the window sill, looking down. Luckily, a spreading tree cushioned the fall of the black-and-white tomcat. Clinging to the branches covered with dense foliage, he springed from them, falling down gradually, and as a result, deftly landed under the tree on all four paws. Shaking himself off, the cat imposingly and slowly, as if nothing had happened, headed towards the sheds, only slightly twitching his black tail with displeasure.

“Get away from the window,” Kors said.

Nik obeyed, looking confused.

And Kors brought a basin from the adjacent room, and, placing it on the table, poured some water into it. He brought soap as well.

“Come to me,” he called Nik.

Nik came over.

“Put your hands in the water.”

Nik obeyed. Kors took the soap and lathered his hands with soap himself. He rubbed his hands and washed his hands carefully, like Nik was a small child, and hesilently stood and let him do it.

“The last thing would be to catch some kind of lichen!” Kors rinsed his hands with water from a pitcher. He saw that the bandages that covered Nik’s arms from the wrist to the elbow were wet at the bottom, and began to unwrap them.

Kors wanted to see what was wrong with his veins. Nik didn’t stop him, and Kors unwound the strips of fabric. The backside of Nik’s wrists was covered in dents, years of drug use had left their marks, but in principle everything was in order. There were no rotting or bleeding wounds, everything looked healed, and Kors breathed a sigh of relief.

Looking at Nik, he straightened his hair, carefully peering into his face:

“Have you washed your face today? Have you brushed your teeth?”

“Not yet…”

Kors caressed his cheek with his fingers, still rejoicing at the absence of a scar, and let him go.

Nik returned to the bed and sat down. With his head of white hair, with a gentle, beautiful and distant face, he sat on the bed and did nothing, really like a doll, and Kors again felt the languor. He “heard” that Nick enjoyed being “his boy”. And in spite of everything, Kors also liked to look after him as if he were his own son. And even though they were Demons inside, it didn’t matter anymore. After all, Nik again accepted the care of his father. He treated the scar himself, and Kors was pleased, but Kors wanted to comb his hair, trim his bangs, dress him nicely so that Nik looked exactly the way he wanted. For now, Kors has come to terms with his pierced nose, hoping to decorate his face in his own way in the future. And all because he completely abandoned the idea of introducing Nik into the circle of true blacks, and wanted to change and decorate his appearance only for himself.

Kors unfastened his weapons and took off all the straps, took off his overcoat, richly decorated with plaques, a long leather jacket, remaining in a white shirt. He looked at Nik with a heavy look.

“Nik?”

Nik immediately raised his head and looked at him. Kors very much doubted that Nik could look, rather, he simply raised his head to hail, because his regrown bangs, as usual, obscured his eyes, covering the entire upper part of his face. Kors saw only white fluffy hair, rings sticking out in the nostrils, the tip of the nose with a ring with a black bead hanging under it, and beautifully contoured, slightly plump and unbearably seductive lips.

“Shall we take a bath together?” Kors suggested breathlessly, already languishing.

“Okay,” Nik agreed.

“Then tell Verniy to bring more warm water.”

Waiting for Ver to heat the water, Kors sat down at the table and poured himself some wine.

“Finally, I will wash you,” he said, “how long have I wanted to do this!”

Nik said nothing, and brushing his hair out of his eyes, nervously rubbed his tattooed cheekbone. Kors perfectly noticed this gesture, and a slight, barely perceptible smile flickered across his face. He looked at Nik with paternal love in his eyes.

“Nik, understand, whatever it is, you are still very neglected. Your body is exhausted by the endless intake of all sorts of rubbish. And you still look younger than your actual age. You need my help. Nik, this human symbiosis is wrong. And my son is a man… he — he’s really not healthy in his mind, a little bit, but not healthy. Sorry. Maybe that’s how difficult childhood affected him…” saying all this in a slow, penetrating voice, Kors took out his golden cigarette case, which was now full of cigarettes, intending to light it up. At the same time, carried away by his explanations, he just senselessly twisted it in his hand, seemingly without realizing what he was doing.

“Nik, you don’t understand what shame is. You can walk around naked, without underwear, you can say without any hesitation that you want to relieve yourself. You can be dirty and not understand it. You can pour over, get dirty, and not understand, you will be fine. When wet and dirty, you don’t feel disgust at all that you or others stink. Natural manifestations don’t concern you. You don’t understand the procedure for taking care of yourself, I literally hammered into you that you need to wash your face, brush your teeth, comb your hair and put on your underwear. You forget to eat, you don’t realize whether you are cold or warm, whether you are hungry or full. You just feel a little thirsty. That’s all! This is possible to correct it. You need multiple repetitions, correct prohibitions to do some actions, and all this without explanation, you won’t understand them. But trust me, your human brain is underdeveloped. I can see. I have spent many days with you. This is a mild degree of violation — the lack of shame and misunderstanding of the signals of your body. I will help you to overcome these difficulties, and you will begin to feel your physical body as a human, you will own it. This will increase your power in our world.”

Nik was silent. He looked at how Kors, telling him all this, lazily twists his cigarette case in long beautiful fingers, decorated with rings. They were meaningless movements, empty in themselves, back and forth, but Nik watched with some admiration how smoothly polished gold gleamed. Kors saw his gaze, and his hand froze. Nik shook his shaggy head.

“I don’t go out naked,” he finally said.

“Yes! But only because they somehow managed to drum it into you before me. What is impossible. Butwhy so, you don’t understand. You just can’t understand. Otherwise, you would have gone out this way,” Kors finally took out a cigarette and lit it.

Nik replied:

“I understand when I’m wet.”

“And that is why I say you are not hopeless. A mild degree of mental retardation, severely neglected due to the almost complete lack of education…”

“Come to me!” Nik interrupted him. He opened his mouth and lifted his tongue, twisting it up a little, so that the ball screwed onto the bar from below became visible. Very quickly, Kors didn’t even understand how he did it, Nik pushed the ball forward, so that the bar stretched behind it and behind the bar threaded through his tongue. Covering his mouth, Nik flashed a ball in the corner of his lips, and deftly moved it to the middle of his lower lip. The ball clinked distinctly against the rings, and Nik moved it further to the other corner of his mouth. And then he did the same thing, but in reverse order. Seeing the look on Kors’ face, he sincerely laughed.

Kors suddenly felt like he was pulled from behind, and he understood:

“Hey! Let go of my tail!”

But Nik only pulled harder, forcing him to get up and move closer to the bed.

When Prince Arel finally returned from the stable, he heard Nik and Kors splashing in the bathroom. Without bothering them, he undressed and lay down to rest.

The day passed greatly. Kors was happy again and forgot all his fears and torments. Cheerful and even cheeky, he commanded his Nik a little, everything was almost the same as before. Kors washed him and combed his hair. He re-braided the bottom layer of his hair into neat braids and trimmed his bangs. Kors deliberately cut front hair a little shorter than necessary, so that Nik now, even if he wanted to, couldn’t shield his eyes with it. Nik understood this, but didn’t object.

“You don’t need those stupid bangs at all. If only it wasn’t for that damn order!” Kors said with regret, holding his bangs with one hand, and gently stroked Nik’s tattoo on his forehead with the other.

“You would wear hair and a tail beautifully removed from your forehead, like black ones, because you no longer need to cover half of your face with hair, hiding the scar,” Kors removed his hands, and his hair immediately covered the drawing.

Nik, as usual, remained silent.

In the evening, when the three of them had dinner, sitting in the room at the laid table. Kors, being in high spirits and remembering this morning, smiling, asked:

“Why did you pull my tail?”

“Eh, just for fun,” Nik said with a smile.

“I felt it, it was so strange!”

“Why strange? After all, this is your essence, you are developing, and every day you will feel it better.”

“If I’m a Demon, what’s my name?”

“You don’t need your name here.”

“I want to know it!”

“When they let me, I’ll tell you,” Nik promised and very quickly drank the entire contents of his glass.

“When will it be? Eh? I am ready to study further, complete tasks and go through initiation as a Demon.”

“How self-confident you are!”

“So what?”

“You are used to take orders from the king and follow them?” asked Prince Arel, smiling. He bit off a piece of a quail leg and began to chew, while not ceasing to smile impudently. Looking straight at Kors, he put down the quail, broke off a small piece of bread and threw it at Kors, laughing.

Kors didn’t dodge, simply because, as always, he didn’t expect anything like this. Arel’s primitive “jokes” always took him by surprise, because of his age he simply forgot all these boyish fun. And a piece of bread hit him right in the chest. Kors waved his hand belatedly and looked down at his snow-white shirt.

“Prince, if there is a stain on my shirt, I will make you wash it personally!”

Arel laughed as if Kors had said something unbearably funny to him. He sat across from Kors, smiling wickedly as he gnawed at the quail. His eyes shone with an unhealthy and dangerous gleam, and magnificent smooth hair the color of ripe chestnuts shimmered in the fire of candles, like the expensive skin of a rare furry animal. Involuntarily appealing for support, Kors turned his gaze to Nik. He also looked at him and smiled no less carnivorous smile than Arel. “Damn boys!” Kors tried to calm down their beginning fun, because he knew that it could result in bad consequences for him. Assuming a serious expression on his face, he continued:

“So what about initiation? And tasks? Will I be sent to perform it in the Demon World?”

Nik refilled his glass.

“Aha-ha!”

Prince Arel licked the fat off his fingers and poured himself some wine too.

“What’s the problem?” Kors tried to ignore theirmocking looks. “Aren’t the Demon Worlds similar to ours?”

“Well, in general, they are alike,” agreed Nik.

“That’s what I think: all the Demon worlds are made the same, according to a template. Are there men and women there? Are there slaves?”

“There are.”

“So what’s the difficulty then? What are the Demons doing in our world? Seduce, deceive, confuse, promote the chosen ones to carry out their missions. Give me a resident from another world, subject to the Demons, I will come to him, and he will do what is needed.”

“Do you want to ask for a task?” Nik poured himself another glass of wine, and Kors reached for the bottle, took it away from him and placed it beside him.

“Nik, I’m sure I’ll complete the task! What should be done? Should I take gavvah from a living being? Euphos? Shavva? What? Seduce a woman? A man?”

“Will you seduce someone with horns?” Nik and Arel burst out laughing.

“Yes! I will take the right form and deceive anyone. You are a good teacher, I learned from you how you exploit your cute appearance. I have understood the scheme. I will complete the task and receive the order.”

“Do you want to become the head of security among the Demons as well?” Nik seemed to be doing his best to keep a serious face, and Kors was infuriated:

“Yes, I want to! I want to have power not only here, but also in other controlled worlds. I love power!”

“Pride and self-confidence.”

“Isn’t that necessary? In the Demon world, these arethe virtues. I will suck this unfortunate man to the bottom, manipulating his passions. And I will give you as much food as you need.”

“I’m even scared to listen to you.” To Kors’s relief, Nik finally stopped smiling.

“Why didn’t you do that? You are stupid, because everything is so simple. Why did you bring everything to the point of punishment?”

“Maybe because there is still freedom?” becoming quite serious, said Nik. “Free will?”

“Freedom? It’s an empty sound! There is no freedom. This is a deception of God. His trump card with which he bluffs.”

“You don’t know how to play cards, what do you understand!”

“I can play chess, and they are fairer. There is truth. Strength is not in freedom, but in truth! Where is this vaunted freedom, which Prince Arel loves so much, irreconcilable and supposedly free? Fantasies of a crazy idiot!”

“It’s funny for me to listen to you and chat with you like a child, but while you are sitting here and not rocking the boat.”

“I want to know more about the Demon World and the worlds under their control.”

“Why?”

“Why?! It’s a strange question, but in your style. I am accustomed to learning, studying the environment and using knowledge. It is you who doesn’t like to study, and, in my opinion, you smoked your alphabet book in the forest.”

“What?” Nik laughed again.

“You tore its pages into pieces to roll the joint. I’veseen you do it. Books are not for you!”

“Ahaha!”

“You use your power as you please, and where you can’t, you trade your pretty face and use your ass.”

“Vitor! Leave my ass alone,” Nik leaned over the table, and, holding out his hand, returned the bottle to himself, “do you want to beat me with words? They bled you, and my ass is fine! That’s it! You are silent!”

Kors swallowed, but quickly regained his composure.

“I was fucked up so badly just because I was not as familiar with it as you!”

“Aha! Get five! You’re an excellent student!” Nik drained his glass and set it down with a loud crack on the table.

“I want to study!” Kors shouted.

“You are studying!”

“Yes, I hear and see things that ordinary people, including true blacks, don’t see or hear, but this is not enough for me! Move me to the next class! There are those who are sitting in the same class, repeaters, like Arel, and there are those who take an external exam. I need more knowledge! I want to use it to get more features.”

“What a restless daddy!”

“What’s bad about it? I am the Demon, I am the chosen one! And in this world I was not humiliated, but elected from birth to the highest, because I was worthy of it. Now I want more! Teach me witchcraft! I’m tired of just listening to thoughts and seeing lives, I want to change them and influence destinies. I want to not just listen, but to be an accomplice, a creator and an architect!”

“Like Leonardo?”

“I’m not interested in Leonardo anymore!”

“How do you want to influence fate?”

“Just like the higher ones do! Like Demons! I influenced the fate of people in this world, executed and pardoned.”

“Oh!”

“Okay, okay, let’s say I influenced the fate with the permission of the higher ones. And I want to influence the fate of other beings from other worlds! Influence the fates of lower order Demons. So far, at least.”

“This world is just a small box, and the fact that you in it, as it seemed to you, commanded and decided fate, is presumptuous nonsense. In fact, you are a fool and don’t see or hear anything!”

“I want to have my own world, where I will be the master! I’m ready to learn and take on tasks. In our world, for good service, you are given a title, land, and slaves. I want to be given a title, land, and slaves in the Demon World!”

‘You are insane!”

“No, I just want development and don’t set restrictions for this. I can develop and reach any peaks that I want, and there is no limit to them!”

“When you rise high, it hurts to fall.”

“Do you know it? Punished Demon. You fell from heaven, broke your wings. You sit here now and don’t understand what to do with the human body and mind of my son. Are you warning me against this? Like an old woman who warns the young against bold dreams and deeds. I literally hear a rattling old voice: “Where are you going? Life has beaten me, and life will beat you! Forget it all. The world is arranged the way ittreated me!” But this is not an axiom! I want to dare, try myself, make mistakes, let it be! Get up and fly again! Act to the best of my ability! Which one of us is old, you or me? Sounds like you’re talking like an old man drunk with failures! And I want to hold on! I want to be like Lis!”

“What do you want?! There are laws and regulations.”

“And it’s you who are telling me this? You who break all the rules?”

“I don’t break the rules! And if you don’t understand this, then there’s nothing to talk about with you,” Nik threw the empty bottle away.

“Your own pride is on the rise! We are mice, right?”

“Exactly! You are my mice!”

“I’m not a mouse anymore! Not a mouse! You understand! I’m tired of drinking and getting drunk, dulling my consciousness, I want to create something important, meaningful, weighty! To change worlds!”

“What about fucking?” Nik got up from the table and walked over to the bed and sat down on it. Arel immediately followed him and lay down beside him. “Do you like to fuck?”

“I do,” Kors agreed.

“Then come here, mouse!”

“I’m not a mouse! I’m the ring finger, and it’s special, doctors take blood from it!”

“Oooh!” Arel drawled. “Shut him up already, Nik. I can’t listen to this nonsense.”

“Shut up, you stupid handsome prince!” Kors flared up.

“You call me a stupid prince, but it’s you who are a fool!” Arel abruptly sat up on the bed and also raised his voice. “You measure the Demon world with the concepts of our world. Power, positions, awards, lands and slaves. You can’t imagine anything else! This is the ceiling of your dreams! All this is not important and has no value! And Nik has a lot of images and makes missions in several worlds at the same time, you won’t understand it! You want to be the main mouse not only in the world of mice, but also in the world of mouse gods! Mouse in a paper crown!”

“Leave me alone, Arel, go feast on your freedom, eat your freedom! It seems to me that you have already eaten enough of it from Leonardo! He gave you a try. Did you like it?! Stuff your freedom, as the highest value, in your mouth and shut up!”

“Kors, you have just walked along the edge,” said Arel in a dull voice.

“You won’t do anything to me!”

“Are you so sure about that?”

“Even if you stuff your shit in my mouth, I don’t care! I have already eaten it a hundred times when I was licking you. I love your shit! Come on! Piss in my mouth, this is not a punishment for me! Beat, fuck, pisson me — this is not a punishment for me! No more!”

“Shall we check it?” Ariel said.

And Kors froze. Arel was silent and looked at him expectantly.

“Nik won't let you,” Kors finally said, but not beingen tirely sure.

“Nik will let me do anything because he respects my freedom!” and, seeing how Kors’ face changed and turned pale at these words, Arel burst out laughing.

“Stop laughing at me! You are always mocking me! Before you humiliate me, I will punch you in your beautiful and impudent face!”

Kors pounced on him.

But Arel quickly put both hands forward, grabbing Kors by the wrists and holding him at a distance:

“So, I’ll humiliate you after all? I had to tie you to a post for a couple of days to make you howl!”

“Well, fighting is the last thing we need here!” Nik shouted, seeing that Arel was holding the attack and was ready to twist Kors with a retaliatory attack.

“Cool down! Stop! In this world, you, Kors, are my petty tyrant father, you, Arel, are my lover, a fallen descendant of the royal family. And I’m a lame fool with a pretty face! That’s all! You understand? These are our suits. And we play by the rules! You get it?!”

Arel let go of Kors’ hands, first pushing him away from him with force.

“I’m not a petty tyrant,” Kors said quietly and with some resentment.

“I will punish you for the quarrel. You won’t fight now, but you know what you will be doing?”

“No, I don’t want, Nik, don’t make me fuck with him!”Kors literally howled from powerlessness.

“Then figure out how to amuse me, smart daddy sir.”

“How?!”

“Stand on your hind legs, mouse, sing and dance!”

Kors indignantly began to literally rip off his clothes:

“Be your way, let him fuck me! I can't sing and dance anyway. If it entertains you to watch stupid fucking without feelings and love, you are welcome!”

“Well, of course, but you are doing it really with love,” Nik disagreed, “you are made for each other, beautiful black lovers. And no matter how much you pretend to hate each other, you are in love. And you add a title to his name, you always call him Prince Arel, no matter what.”

“Just out of habit! I hate him!” Kors shouted.

“More, more, Vitor, keep going! Say you don’t love Arel, I love how passionate you say it!”

Kors collapsed onto the bed in despair.

Nik nodded approvingly.

“Begin, mice,” he said affectionately.

Chapter 15

Arel threw Kors on his back and crushed him under himself, starting to fuck him with some bestial cruelty. Hammering Kors, he was lifting his legs higher and higher, literally folding him in half, and everything happening was very unpleasant and humiliating. Kors hated the Demon’s pastimes, not understanding the pleasure of making his mice fuck for his fun, humiliating them and trampling their feelings while watching the bonded mice dutifully perform a play in bed. And now Nik was sitting on a chair, looking at them and smiling with a barely noticeable predatory smile, laughing at them and at how they tried to please him.

Kors clenched his teeth in pain, no longer doubting that all this would end badly for him, Arel would tear him apart and provoke another bleeding. And, most importantly, Kors had no way to cope with the mad prince and force him to stop.

“Legs up!” Arel hit him in the jaw with all his might, making him twitch and moan in pain.

Kors “heard” that Arel was angry with him for his words about freedom and the mention of Leonardo, and already desperately regretted that he had not kept silent in time.

Arel grabbed him by the ankles and pressed hard, leaning on them with his hands and pushing forward, towards Kors’ head, as if he wanted to break him in half. Kors’ feet were almost by the sides of his head, and he couldn’t help but let out a short cry, feeling that just a little more and his spine would give out. In addition, Arel, not on purpose, but very painfully, brushed his hand over incompletely healed tattoo on Kors’ leg — a bracelet of magical symbols. At that moment Kors felt like he was being skinned alive. A flash of pain and calmness. Kors appeared to have passed out. He saw himself from the side, not lying under Arel with shamefully upraised legs, but being in some richly furnished room, similar to an office. Were it memories from the past? But Kors didn’t recognize the place. He saw that he was standing, turned to the table, sorting through some papers. He wore luxurious, but somehow old-fashioned clothes, and on his back lied his shiny black waist-length ponytail. And now Kors didn’t understand where he was, why he was dressed like that and what was happening.

“The teacher complained about you again!” Kors growled in a strange voice and turned around.

Gods! It’s not him at all! This true black is Chester, Arel’s father! Really, all noble blacks resemble each other, like brothers!

“You look into the book and you can’t read a single line!” Chester raised his voice even more, and Kors realized that he was looking at Chester through the eyes of little Arel. He was kneeling before his father, and Kors felt that Arel was about nine or ten years old.

“I’ll whip you, damned fool!” Chester just yells at him.

Ariel lowers her head. Dark flowing hair obscures his face, and Kors, catching Arel’s inner feelings, is not afraid of punishment, but some kind of wolf longing. He literally wants to howl from his powerlessness to change at least something, get up from his knees now and just leave. But he cannot do this, and this hopelessness washes all over little Arel. And Kors doesn’t want to “catch” and endure such emotions with Arel at all.

“You haven’t learned to read! You can’t even write a simple sentence!” Chester grabs the scribbled papers off the table and throws them in his son’s face. “What is it?! Explain to me! The teacher fights with you every day, and all to no avail! I trust Ronviel, he has been teaching several generations of our family and says that this is the first time he encounters such a creature! You are my disgrace! Stupid, lazy moron!”

Chester approaches Arel and kicks him in the chest. He kicks him with all his might, not holding back his anger and not even trying to somehow control himself. And it seems to Kors that he himself is beaten, he feels every blow: in the stomach, on the head, in the face. He wants to shrink into a ball because of unbearable pain, but little Arel doesn’t do this, and Kors suddenly realizes why. Only now he feels that under the jacket Arel was closed in some kind of metal armor. Kors feels a hard iron stick pressed against his spine from the coccyx to the very neck vertebrae. She forces him to keep his back straight. Rigid straps, slightly unfolding, pull his shoulders back, and all this design doesn’t allow little Arel to slouch, lower his shoulders, even just bend his back and bend freely. “So this is the reason for your perfect posture of a born master, Arel,” Kors thought sadly, feeling how uncomfortable it was, and imagining how unbearably painful it must be to wear this steel corset for many days.

“You will sleep on the bare floor in the closet! I will deprive you not only of sweets, but of any food in general! But I will teach you to read and write!” Chester growls, continuing the execution.

And under the hail of his blows, Arel doesn’t even try to dodge, despite the pain, without making a sound.

After hitting his son a few more times with his boot, Chester finally leaves, slamming the door loudly.

For a while, Arel just lies on the shabby family carpet, coming to his senses, then gets up and slowly approaches the table. On the table is an open bottle of wine and his father’s family goblet. But Arel doesn’t touch the goblet, he grabs the bottle and takes a few hasty and greedy sips from it. The wine is sweet, like candy, which he is always deprived of, and little Arel likes it very much. Fortunately, the bottle is dark glass, and his father will not notice that there is less wine in it. Arel hears his roar somewhere in the distance, but already feels pleasant calmness from the drink. He returns to his seat and kneels again — he is not allowed to sit on a chair or leave the room without permission. Separated from his wine-clouded mind, Kors notices a thick silver chain around Arel’s neck. Kors doesn’t understand why he is so drawn to it, but he wants to take a closer look. And he gets the feeling that he is stretching out his hand, slightly shifting the high collar of Arel’s leather jacket to the side, and sees that the chain is rather short, so that it cannot be removed over the head, and is closed with a lock. A pendant is attached to it. It is a rectangular plate, polished, with an engraving on it: “Return for a fee to Professor Ronviel at the address…” Little Arel sharply jerks away from his hand. No, Arel did it in the present, now. And from his jerk, Kors returns to reality.

Reeling back, Arel released him, stopped holding his ankles and folding him in half, lifting his legs up. He pulled out his cock, stopping fucking him. Kors was just lying under Arel, and he looked at him, looked very strangely, with some kind of stunned, discouraged look.

“Kors, what the hell are you doing?” Arel asked, and Kors didn’t recognize his voice.

“I saw your childhood,” Kors answered quietly and calmly. “Father hung a dog tag around your neck, a tag which is usually used to mark dogs in case they get lost. Did you want to run away?”

And Arel abruptly got up from the bed:

“Don’t you dare do that again!” he shouted and quickly went to the bathroom, slamming the door loudly.

Arel interrupted their “love” on his own initiative, and Kors, not knowing what to do now, sat up on the bed and looked inquiringly at Nik.

“I seem to have influenced Arel,” Kors tried to explain not very surely, but suddenly a hunch seemed to dawn on him. “He stopped torturing me, just feeling that I saw his childhood! I saw that dog tag around his neck!”

“Yes.”

“I can influence people by knowing their past! I may not just “watch life”, but find their painful moments, secrets from the past! And then beat them with words!”

“A word can kill,” Nik agreed.

“Especially if you know where to strike! If you know the emotions that a person experienced at that moment! If you know the pain points! Arel knows how to stupidly squeeze people with force, well, and I will crush them with words! I will get skeletons out of their closets, all their dirty secrets, bitter memories and resentments, their weaknesses and mistakes, their crimes, after all! I will learn everything about them! All their secrets that they try so hard to hide and forget! And I will blackmail them with this! I will squeeze their throats no worse than Arel does! Knowing their weaknesses, I will control the people! Manipulate them! And they will do what I order! I have understood the meaning of my gift!”

Nik smiled.

“That’s great!”

“I literally threw him out of his stride,” Kors continued happily, “his cock got limp immediately when he realized that I saw the details of his sad childhood,” then Kors thought better of it. “Maybe I shall go after him?”

“Leave him alone for a while, you know how painful the memories of his father are for him, the memories of his father who in his whole life has not shown him not only a drop of love, but even pity.”

“Well, Arel hurt me too, I hurt him in return. We’resquare. Wait! You… have you been teaching me again now?” Kors laughed, but grimaced in pain. “Oh, Nik, you are a good teacher, of course, but in your case everything is the same as always: even learning is through the ass!”

And Nik laughed too.

Coming out of the bathroom, Arel silently gathered his belongings, and without saying a word to them, left. He was still in bad mood, and Kors and Nik were sleeping, hugging and caressing each other tenderly. Kors couldn’t get enough of him, stroking him incessantly and squeezing him in his arms. He sat up on the bed and sat Nik in front of him like a toy, admiring his face without a scar, now even more like the face of his Inness. Nik sat without moving, and was silent, diligently portraying a doll. However, when he saw that Kors took a comb from the bedside table, he shuddered and immediately said:

“No, please, you have combed me just recently! My head hurts later, you have torn the skin on my head with this comb!”

“But Nik, you have to comb your hair every day.”

“You pull and twitch so painfully!”

“Nik… but I try to be careful…”

“No, you’re hurting me!”

“It’s just that your hair was too tangled, but now everything will be easier.”

But Nik didn’t share his confidence and made such a sour expression on his face that Kors almost gave up and retreated. But, having gathered his courage, he nevertheless decided to insist on his own:

“My little white kitten, well, I beg you, please your daddy-master! I’m asking you!”

Nik capriciously pouted his lips, and, with all his appearance expressing displeasure, and reached for the ashtray, taking out an unsmoked joint from under the mountain of cigarette butts.

He lit it, inhaling deeply.

“Here, take a wait…”

Kors patiently waited for him to smoke, and when Nik had finally smoked enough, he began combing him, trying to do it as gently as possible. Still, from time to time, he accidentally pulled Nik’s hair, so that his head jerked back, and Nik hissed, barely able to contain himself. And Kors said quickly:

“Everything, everything, everything, I won’t do it again!”

He diligently combed each strand to the very tip, gently ran his hands along the entire length of the hair, admiring their color, stroked them and kissed them, buried his face in them, breathing into the back of Nik’s head. Now Nik’s hair smelled of scented soap and perfume water from the Ore Town. Kors ran a comb over them, inhaled the smell and realized that he was getting up. So he threw away the comb, and pressing Nik on the shoulders, laid him face down on the bed, pushing his legs and buttocks apart. Inside, Nik was not tattooed, and Kors was always amused and touched at the same time — this strip of untouched light skin, hidden from everyone and so seductive in its whiteness among the skin clogged with ink. A stripe that only a select few know about.

Kors slightly drooled on the head of his cock and put it to the still squeezed hole … but, before he could enter, he came.

“Ah, motherfucker!” Kors was extremely annoyed.

Nik, realizing that everything had already happened, rolled over on his back:

“You have just got too excited about your Inness’ hair,”he tried to console Kors when he saw his face.

Still somewhat upset and angry either at Nik or at himself, Kors grabbed him by the ring hanging under his nose and pulled him forward and up rather roughly, so that Nik was forced to quickly rise on the bed and sit up.

Kors didn’t let him go, he jerked so that Nik turned his head to the right, and then pulled in the other direction, and Nik turned his head to the left, up, down. And Kors, finally relaxing a little, laughed.

And Nik, realizing that Kors was playing with him, said:

“You are going to tear my nose.”

“No, no…”

“You are dragging me, it hurts me.”

“I just like your helplessness. When I hold you like this, you can’t move anywhere, and it’s funny.”

But Nik didn’t seem to have so much fun:

“Color my eyes,” he asked, clearly trying to distract Kors from his nose, “color them with black, the arrows have completely disappeared.”

“No,” Kors immediately objected, disagreeing, “it suits you, but it’s too vulgar. And you are so beautiful and tender with those fluffy eyelashes of yours, I don’t want to paint you like a whore.”

Saying all this, Kors didn’t even think to let go of his nose. Holding the ring firmly in his fingers, he forced Nik to throw his head back a little. Nik, no longer trying to think of something, froze in his arms.

“But I would like to decorate your face a little differently,” Kors said, “to give you a present.”

“A present?” Nik winced in pain as Kors pulled a little harder. He tried to look at Kors, but he was uncomfortable because he made him tilt his head higher and higher.

Kors finally released him:

“Yes, a gift. Will you accept it?”

Nik rubbed his hand under his nose.

“What the gift?”

“You’ll see now! I have called someone!”

There was a knock on the door, and Kors, smiling slyly, got out of bed and opened it to the guest. Matin was standing outside the door, and he just silently handed Kors a box and left.

Kors returned to Nik:

“Let me decorate your face a little differently!”

“How? What’s in this box?” Curiosity crossed Nik’s face.

Kors opened the box and pulled out a silver chain.

“Let me take out some of your jewelry and hang a chain on you.”

“On my face? Like you did before?” Nik looked somewhat discouraged.

“Yes.”

“Okay… but where did you get it?!”

“I’m learning to do like you, I ordered it mentally. Zaf helped me.”

“Oh!”

“Have I coped with it?” Kors asked again.

“Yeah, okay,” Nik agreed, and Kors smiled happily.

He carefully pulled Nik’s half-blood marks out of his lip, took out the black beaded ring, and removed the rings sticking out of his nostrils, leaving only one ring in one nostril. He fastened a chain to it, and attached the other end to an earring in Nik’s ear. The wide chain lay in an arc. Sinking down, it covered the corner of Nik’s lips, and Kors, moving it slightly to the side with his hand, bent down and gently kissed Nik on the lips. Then he pulled away. Leaving his hold on the chain, he let go of it, and it lay again on Nik’s lips. Kors stroked his cheek affectionately and raised his small mirror to his face.

“Have a look. Do you like it?”

Nik looked at his reflection.

“Yes. It is beautiful,” he raised his such bewitching bright eyes to Kors, “thank you,” Nik hesitated, as if he was waiting for something, and then finally said: “and the second one?”

“No,” Kors smiled, “one is enough. Isn’t it too heavy? Are you comfortable?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me, will you wear it for me?”

“Yeah,” Nik replied.

“And you won’t take it off without my permission?”

“I’ll wear it as long as you want,” Nik answered obediently.

And Kors, in a passionate impulse, leaned towards him, rising on his knees and hanging over him, squeezing his temples in his palms, throwing back his face and greedily biting into his lips. Nik returned his kisses, and Kors calmed down a little, began to kiss him more tenderly. He suddenly heard music in the distance. The melody flowed slowly overflowing, and a beautiful female voice sang a prayer song to the God of the Upper World, repeating the words of gratitude and praising him.

Praise God! May God’s light be with us! Praise God!

Kors slowly pulled away from Nik.

“Am I going crazy? I kiss you and hear an angel!”

Nik listened.

“I think it’s Lila,” he said, but not very confidently. “I don’t understand music very well, sorry.”

“Lila? Is that the actress, Tol’s wife? But what is she doing here?!”

Nik laughed and slapped his forehead lightly with an open palm, so that the chain on his face swayed:

“I have completely forgotten, today is the wedding! Shrad marries Anya.” He laughed again. “Shall we goto the wedding?”

“Let’s go,” Kors said.

In a small beautiful grove not far from the estate of Prince Arel, near a clear river that ran to waterfalls, a solemn marriage of Shrad and Anya was arranged. A lot of guests came to the wedding.Here were the black mercenaries of Zagpeace Gezaria, and he himself. There were also Daniel Crassus with his cadets, and Prince Ariel Riel with his noble knights, and Tol’s warriors from the Lower City, and many unclean ones, and residents of the nearby town, and just peasants from the Estate of Prince Arel and the surrounding area.

Seamus was a witness on the groom’s side, and Lila was on the bride’s side. Tol led the bride to the Altar. People and unclean ones lined up on both sides of the path with bouquets of flowers and bowls of grain in their hands. Kors looked at such an important and concentrated Tol, who, with a proud look, slowly and solemnly led Anya by the arm, dressed today in a feminine white dress, and involuntarily recalled how he had also led his beloved daughter Karina to Lis. Tears filled his eyes as he overwhelmed him. Damn, I think I’ve gotten too sentimental with age, Kors thought. Trying to control himself, he began to blink rapidly so that tears would not flow from his eyes and none of those standing nearby would notice his weakness. However, he was worried in vain — everyone looked at the bride and groom, and many also wept with emotion.

Tol led Anya to the Altar of the Four Elements, on which fire burned in all four directions of the world, incense smoked and bowls with water, salt and offerings stood. He handed over the bride to the groom. The priest connected the hands of the newlyweds with a ribbon embroidered with magical symbols. Shrad and Anya swore allegiance to each other until death do them part.

After the ceremony, the guests settled down not only in the main hall of the Manor, but also under the canopies in the courtyard at long tables. It was a lot of fun. The guests feasted, sang, danced and arranged various competitions. And the bride, having soon stained her snow-white dress with wine and stained the hem with the dust of the yard, famously danced on the square in front of the main entrance to the Estate, circling now with her newly-made husband, now with Seamus, clearly provoking another fight between them in the near future. Everyone was happy and congratulated each other, and Kors was also happy and good, because his Nik was there and didn’t leave him anywhere. He didn’t rush to his unclean ones, followed Kors like a tail, limping quite a bit, and Kors was also very pleased — that Nik no longer limped as much as before, and even more so that he was without his crutch. In Kors’expensive and elegant clothes, in his long leather jacket, clean and neat, beautifully combed, without a mask on his face, Nik didn’t smoke and didn’t spit on the ground, didn’t speak loudly with his unclean ones in their language, and even more so didn’t laugh with them. He generally tried to be silent. Not opening his mouth, he was simply next to his father and behaved like a good boy. Kors enjoyed the fruits of his proper upbringing and amused himself by watching Nik feel embarrassed that his face was exposed.

“Fuck!” Nik finally exclaimed. “They used to stare at my scar, and now they stare at me because I don’t have a scar! Will this ever stop?”

And Kors laughed:

“They look at you because you are very beautiful. I’m not kidding,” he liked to see how Nik looked down, and how his always pale face got flooded with a blush.

“You are my most beautiful boy, you have the divine beauty of the Upper, the appearance of an angel.”

Nik was silent, and Kors felt that he was listening to him, and he was pleased. But not from the fact that he was beautiful, but because it was Kors who said those words to him. For him it was important. If someone else had called him handsome, he wouldn’t have reacted that way.

“My white kitten, everyone sees your beauty and cannot look away. You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” Kors said affectionately and stroked his cheek with the chain hanging down. “I adore you!”

And he immediately caught from Nik such a splash of euphos in his direction that he involuntarily stuttered:

“Oh…”

Kors looked at the now empty Altar. The fragrances were still smoking on it. Kors saw that in a sacrificial bowl for offerings filled with thick transparent honey an unlucky bee had drowned.

“I remember the day when I led Karina to this Altar,” Kors said, “then I first approached you, experienced feelings, and you were sick and alone. You were lying in Arel’s room, forgotten by everyone, and no one cared that you felt bad. Your scar looked terrible, you had a fever.” Kors shook his head in frustration and looked lovingly at his boy. “Do you remember this?”

“Yes,” Nik replied, “I remember the broth.”

Kors didn’t immediately understand what he meant, but then he recalled:

“Yes! I brought you broth the next morning! Gods, so much has happened in that time! And you said then: ‘It seems that I have a daddy.’ And, as always, you werenot mistaken.”

“I love you,” Nik said, and, approaching Kors, hugged him by the waist, frankly clinging to him and not paying any attention to the fact that quite a lot of other guests were spinning around, and not only uncleanones, but also black warriors. Kors couldn’t yet overcome some of the taboos accepted in society, and reject all the norms of decency.

“Nik, dear, well, not here, not in front of everyone…” he whispered quickly. “This is not a stable,” yet he was unable to set him aside.

Nik immediately pulled away himself, without making Kors more nervous about this, and Kors suddenly, in some outburst of feelings, again pulled him to himself and quickly, briefly, but passionately kissed him on the lips, and then pushed him away again.

He furtively looked around and saw Daniel Crassus standing nearby, who was talking with a company of several young warriors of Tol and at the same time hugging a young pretty girl, clearly from the local “elite”. Most likely, it was the daughter of some merchant from the town. He wondered if Daniel saw them.

“Let’s go inside,” Kors said to Nik.

“Okay,” Nik said, narrowing his eyes slightly, he looked at his feet, and, bending down, picked up from the ground a golden sparkle in the form of a heart, with which the newly married couple had been sprinkled before.

“Gods, Nik, why are you picking up confetti?” Kors smiled, relaxing a little. Daniel didn’t look at them at all, maybe he didn’t see them after all?

“It’s beautiful, take it!” Nik handed him a small gold foil heart.

Kors shook his head, looking at him condescendingly as if he were a child, but he took the glitter so as not to offend Nik and put it in his pocket.

They were sitting at a table in the main hall, along with Tol’s warriors. The guests alternately made toasts, and Lila, to the cheerful play of the musicians, danced on the big high drum of unclean ones, banging on it with her heels to the beat of the music and earning applause with enviable regularity. Kors was pleased that Nik looked so healthy and happy. He ate with appetite, and at some point, reaching for the jug, joyfully poured himself a dark red liquid from it, but,having taken a large sip as usual, froze, his face changed.

“Just don’t spit here!” Kors reacted instantly, already knowing by heart all his habits and anticipating his actions. “What has happened?”

Nik obeyed, but swallowed what he had just drunk with obvious difficulty:

“You motherfucker! What was it?!”

Arel took the jug, and, sniffing the contents, laughed:

“Nik, this is not wine, but grape juice. Aha-ha…”

“The juice?” Nik asked. “What for?”

“What does it mean — what for?” Kors intervened. “Maybe someone would like some juice, not just wine. I know it’s weird for you…”

“That…juice…it tastes like…like nobody loves you!” Nik tried to explain his feelings.

And Kors laughed, shaking his head. And Nik looked at Lila in a perky dance. She lifted her skirt quite high, and threw her legs up too.

“I want a girl,” Nik said, and his face became sad.

“Here it’s starting… Where can I get her for you here?” Kors began displeasedly. “We’ll come to the city, I’ll pick up a decent one for you…”

“I want Lila!”

“Oh gods,” Kors whispered, leaning his elbow on the table and pressing his palm to his forehead, “I have no rest from you… endless bad ideas in your head… just restless…”

“I want to past some time with her.”

“Doesn’t it bother you that she believes in the God of the upper ones and sings prayers to him?”

“No, I even like it, she sings beautifully.”

“Ask her to sing while you fuck her,” Arel laughed.

“I think he’ll find something to keep her mouth busy besides songs,” Kors remarked with obvious annoyance.

“What is bad in it, why are you jealous? I’ll just stay with her for a while!” Nik was upset.

“I’m not at all jealous of this actress,” Kors snorted deliberately contemptuously, obviously overacting, “she believes in God so much and at the same time dances, twirling her ass like the last whore. I don’t understand how it fits together! Believers are modest and pious. I won’t even mention that she is a married woman after all, let Tol deal with that.”

“Stop beating Lila with words, she is good.”

“Well, ask Tol for her then, if you so desire,” Kors muttered.

“Arel, call Tol,” Nik asked, and the prince silently got up from the table, heading towards the crowd of guests, above which, swaying a little, towered cheerful and joyful Tol. He boomed loudly, telling the audience gathered around him some regular story, in which, as usual, he was a brave hero.

Very quickly, they returned with Tol, and Tol immediately began to vigorously express his joy, as if seeing them for the first time, although they had already talked today and had drinks together no more than an hour ago.

“Wow! I have just tucked a good portion of roast under my belt!” Tol patted his stomach, “Here under the skin now I have a wonderful piece of wood, and if, in addition, I pour wine on top…”

“Tol, give me Lila?” Nik said.

Tol froze, as if at first he didn’t understand what they wanted from him, but finally it dawned on him:

“Do you want to fuck my Lila?”

“Yes.”

Tol was not at all embarrassed:

“Ah, yes, of course!” He turned and looked at Lila. She was still dancing on the drum, but now she was also singing a song. He looked back at Nik:

“Of course, my friend! Take her! I offered you to have fun with us back when Al and I changed wives, and he was having fun with Lila, and I was with Karina, that was great! You shouldn’t have left then, we were so…” Tol froze and looked frightened at Kors, clearly realizing that he had got carried away and blurted out too much, “uh-uh, hm-m-m-m…”

Kors rolled his eyes slightly.

“Come on, Tol, don’t be embarrassed. I have long understood that Karina…” he chuckled, “had fucked everyone here! Probably only Valentine didn’t fuck her!”

And, having heard his words, Nik and Arel, looking at each other, burst out laughing. They literally choked, trying not to laugh out loud.

“What funny thing have I said?” Kors sincerely couldn’t understand.

“Nothing, nothing…”

“Well, I’ll bring Lila then,” Tol obviously wanted to leave quickly, he never fully got used to Kors and never communicated with him on his own initiative.

They saw how he approached his wife, and she immediately jumped off the drum. Flushed and smiling, she approached them.

“You dance so beautifully,” Nik told her.

“Did you mean you wiggle your ass?” Ariel laughed.

Lila made an offended face and pouted her lips:

“Prince Arel, this is choreography,” she said indignantly.

“Lila, will you come with me to my room?” Nik asked.

She looked at him fascinated:

“Yes, my angel.”

“Lila, wring out the hem, it’s all wet,” Arel laughed, seeing what her face looked like when she looked at Nik.

And Nik got up and, taking Lila by the hand, led her upstairs to their room.

Kors very much wanted to tell him not to linger and do everything quickly, but he couldn’t. He hated Lila for this, for those couple of hours for which she took his boy away from him.

Arel held out the goblet to him:

“Shall we have a drink?”

But Kors didn't want to.

“He just needs female energy from time to time to complete the balance,” the prince said, as if consoling Kors.

“I know!” Kors said irritably. “Do you need her, Arel?”

“I don’t,” Arel shook his head, “I don’t need anything to be full, because I am empty.

Kors handed him his goblet.

“For you, Prince Arel!”

And Arel condescendingly and smugly smiled at him.

Chapter 16

Vitor Kors was sitting at the table among the joyful guests, having the heebie-jeebies. He was literally counting down the minutes, resisting the temptation to see how his boy was doing. More than an hour passed, and Nik was still gone, and Kors could hardly restrain himself from breaking loose, struggling with a wild desire to immediately rush upstairs to the room and finally throw this bitch out of their bed! Throw her away like he did with that pissing cat!

And suddenly he saw Lila. She entered the hall, all the same smart and happy. “Damn, she literally glows with happiness!” Kors thought with sincere anger. “Tol’s bitch achieved with her ass what she wanted!”

And Lila approached the musicians and began to explain something to them. One of the guests helped her climb onto the drum again, and everyone clapped, obviously expecting another fun dance. But the musicians played a slow and quiet melody, and Lila just stood on the drum, pressing her crossed hands to her chest, and then started singing:

I thank You God for moon and sun,

For wonder of the planets run,

For every moment, Good Lord, You will give me!

For light and shade, for joy, dismay,

For my the best till present day,

For every new inhale yet — Hallelujah!

Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah

Hallelujaaaa…

Kors looked at the guests, frozen in delight, and at Lila, and thought that, oddly enough, despite the fact that Lila had white hair, he never had any interest in her, and he didn’t like her. In general, Kors was aware of her sad story — how the Reds attacked the village where Lila’s family lived and set fire to their house. Her brother Dick Nedwill managed to hide Lila in the cellar. Their parents were burned alive, and Dick was badly burned, for which he later received his nickname — Coal. When the blacks liberated the village and found Lila, they saw that after a few days spent in the basement, the girl had become gray-haired. Maybe that’s why Kors was not attracted to Lila, because she was not a real blonde, her hair was actually gray, and not naturally blond. Lila had dark skin and brown eyes, nothing of the White’s Upper race, and although Lila was considered a beauty by black standards, until now, Kors simply didn’t notice this commoner. Now he hated her.

“If Lila is here, where is Nik?” and, unable to wait any longer and even think about the situation for a bit, Kors already used his power to “find” him.

He immediately “found” and “saw” Nik. He was very close, on the first floor of the Estate, in a small living room, adorned with hunting trophies — deer antlers and stuffed quails. Nik stood there, neatly dressed, with his weapons strapped on, and even, it seems, ran a comb through his hair a couple of times, because he was not disheveled. Or was it Lila who smoothed his hair after making love with him? But now Kors was no longer up to Lila and not to the point that she seemed to dare to comb his boy, because Nik was standing in this room and talking to…

“You motherfucker!” Kors literally jumped up in his chair, since Arel, who was sitting next to him, was already pretty drunk by this time and didn’t notice this.

“This scum continues to follow us! He’s waiting for Nik, waiting until he moves away from me at least a step!” Kors barely suppressed the urge to rush at them immediately.

Before Nik stood Zagpeace Gezaria:

“Freedom is obviously good for you, I’m glad to see it,” Peace said, turning to Nik.

And Kors felt, “heard” that Nik was drunk or already stoned while getting “filled with energy” with Lila, that it was difficult for him to think, and he was desperately trying not to get out of the role of a “lame fool with a pretty face”, barely understanding what Zagpeace was saying to him.

(Kors began to shake: “Fuck, Nik! You’re going to ruin everything! No wonder I didn’t let you get into conversations with true blacks! Gods, what a stupid irresponsible jerk! What to do?!”)

“You look much better than when your father treated and raised you,” Zagpeace continued. He looked at Nik, as usual, smiling a little indulgently.

“Well…” Nik was embarrassed by how closely Zagpeace was looking at him. “My father treats me, and he uses… hmmm… certain methods of upbringing, from simple to complex…”

“Methods? In my opinion, he is methodical only in his madness,” Zagpeace burst out laughing.

And Kors, sitting in his place in the hall among the guests, froze.

He heard Zagpeace’s thoughts, saw how he looked at Nik and smiled at him, while not opening his lips. How soft and friendly mockery plays in his gaze. Zagpeace was laughing inside, amused by how Nik looked. He thought: “How nice is this Nik, the son of Kors. He looks so much like a pretty girl. What did Kors do with this mixture of races! Such a funny boy was done, not an adult man, even though he was in his twenties. Funny, with his eternal snot under his nose and crookedly cut bangs.”

(What!? I cut his bangs perfectly straight! You idiot!)

Zagpeace barely restrained himself so that Nik didn’t not ice that he was making fun of him. Kors “heard” that he still wanted Nik to be one of his warriors. Andyes, Zagpeace wanted to put him up again for fights in the Lower and Upper, and just at private parties, but now on his own behalf. Kors felt it, and Zagpeace, making the most serious face, said to Nik:

“I’m glad that at least you don’t try to run away from me like you used to, and talk to me without being forced.”

“Y…yes… my father allowed me to talk to whomever I want, people…” Nik said cautiously.

(Gods! Why have I done it?! I shouldn’t have let him even get close to the gentlemen! Nik, you’re drunk and you’re in a tough symbiosis with my underdeveloped son! Nik! You can’t handle it! Get out of there immediately!)

“Shall we go to our table? I invite you. Will you talk with my warriors? Zagpeace suggested.

(That last thing I could have wanted!)

“Uh, no… no,” Nik said immediately and literally staggered away from Zagpeace, so that they were now separated by a table standing in the room.

“Okay, I won’t insist,” Zagpeace retreated immediately, noticing his tension. “Then just listen to me carefully. Nik, I'm waiting for you in the Black City, in Upper, Coastal street, house eight. Do you know where is it?”

“N… no…”

“But you lived in the Upper!”

“Y…yes, but I lived in Prince Arel’s Castle…”

“Yeah, it’s still a wilderness,” Zagpeace threw contemptuously, “did you visit your father’s mansion? It is very close to the Coast.”

“N… no, never…”

“Clear. What streets of the Upper City have you been to? I will try to give you directions so that you understand where my Academy is located.”

“I was only on those streets that Prince Arel pressed…”

(Nik! You can’t say that! How right I was when I wanted to stick a plaster on your mouth! If I could do it now, I would cover your mouth in several layers, tightly! So that you don’t even make a sound! Shut up at last! What the nonsense are you saying?)

Zagpeace grimaced slightly, but pretended that everything was in order:

“I have understood you. Streets on the very border of the Upper and Lower near the border wall. They don’t even count as the Upper.”

“Yes, right next to the wall,” Nik continued uncertainly, “I was also at Dim’s Coliseum…”

“Do you know where is the third gate?”

“Third gate? N… No. Prince Arel… we traveled from Upper to Lower, back and forth, always only through the same gates. Never through others. I think it was gate number twelve…”

“The easternmost gate by the river, through which few people travel. You, it turns out, have not seen all the beauty and grandeur of the Upper City, Nik. You can’t even imagine how beautiful it is! I’ll show it to you!”

(Damn, he doesn’t give a fuck about this beauty!)

Nik was silent, obviously not knowing what to answer, and Zagpeace asked:

“Do you still have a pass?”

“Hmm… Prince Arel made me a pass a long time ago… it seems to be somewhere in an old jacket…”

“Has your father given you a new pass?”

“No.”

(When it will be necessary, I will do it! You, Peace, have nothing to do with it!)

Zagpeace took from his pocket a small rectangle made of thick white cardboard with gold embossing — his business card, on which his family coat of arms was depicted. Then he took out a pen filled with red ink.

“I’ll make you a new pass now,” he said, “just don’t lose it, be more careful with the documents. And when you go to my place and the patrol stops you, and they stop you, it’s natural, since my Academy is located in one of the richest and most closed areas of the city…”

(What the fuck are you saying?!)

“Then you will show them the pass. And, Nik, if they ask where you’re going, tell it like it is — you’re coming to me because I called you.”

(Nik, why are you looking at this piece of paper like a sheep?! Don’t take anything from him!)

“Nik, will you be able to come by yourself? Or should I send someone for you?” Zagpeace clarified, also noticing some confusion with which Nik looked at the business card.

“No, I’ll figure it out, I went to Dim alone,” Nik remembered.

“I’ll write you the address on the back right now so you don’t forget it.”

(Why are you telling him, chewing on elementary things, as if my son is an idiot! He will find everything if only he needs it!)

Zagpeace put the business card on the table and began to carefully write down the address of his house on the back of it. Kors saw his hands wrapped in thin leather gloves, which he never took off, and how he was writing his address in a beautiful confident hand, holding a small rectangle slightly with his left hand without fingers. The two empty fingers in his glove were filled from the inside with something to make it seem like all the fingers were in place. An ignorant person will not understand that Zagpeace’s hand is crippled. But Kors knew it, and he was sick of disgust.

At the very end, Zagpeace’s hand seemed to tremble, breaking the perfect pattern of letters with a small squiggle. Kors realized that Zagpeace had put a secret sign on Nick's pass. For everyone, it was just a tail of a letter that didn’t mean anything, but for patrolmen, it was a special mark. It meant that the master needed this commoner to perform some task. Usually this is how the security service marked the pass for informers and assistants from Lower. And, therefore, having seen a secret mark, the patrolmen will not detain Nik, they will let him through to such an area of the Upper, where strangers never appear.

“Well,” Zagpeace slightly waved his business card so that the ink would dry faster, “when the patrol stops you, show them this.”

“Fine.”

“I hope you didn’t have any unpleasant incidents with patrolmen before this?”

“Unpleasant? Uh …” Nik nervously ran his hand under his nose and, not finding the usual ring with a bead, fiddling with which, he calmed himself, got even more nervous:

“Well, when they stopped me, I just showed my pass, and that’s it…”

“Were you detained?”

Nik with annoyance removed his hand from his nose, and, making a displeased face, reluctantly replied:

“Yes, a couple of times.”

“This is bad.”

Nik pursed his lips and said nothing.

“Tell me why you were detained so that I can prevent such situations in the future. What did you do?”

“Nothing at all!”

“You dared them, as you like it? Or behaved disrespectfully?”

“No.”

“If you didn’t do anything wrong, just tell me what happened.”

Nik froze and stood for a while, staring blankly at the floor, and then made his strange movement, jerking his head sharply, as if someone invisible had hit him on the back of the head from behind. Finally, he began hesitantly:

“I went to training at Dim’s Coliseum…” he fell silent, and Zagpeace didn’t rush him, patiently waiting for the continuation, “and they stopped me. They didn’t like my horse, that it was unclean, and it seems that I rode it too fast… But it was impossible on that street. They abruptly drove out from behind the turn to intercept me, I barely managed to stay in the saddle and didn’t tip over only because Power stood on hind legs. They surrounded me, began to demand to dismount. I did it and showed them the pass. I didn’t… didn’t dare. They asked who my master was and where I was going. I answered that my master was Prince Arel, and I was going to Dim’s Coliseum for training. They began to ask why I had an unclean horse, they began to say that it was impossible here to ride so quickly… hmmm … They ordered me to remove the mask, but I couldn’t do it as soon as they wanted, because I usually always stick it to my face. So it is more convenient to fight, it doesn’t slide anywhere. I said, “It’s glued on.” One of them reached out and pulled me hard on the edge of the mask, it hurt, but I said nothing. They made sure that I was not lying and that the mask was glued on, but still they twisted my hands behind my back, handcuffed me and took me to the police station. Until… until the circumstances were clarified. I was just there, in the cell, and couldn’t come to Dim.”

After listening to all this rather indistinct stream of words, and even with an unclean accent, because when Nik spoke a lot and for a long time, he involuntarily began to swallow vowels, Zagpeace somehow wearily sighed and shook his head:

“And then what happened?”

“Arel… Prince Arel came for me. He said that I was his warrior, and he put me up for fights at Dim’s Coliseum. He yelled that he was not going to give me a black man to accompany me every time I needed to go to training. And if his pass was not enough for them, and he also has to come to the station for his soldiers and explain something there, he would arrange for them such a fun life that they will regret it. Arel promised that he would smash everything to hell, and he would get nothing for it!” Nik laughed merrily, but Zagpeace, on the contrary, was clearly not laughing.

“Arel was very angry,” said Nik, continuing to have fun and not paying any attention to the expression on Zagpeace’s face. It seemed that, unlike his listener, Nik found this story amusing and he himself was so carried away by his story that now he couldn’t be stopped:

“They were afraid of him, began to make excuses to him that they detained me because I didn’t obey the order and didn’t take off the mask. And he said, “You idiots, it’s glued on! This is my warrior, he obeys my orders, and only I decide when he has to take off and when not to take off his mask! He told them a lot. Aha-ha! Arel is so cool! He took me from there. They didn’t seem to care anymore, and they just wanted him to stop yelling and get out as soon as possible. And the next day he again sent me to Dim’s alone. But they didn’t stop me anymore. And I always drove on the same road, and the patrols already knew me, and then they went to fights, they liked to watch my fights, and they didn’t touch me anymore.

“You said you were detained a couple of times… for what else?”

“Well…I just went into this…expensive shop…without a black escort, and they called the guards.”

“But why did you go there?!”

“I… I saw beautiful bottles in the window… I wanted to buy one… One of green glass, like an emerald,” and Nik involuntarily looked at his hand to where a ring with a green stone sparkled on his finger. “It was so… it was like it was made of a precious stone, and inside there was dark wine. I had money. I wanted to buy it!”

“And you didn’t know that they wouldn’t sell you anything in Upper, even if you had money?”

“Eh, I knew… I… I was very drunk, and I just thought badly…”

(Yes, and even now, Nik, you are drunk and you think badly if you tell himall this!)

“What was the name of this store?”

“Hmmm… I don’t remember…”

(You yourself know very well what this place was called, Peace! And I remember this incident! The fire in the Glass Island. Now I know, and you can probably guess what caused it to burn down so unexpectedly!)

“And how did it all end? Did Prince Arel take you away again?”

“Yes, but this time he had beaten the shit out of me.”

(Nik! Looks like it’s me who will beat the shit out of you today!)

Kors was angry with Nik, and at the same time, probably only now did he fully realize what a humiliating position his son was in. And the fact that Nik couldn’t move freely in the Upper City, ride the streets wherever he wanted, without a black pass or escort. He couldn’t go into shops, let alone restaurants or the theatre. A patrol could stop him and arrest him at any moment. Kors only now realized that even to collect tribute from his streets, in order to avoid unnecessary problems, Arel sent him not alone, but together with Squit-Eye, who was black.

“On the one hand, I am impressed by your desperate character, it was he who did not allow you to completely break down over ten years of slavery,” Zagpeace said a little out of his style, not minting every word, as usual, but more gently, “and therefore I want help you.”

(Of course! What a hypocrite!)

“But on the other hand, listen to me, this is important,” Zagpeace continued, returning to his impassive intonation. “I understand that you have never been to that part of the Upper City where I tell you to come, and the patrols there don’t know you, so when you are stopped, follow all their requirements. Show them the pass. If they say they’re taking you to my academy, don’t argue with them.”

“And there already my guards will meet you, I will warn them, they will be waiting for you. You will be handed over, just be silent and do whatever you are told.”

“Good,” Nik made such a quick gesture with his hand, familiar to Kors, as if he wanted to remove the bangs from his eyes, but, like the rings under his nose, he now also didn’t have a long bang, and Nik, clearly not understanding how to calm his involuntary movements, doomedly clutched his fingers at his wide belt.

“If you’re wearing a mask and they tell you to take it off, do it. Don’t glue the mask to your face. Because I will meet you, and we will immediately go to a very respected institution to make documents for you, and there you must be with an open face. And you must have half-blood rings in your lip.”

Nik clutched at his lower lip, from which Kors had pulled his badges of affiliation only this morning.

“Documents? At the Upper?” He asked in surprise, not reacting in any way to the fact that Zagpeace, without any requests, quite categorically ordered him to put a humiliating mark on his face.

“Yes! At the Upper, because you’re half true black!”

But Nik looked at Zagpeace somehow very skeptically:

“Half black, and somehow that half is not fucking visible!”

“Nik, trust me, it’s visible! At the time of your birth, your mother was not a slave, Kors had freed Inness and married her. You were born in an official marriage to a noble black. Whatever your father may be, but he is a true black, a descendant of the ancestors of this world, and the blood of the higher flows in you. I’ll do the documents for you. And then you will have my pass and an official document proving your identity, and the Upper will be open to you.”

“Oh…”

“Have you thought about a name?”

“Nik.”

“But understand, this is no good! You should have a longer name.”

“Nikto,” said Nik, and, looking at Zagpeace a little frowningly, he smiled. He smiled so simply, with a little provocative smile, and seeing this, Kors stirred everything inside from love for him. Now that Nik’s smile was no longer crooked due to the scar, it became very clear that smiling made him look great, and he became even more attractive.

Nik became very cute when he pouted a little or pouted his lower lip forward and looked a little from under his brows, but his now not crippled, completely natural smile was no less attractive. Previously, when Nik smiled, his inferiority and the fact that the right side of his face was paralyzed immediately became noticeable, but now, when the paralyzing poison leaked out and the scar healed, Nik could smile freely, and it turned out that he had a very beautiful open smile.

And looking at Nik, Zagpeace smiled back at him. He smiled, not mockingly condescending as before, but somehow truly, honestly and sincerely. Kors heard Zagpeace think of his son, “He’s damn charming! Andhe knows how to fight spectacularly. Difficult, hard fate, tattoos of unclean ones on the face — the audience will be delighted. Everyone will want to come and see him!”

(I will kill you, Peace! My son is not some strange animal that people go to see!)

“All the Upper will want to look at the redeemed Son of the Devil, whom I directed on the true path and, according to the precepts of the Holy Fathers, helped the lost sheep return to the flock.”

(Gods, what a hypocrite you are, Peace! How I have been friends with you for so many years and didn’tnotice this!)

“It will only be necessary to keep an eye on him, and, probably, I will have to assign a reliable person to protect him, otherwise my warriors will get him drunk and fucked. At first, it will be needed to watch him constantly.”

But Zagpeace said aloud:

“I propose something more suitable, showing your belonging to the true blacks. For example, Michael or Sebastian.”

“What? Aha! No, I’m not good enough for such names,” Nik laughed, “I have snot hanging under my nose.”

And Zagpeace laughed too:

“It suits you.”

“You don’t have names for people like me,” Nik said, “these are your names, they belong to true blacks, not to me. If they call me like you, you will laugh at me behind my back. My name is Nik, the short name of a slave, and it is more honest,” he finished even with some pride.

Zagpeace paused for a second.

“Okay, we’ll come back to this later, and you know, your father’s last name is not worth mentioning at all and…”

“Uh…” Nik tried to protest. He was pulled back, and he barely kept his balance, clutching the edge of the table with his hand.

Zagpeace chuckled, realizing that Nik was drunk, and immediately said conciliatorily:

“I gave you food for thought, we’ll talk more when we make the document. After that, I will sign a contract with you. This is how free and honest people interact with each other.”

“Contract?”

“Yes, the obligations of the parties and the terms of cooperation will be spelled out in detail. I am very good with my mercenaries. I pay them well. They have everything! Both money and reputation!”

Saying all this, Zagpeace put the pass on the table and kindly pushed it towards Nick:

“Here is your ticket to a new life. I will make sure that you live with dignity and right, I will pick you a good wife.”

“I have a wife,” Nik said.

“The unclean one doesn’t count, forget about her and all the other unclean ones! You are a man, and you must live according to the laws of people, not animals! I will find you a girl, I don’t promise that a noble lady, but I will choose a modest and complaisant one. Many free people of low birth, but respectable and hardworking, live in Upper.”

(Do you want to choose a maid to be his wife?! How noble!)

“Nik, you like girls, don’t you? It’s just that Arel and Kors forced you to serve their voluptuousness, but, in fact, you are not like them, are you? You are not…”

“Yes, they like it,” Nik hastily interrupted him, “but I don’t need any wife! I will make her unhappy. And I look not like a human, but like an unclean one, she will be ashamed of me.”

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of yourself! And if my warriors at first say to you maybe some hurtful words about your appearance or your past and try to hurt you, just don’t answer. Be quiet. After a while, seeing that you don’t react, they will lose interest and stop bullying you. Don’t even think about starting a fight!”

“I’m used to being bullied.”

“Don’t fall for provocations and dubious offers. I will support you. And at first you will be under my guardianship and protection. Nobody will hurt you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“The dirty past will be forgotten in time. You will teach my warriors the tricks of the unclean ones, they have many interesting blows and combinations that the blacks don’t know about. And you yourself have a very unusual technique.”

“I just com…compensate… for my paralysis, that’s what my father said.”

“Yes, and this is unique,” Zagpeace nodded in agreement.

“But I can’t jump, do hits in a jump.”

“Everyone knows how to do it, and no one has been interested in it for a long time.”

“I often fall.”

“Nik, you know how to fight spectacularly. I confess, when I watched your fights in the Coliseum, my heart skipped a beat! I saw perfectly well when you fought for real, and when you started the scene. That’s why I didn’t go bust at betting like the others. I like your unexpected multi-moves, one can’t guess what you will do next.”

And Kors saw that Nik was standing and listening to Zagpeace, his eyes modestly downcast, and with each praise his cheeks grew redder with pleasure.

(Oh, you little bitch! A small praise, and you are already wagging your tail to the next owner, stupid puppy! You run after every true black, it costs him a kind word! Peace is deceiving you! Nik! Just be a Demon now, squeeze the human out of you, he’s bothering you!)

Zagpeace also noticed Nik’s embarrassment and looked very pleased:

“The tricks of the unclean ones and at the same time the excellent command of academic technique — all this makes you one of the best!”

(Oh, how you sing like a nightingale, Peace, just to throw my boy under the feet of the crowd and make money on him!)

“Nik, and if you want, you will not only train warriors, but also enter the Arena again. I’ll arrange profitable fights for you.”

And Kors, realizing for a long time that all this heartfelt conversation was started by Zagpeace only for this, clenched his fists angrily.

Nik was confused:

“Uh-uh…”

“A good warrior has many privileges. Regardless of your background, I will introduce you to the world of true blacks. You will be invited to fight at holidays, at private receptions with the most influential people. There are many connoisseurs of martial arts in the Upper. Fights are held not only in the Coliseum, but also at private meetings for the elite. And no scenarios, everything is honest! You will be treated well. As a free person, you can easily go to any store and restaurant. You didn’t have this before, because your patron was the fallen prince Arel, and from his name alone the stench went throughout the Upper City. And still, Dim Al risked his reputation and was friends with the disgraced prince, only to get his warriors even for a couple of fights. A few years ago, Ram Murh became the best fighter of the year. Nothing will prevent you from achieving this, the main thing is desire. Nik, you were accepted in the Upper as a warrior. And now I and many others accept you, no matter what.”

“Tol was fighting fairly.”

“And you will fight fairly as well! I promise you!”

“Peace, I take illegal substances.”

“I know. You’re a good guy, you said it yourself, but I already knew it. It doesn’t scare me. I know how to get you off them to the maximum and make it easier to stand the withdrawal. I told this to your father, offered my help, he refused.”

(Come on, come on, Peace, try it, let him throw a tantrum at you, throw a boot at you, or better something heavier, and run to his unclean ones to get drunk and play cards! You are a complete idiot! You don’t know anything about Nik!)

“I stimulate myself strongly in order to have a faster reaction, speed, power of impact, I’m not such a good warrior without stimulants,” Nik said carefully, trying not to continue the previous topic.

“You think my warriors don’t do that? This is what all professional warriors do.”

“But Dim had troubles.”

“Because of his fraudulent schemes, not because of you. Everything is fine. Everything that concerns you, any problems with illegal substances — Dim could always blame that on the disgraced Prince Arel, because you were his warrior and carried out his orders. You were just a warrior invited to a couple of fights, any true black can offer his warriors for fights in the Coliseum. Prince Arel exposed you and the warrior girl Berta. The public liked you, you fought well and even reached the final, this is not a violation. So there are no claims against Dim, and he didn’t know anything about the substances, Prince Arel violated the law by hiding this information. Therefore, under any circumstances, he remains to blame.”

“You always have Arel to blame…”

Zagpeace ignored him.

“Nick, you’re still young enough to change. In a couple of years you will not recognize yourself and will remember your current life as a bad dream.”

But judging by Nik’s expression, he clearly did not share Zagpeace’s optimism:

“I’m a criminal. You yourself said that I was a swindler, an extortionist and a murderer, I remember your hard attack after my father brought me to you and sat me at the table,” and Nik made such a capriciously displeased face that Kors heard Zagpeace at that moment think: “Noble blood flows in him, no commoner can express his discontent so arrogantly. Daring, he doesn’t repent of his deeds, dared to remind me of this. No matter how hard Kors pushed him, he didn’t break him, that’s very good.”

“Nik, don’t be so naive, at that moment I didn’t put pressure on you, but on Vitor Kors, trying to reason with him so that he would interrupt your unnatural connection. It was then that I realized that you were not in captivity of your own free will, and I changed my mind about you, began to help you. Isn’t it so?”

“Yes, thank you. I owe you a lot.”

(What the… you don’t owe him anything! He’s a liar and a hypocrite, look no further!)

“As a slave, you were simply following your master’s orders. The master is responsible for the slave.”

“So it’s not so bad to be a slave, there’s no responsibility.”

“No, it is bad. And soon you will understand this, when you get all the privileges of a free man.”

“What about Leonardo?”

“We’ll deal with him, don’t worry. I will restore justice in everything and everywhere! This is the purpose of my life — to create a world in which order and control will prevail! Not for your own benefit, but for the sake of truth and justice! In the name of our forefathers the Holy Fathers!”

Nik involuntarily shuddered, but Zagpeace, inspired by his speech, didn’t notice this. His eyes lit up with a fanatical brilliance, it seemed that he was already looking at a bright future in which righteous prosperity reigns. Finally, having calmed down a bit, Zagpeace returned to his conversation with Nik and said in a more casual tone:

“But now we are talking about your fate. Nik, I took all the risks when I decided to take you, and it's going to be a fair fight. I swear! You will fight honestly.”

“My father won’t like it, he is against me fighting for the amusement of the audience.”

“What difference does it make what he wants and what he doesn’t? You are now a free man. Your life belongs to you. Think about it, do you want it? Your desire is more important.”

“I liked to fight in the arena, but if my father doesn’t want it, I won’t do it again,” Nik fell silent, thinking a little, but then, as if recollecting himself, stubbornly shook his head in a negative gesture, “No, I won’t do it again!”

“Nik, this is your life, not his!”

Kors couldn’t hear it anymore.

(He’ll talk him into it now! Because Nik is thoughtless and really likes to fight. It’s time to stop this and intervene as quickly as possible!)

He could no longer remain on the sidelines, and as a father, he had to immediately stop these vile conversations. Kors tried to jump up, but his head was spinning, his eyes darkened. He thought he was about to lose consciousness. He no longer saw or heard Nik or Zagpeace, but suddenly a completely different voice sounded very clearly in his ears. The voice of the late Kamiel Varakh.

Chapter 17

Kors froze. He no longer tried to jump up from his seat and run to the hunting lounge to save his Nik, even forgetting about him for a moment, because he “heard” the voice of his former friend Kamiel Varakh so clearly, as if he was standing behind him, just in the noise holiday, approached imperceptibly, and if Kors turns around, he will see him.

“I don’t know the details,” Varakh said. “Nikto, commander of the unclean ones, exchanged Digmer and, it seems, two other red warriors for a kid who knows how to make gunpowder. Atley Alis ransomed this boy from the unclean ones,” Varakh’s speech was confident, and his voice was not as weak as Kors remembered it from their last meeting.

“WHAT?! What the nonsense?!” Kors didn’t understand anything and suddenly with his inner vision “saw” a room, a hospital ward. But this was not a ward in doctor Cassiel’s infirmary. Everything is different, and there are no red flowers on the windowsill, and bright blue sky shines outside the window. It is too bright, and Kors will never forget the first time he saw the same blue sky above his head, because that day for the first time he saw not only this bottomless sky, but also his Inness. And her eyes, the same blue, argued with this sky, which of them was brighter. Does Kors see the Upper World now? But this cannot be! And Kamiel Varakh looks different, he is not lying, but sitting on the bed. Yes, he is clearly emaciated, but he is no longer the living corpse he once was. Kamiel has gained weight, and his eyes sparkle cheerfully, and patches of painful blush were blooming on his cheekbones.

Before him stands a red warrior:

“Are you saying that you traded Digmer and two of our soldiers for some unclean person who can make gunpowder? I can't believe my ears! How can this be?!You are lying!”

“I didn’t make this decision,” Varakh calmly answers, not at all afraid of his harsh tone, “this order was given by Atley Alis. And this boy Marcus wasn’t an unclean one. He is a man, and he was in bondage to the unclean ones. Atley Alis… Sigmer bought him out in this way.”

“One black for three reds?!”

“Yes. But he knew how to make gunpowder…”

“Kamiel Varakh, Digmer’s life in exchange for yours! If Digmer is not returned to us now, I will personally order your execution! Don’t look at the fact that we cured you and saved you from death. We didn’t do this for you, but for Digmer. And if the exchange doesn’t take place, believe me, a terrible end awaits you. And your title won’t help you. Pray to your gods that Digmer is still alive! Tell me, who can I contact to arrange a prisoner exchange? Think carefully, your life depends on this person!”

“This man is the true black Zagpeace Gezaria,” Varakh replies without a moment’s hesitation. “He will help me!”

“Damn, what’s going on?!”

Kors is completely confused! And for some reason he was offended that Varakh named Zagpeace, and not him. The picture in his head changes abruptly and he “sees” Fort. Everything around is on fire, black smoke covers the sky. “Did this happen after they left?” Kors is trying to sort out the chaos of his visions and rewind the events back to the starting point in order to understand how it all began.

Fort, a little earlier, doctor Cassiel’s infirmary. Near the chamber where the red captive of Zagpeace lies, Cassiel and Zagpeace himself are standing.

“Sir Vitor Kors is coming here,” the doctor says nervously and quickly, looking out the window.

“And what the hell does he want here at a time like this?” Kors sees that Zagpeace is very unhappy.

“Something must have happened to his white half-blood again,” the doctor replies.

“He either beats him half to death, then treats him with no less enthusiasm. Damn, what a bad time!” Zagpeace says irritably.

(Kors can’t believe his ears. Ah, so it turns out they were talking about him behind his back. “Beats him half to death!” Are you out of your mind, Zagpeace?!Making me look like an inconsistent and cruel jerk?!Well, we will see you later!)

“What should I do, sir Gezaria?”

“Don’t let him in!”

Cassiel’s face stretches and turns pale before his eyes.

“It won’t work to keep him out, I don’t have the right,” the doctor babbles, “but I can quickly give him medicine for his lover, and maybe he will leave without noticing you?”

“That’s the last thing to think of! I’m not going to hide from him!”

There is a loud knock on the door, and now Kors realizes that he himself is banging on it.

“Gods, why knock like that in the middle of the night,” Cassiel is literally shaking, “this one is his… Nik, he takes Black water, I hope he didn’t die… otherwise I’m finished…”

(You are both finished, I will recall everything!)

Kors sees Zagpeace hurriedly up to the second floor and enters Varakh’ room. He quickly tells him:

“If Kors comes in here, play dead. It will be calmer for everyone, otherwise we will never get rid of this annoying idiot! He pokes his nose everywhere and spoils everything!”

(What?! Varakh! Friend! You went for it?! Listened to Zagpeace? How could you do it?!)

Zagpeace barely has time to cover Varakh with a sheet when Kors bursts into the room. How badly he looks! Thin, in expensive clothes, but dressed untidy, somehow dirty, hair pulled back in a ponytail, wild eyes, look of a madman. Seeing Zagpeace in the room, Kors freezes on the threshold, stunned:

“What… what are you doing here!?”

“What about you, Kors?” a question for a question, Zagpeace answers, and, unlike Kors, he is completely calm.

“I have come to my friend!” Kors glances at the bed and sees that it is suspiciously strangely made up with a white sheet, under which the outlines of an emaciated body are vaguely guessed. The face of Kors is full of bewilderment.

(Oh! And I scolded Nik for the fact that all his emotions are reflected on his face! I am no better himself!)

“Really? To a friend? Friends are not attacked with a sword!” Zagpeace replies harshly.

“He drew his sword first!” Kors screams.

“I know perfectly well what happened between you. Before that, you hit him with your fist several times, like a commoner, humiliating him.”

“He insulted my son!”

“Because you yourself have created fertile ground for this! You left your son as a slave and kept him among the inferiors.”

“It doesn’t concern you! I didn’t come to talk to you!”

“Well, you’re late!”

Kors looks back at the bed.

“What’s up with him?”

“Kamiel Varakh passed away to another world a quarter of an hour ago,” Zagpeace replies.

(Sneaky liar!)

“No!” Kors rushes to the bed and rips off the sheet. “No!”

Varakh lies with his eyes closed and doesn’t breathe. Zagpeace comes up to them and rudely pulls the sheet from Kors’ hands, hastily covering Varakh with it.

“Leave!” He says to the stunned Kors.

“No, let me say goodbye to him!”

(“Gods, what a fool I am!” Now Kors is literally ready to tear his hair out of anger at himself.)

“You will say goodbye to him in the Black City.”

Kors covers his face with his hands, and Zagpeace looks at him intently. He sees that Kors is really upset by the death of a friend. For a moment, Zagpeace’s face softens, but only until Kors removes his hands from his face.

“Go away, Kors. And what are you doing here at a time like this?” Zagpeace recollects himself, becoming harsh again. “Why do you need a doctor? Why did you come to Camiel?”

“That’s none of your business!”

“You were here not so long ago, brought Nik, went to Varakh. Before that, you were not interested in him, but then you suddenly started coming here more frequently. This is very suspicious!”

“What the shit are you talking about?”

“Didn’t your attention make him feel worse? Kamiel Varakh was well treated, and now, as soon as you appear, he suddenly dies. Did you come to see if your plan worked? What did you give him to drink or inject him?”

“Are you out of your mind, Zagpeace?” Kors backs cowardly towards the door.

(What a disgrace! What a shame!)

“How did you know he was dead? Did you come to check it? What have you done with Varakh?!”

“I? I didn’t know he was dead!”

“Then why are you here now? This is very suspicious, Kors! Answer me! This is no longer a special case, but a serious matter. The true black is dead. You must obey me! Answer my questions! Let’s go out and you’ll tell me everything now! Not here, let’s not offend the memory of the deceased with your vile revelations. Let’s go out!”

“Go to hell!”

Kors hurriedly rushes out of the room.

And now he “sees” how Kamiel Varakh throws off the “veil of the dead”, sits on the bed, and he and Zagpeace begin to laugh.

And from this, such a simple and understandable scene, tears of bitterness and anger involuntarily appear in Kors’ eyes. But he sincerely was worried! He was upset by the untimely death of his friend, he blamed himself for his death!

“How could you do it?! How could you do this to me?!What have I done to you!? What?!” Kors nevertheless tried, as far as possible, to abstract himself from the overwhelming emotions. He will take revenge on them, but later. For sure. And now he needs to understand this tangle of lies to the end.

Still the infirmary, and again all the same actors. But Zagpeace and doctor Cassiel, just in case, shifted Varakh to another ward.

(Look at them! Fucking conspirators! Damn, if I only wanted to, I could find Varakh in a minute!)

Varakh lies on the bed:

“Leave me,” he says to Zagpeace and the doctor standing in front of him, “it will be better for everyone. I won’t stand the road.”

But Zagpeace doubts:

“You will ride in my big carriage, it is comfortable. I will order more mattresses and poofs to be laid.”

“I can’t stand it, leave me, please,” Varakh repeats in monosyllables, and Kors sees and understands now that he is very bad. Varakh gets it, and if he didn’t die when he and Zagpeace staged this vile farce for Kors, then he will die very soon, in one or two days, no more.

“I don’t need any treatment. I’m tired of rotting alive. I want to die,” says Varakh.

“No, you can handle it, you’ll get better!” Zagpeace assures him, but there is only feigned confidence in his voice. He himself sees everything perfectly, throws an inquiring glance at doctor Cassiel, and he, realizing that some kind of verdict is expected from him, carefully answers:

“Any push or shaking on the road can be fatal for sir Kamiel Varah, he needs composure… and… time.”

“Leave me to the will of the gods. If I’m destined to get out, if not, so be it!” Varakh hoots.

“You’ll get better. You will get stronger. I’ll be back for you!” Zagpeace assures him as cheerfully as possible.

“Alright, Peace, friend…”

“I will leave all the necessary medicines, the orderly will take care of everything,” Cassiel says.

“Thanks for all. Cassiel, you keep me among the living for too long and don’t let me go to the Gods…”

Having left Varakh in the hospital, Zagpeace and the doctor go away with the entire black army.

And Kors “sees” how a Portal opens in the basement of the deserted Fort, and a small armed detachment of red warriors breaks into the room. They break open the doors and quickly search room after room, finding neither expensive furniture, nor paintings, nor clocks, none of all the good things that they cleverly hid here thanks to Digmer’s patronage.

“Where are all of ours? Where is Digmer?”

“Where are the golden goblets? Clock?!”

Red warriors rush in fury through the empty rooms of the Crimson Rock:

“There’s nothing here, Commander! They have take neverything! Everything! Even animals from the menagerie! Only in the infirmary they left a few seriously wounded and an orderly to look after them. That’s all they left us!”

“We’re going back to Horn. Digmer, apparently, died. And burn everything here! Burn everything!” Their commander gives the order with undisguised anger, and the Reds begin to set fire to the torches soaked in resin.

“May I report?” One of the warriors suddenly says cautiously. He seems to have doubts, but he still dares to say:

“I was in the infirmary and saw these wounded, one of them… he is tall, and he has a braid to his waist. He is a true black, I'm pretty sure of it. And he might know where Digmer is!”

“Are you saying they abandoned their officer like this?”

“Yes… but these are blacks… cave rats without honor.”

Red warriors, led by their commander, burst into the infirmary. They find Varakh there, and, despite his depressing look, the commander of the detachment doesn’t doubt for a second that he is indeed a noble black. Delighted by such a find, he leans over the dying man, smiling predatorily and showing his animal sharply filed teeth:

“Who are you? What’s your name? Are you a true black? Are you a commander?”

“Yes. My name is Kamiel Varakh,” Varakh answers indifferently and even with some relief. He folds his palms in a prayerful gesture, “Gods, will I die by the sword? Thank you for this grace!”

“True black, where is Digmer? Answer! Is he alive?”

“He is with the unclean ones.”

“What?!”

“He is in slavery for the unclean ones.”

“Take him, he will help us find Digmer!” The commander quickly orders, and his warriors shift Varakh onto a stretcher. He doesn’t resist and seems to be losing consciousness from the pain.

The Reds set fire to the Fort, and, taking Varakh, go to the Horn through the Portal. And the few remaining inhabitants of the fortress, abandoned by them to the mercy of fate, rush about among the burning buildings, choking on smoke.

From the Crimson Rock, only black charred stones remain.

Kors jumped up from his seat in the hall. Drunken Arel followed him with a dull look, and then, putting his folded hands on the table, dropped his noble head on them, passing out.

And Kors burst into the living room with dusty stuffed animals. Zagpeace and Nik were still standing there, and Zagpeace, turning to Nik, was saying something to him.

“Varakh is alive!” Kors yelled without any preamble, rudely interrupting their conversation.

And Zagpeace turned around in surprise.

“Kamiel is alive! You abandoned him at the Fort, you bastard!” Kors was shaking with rage, and he looked at Zagpeace with undisguised hatred.

“Kors, I don’t understand you,” Zagpeace said, trying to keep his composure. “I don’t understand, are you accusing me of something now?”

“Yes, you liar!”

“What have you said?”

Kors watched as Zagpeace’s face slowly faded from the feigned calm that he was able to maintain at the moment only by virtue of a habit trained over years.

“Varakh is alive!”

“It doesn’t concern you, disgraced black,” Zagpeace said harshly, “I won’t even talk to you. This is below my dignity! You are dirt!” And the embittered harshness of these words didn’t match the indifferent expression of his face, betraying true emotions.

“You’re a vile liar!” Kors, in his fury, seemed not to hear the insults. “How could you do that?!”

“Vitor Kors, you have long ago let the last shreds of your reputation go astray! I’m not going to explain anything to you, let alone make excuses! I won’t even talk to you anymore!” Zagpeace finally shouted, unable to stand it and completely discarding decency and memorized pose.

“You left him alone! Do you know where he is now by your grace?! Peace, you will answer for this!”

“Vitor, go upstairs!” Nik intervened.

But Kors tried to pounce on Zagpeace:

“I’ll kill you!” He drew his sword.

Nik quickly rushed to him, standing between them, and, looking straight at Kors, slowly said:

“Go. Up. Immediately! I said get out!” And his voice was terrible. It’s good that he stood with his back to Zagpeace, and he didn’t see his changed face and eyes. Kors lowered his weapon hand. He was shaking, but in obedience to the order he bowed his head, and, turning away from them, went to the stairs and began to climb it on unbending legs.

Zagpeace seemed taken aback himself — both from the voice of Nik, a minute ago so sweet and like a girl, and from the fact that Kors obeyed his son. He looked at Nik somehow differently:

“You don’t have to be so rude to your father. Whatever he is, he is your father,” he remarked. “Yes, Kors treated you harshly, I understand, but don’t descend to his level.”

“Descend? Fuck, I will never rise to his level! He’s the master!” Nik snapped sharply, and his lips twisted into an evil and bad grin.

Peace recoiled from him:

“What you sow, you will reap,” he whispered.

“Let’s talk in the city, okay? If you still want,” and Nik, as quickly as he could, began to climb the stairs after Kors.

And Zagpeace remained standing:

“Did Varakh tell me the truth?” he seemed to ask himself and looked in confusion at the white cardboard rectangle left lying on the table. Zagpeace reached out to it, obviously intending to take back the business card, but his hand froze. For a moment he hesitated, thinking. Finally, as if with some effort, he withdrew his fingers and without taking the pass, he quickly left the living room.

Seeing Nik coming into their room, Kors hurriedly tossed away his freshly lit cigarette and shied away. His doll-like boy’s face didn’t bode well, and Kors, in some mad attempt to delay the inevitable, rushed to the bathroom and locked himself in. An absurd thought was pounding in his head that maybe Nik could calm down a little later, cool down, as usual, and everything would work out. The main thing is to take the time. Therefore, Kors locked the door and quickly moved a nightstand and a closet to it, barricading himself in this way. But alas, his plan didn’t work. The door flew off its hinges with a crash from the impact of superhuman force, the bedside table and whatnot flew off with a roar and fell to the floor, falling apart. Kors didn’t know where to run, finding himself in a small room, as if in a trap. Nik entered, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and threw him against the wall. Kors crashed into the closet, trying to cover his head and face with his hands. Glass vials rained down on him from the shelves, a tin box banged on the top of his head and opened to sprinkle toothpowder on him. Before Kors had time to recover, Nik grabbed him again and threw him against the opposite wall. Now Kors stumbled over the basket of towels, buckets and basins. The crashing sound was unimaginable. Nik approached again and threw him against the wall again. Bang! Bang! Bang! Kors slammed first into one wall, then into another, and so on in a circle, without a break, crashing into furnishings and involuntarily destroying everything around. Before he had time to get up and do anything, Nik was already grabbing him and smashing him again. Finally, Nik threw Kors to the floor and kicked him hard in the ribs and in the stomach several times. Grabbing the base of his disheveled tail, Nik threw back his head and punched him in the eye, jaw, and temple.

“Once again you dare not obey me the first time … the second time I will never repeat again,” Nik hissed, “this was the first and last time.”

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just this lie… Peace has deceived me, and Kamiel, he’s alive…” Kors muttered pathetically, trying to regain his breath.

“Yes, I don’t give a shit about it! You didn’t obey me!” Nik yelled at him.

“I was stunned by this deception!”

“Eh, everyone around deceives you! Didn’t you notice? Because you can’t see beyond your noble nose! You only know how to lift it up!”

“Yes, I was stupid when I didn’t watch the events right away and, believing Zagpeace, I thought that Varakh had died… and didn’t even try to check and listen to him…”

“And who is to blame for this?” Nik asked, stepping away from him.

“I, myself,” Kors sat on the floor of the ruined room, bowing his head in humiliation. He was beaten again, his beautiful face was smashed again, he was deceived again! Kors curled up into a ball, covering his face with his hands, and, unable to restrain himself, began to cry.

Chapter 18

Nik approached, and, lifting Kors from behind by the armpits. He was unresisting, limp as a sack of flour, and Nik dragged him into the room to their bed.

“Vitor, get up!”

Kors languidly got up, and Nik, seating him on the edge of the bed, began to unfasten the numerous belts and buckles on him, remove the weapon from Kors’belt — his sword and iron rod:

“Well, stop it, don’t cry, that’s all, that’s all, I won’t do it anymore,” he repeated, undressing Kors and doing it affectionately. Nik knelt down in front of his father and began to pull off his boots. Kors felt a little better. Sniffing, he wiped the tears from his eyes with his palm.

“Lie down. You need to calm down and rest,” Nik said, rising from his knees and pressing Kors on the shoulders, laying him on his side.

“Just don’t put me to sleep, please!” Kors was scared. He really didn’t like it when the Demon, without warning, deprived him of control over consciousness, throwing him into oblivion.

“Okay, I won’t,” Nik walked around the bed and also began to undress: he took off his weapon, jacket and boots and lay down on the other side. He just lay on his back, not moving, staring up at the ceiling while Kors stared at his face. He looked at his chain hanging from his cheek, at two well-marked holes in the nostril left from thick rings, looked at the black tattoos on his cheekbones, slightly faded from time, and understood that, no matter what the circumstances, he would never be able to stop loving his Nik. His Demon — Nikto.

“Come on, Vitor, I have asked you,” Nik said without changing his position and continuing to look at the ceiling. “Calm down, read your poem in your head, as you usually do.”

“So you can hear it?” Kors felt as if Nik had taken him by surprise for something very personal.

“Well, of course,” Nik smiled slightly, “you thought it up great.”

“Oh, Nik, there is nothing good in this — stupidly repeating the same thing, just to not think about the bad. And you know, I don’t even like it!”

“You don’t like it? But why? It is beautiful as well.”

“Eh, that’s just the first thing that came to mind! These states, when it seems that everything is very bad and will only get worse, they haunt me. They literally suck me out. It’s like I’m being crushed by a gravestone, and I can’t breathe, I can’t move. It started the first time I was in your Limit. Or rather, it happened before, but not so often and not as strong. Feelings of panic, fear, hopelessness.”

“Vitor, you got back back when you lost your Inness, don't drag my Limit in here.”

“But in the Limit, everything somehow manifested itself and intensified. I don’t know how to explain it to you…”

“Damn, you were already crazy, so your geese flew to my Limit.”

“But when there are so many thoughts in your head, and you can’t stop thinking, you can’t calm down …

“I understand, I understand,” Nik interrupted him, noticing that Kors was starting to get more and more nervous. “It’s just that you dig under yourself without measure, that’s what drives you mad.”

“What?”

“Hmm … you think too much, digging into every little thing.”

“I stopped hearing your conversation with Zagpeace when I “saw” the events related to Varakh. Tell me what else did Peace say to you?”

“Well, you’re digging again…”

“Did he offer you anything else?”

“No.”

“Did you agree to be his warrior?” Kors’ voice was treacherously twitchy.

“No! Of course not!”

“Then what were you talking about?”

“Oh! In fact, nothing. He asked about this series of blows that the unclean ones often use in battle, the black warriors called it “nine attacks”. Then he asked to train his mercenaries. I explained that people misunderstand everything a little, and there are no nine attacks in a row in this bundle. So, probably, it may seem to people because of the speed with which the unclean do it. But in fact, an attack is always followed by a defense, a counterattack, often each unclean one adds something of his own, this is for them an im… improvisation. It’s just that three such blocks in a row follow very quickly without pauses. In short, we discussed all sorts of technical issues, that’s all.”

“Nik, I hate Zagpeace! He is a hypocrite and simply satisfies his ambitions. He pretends justice, all so correct! Swollen with pride, he punishes for sins like a god, what arrogance! But at the same time, he doesn’t deny himself the pleasure of teasing me, humiliating me, flattering his pride! And don’t forget about mercantile interests! He wants to take you away from me, stick you in the Coliseum and make a lot of money from you! Where are you here? He doesn’t think about you at all!”

“So what? That’s what everyone does,” Nik replied indifferently.

“The masters will invite you to entertain them! To fight for the amusement of the guests! You will dance in front of them like Zaf’s slave, only not in lacy shorts, but with a sword!”

“Well, it’s already better…”

“Nik! He lies to you and feeds you with empty promises! He will not introduce you into the world of the blacks!”

“Same as you?”

And Kors cringed:

“I let you down in front of Zagpeace. You so diligently tamed him, portrayed my son, a harmless unfortunate boy. You counted on the help of his mercenaries in the Black City in the fight against Leonardo and the king, and because of me you revealed your essence.”

“Well, now, what’s done is done,” Nik replied, still without emotion. “What’s the point of discussing this?”

“You wanted to gather everyone, both the unclean ones, the warriors from the Lower, and the mercenaries of Zagpeace, to storm the Upper, right?”

“Yes.”

“I ruined everything for you!”

“Come on, calm down, he hasn’t refused yet.

“He heard your voice. He saw that I obeyed you. For true blacks, this is unacceptable, believe me.”

“That’s all, stop it!”

“I'm always ruining everything that you do!”

“Stop it, I said! Everything is fine.”

“And you… do you really still love me?” Kors literally whined.

“I love you very much!” Nik turned to him and hugged him. “We can manage without Zagpeace’s warriors if that happens. We will do it with or without them.”

“Yes! You spoke to me like this when I was in doubt whether to give your soldiers to you on this campaign against Ore Town,” Kors started up, as if some thought had suddenly dawned on him, and sharply pulled away from the embrace:

“Nik! We can just go to where this old sorceress lived, go through the Portal immediately to the Black City, and there Prince Arel will be closer to Leonardo and will simply strangle him with his strength, and you will kill the king.”

Nik shook his head.

“How easy it is for you. No. We can’t do that.”

“But why?!”

“I can’t use the Portals back and forth like that, as I wish. I may only use the Portal as a last resort. And I can’t get into my Limit when Iwant to. I have to ask for permission, and believe me, I get denied very often.”

“But you do a good job. You complete your Missions! Your strength and degree of freedom must grow!

“It is growing, but this world was created by the Higher Ones according to certain rules and laws. It is built into a complex and clear system of other worlds, and each of them has its own place. These laws must not be violated, otherwise everything will collapse like an improperly built house. Vitor, we are here in human bodies, and in most cases we must live and act like humans.”

“Hmm… the laws of the universe to prevent chaos, I understand you. But then I don’t understand what’s the fun in being a Demon?” Kors was displeased.

“I never said it was fun,” Nik shrugged.

“And if…”

Kors didn’t have time to express his idea, because at that moment there was a loud knock on the door, and Tol burst into the room. He dragged the drunk Arel on his shoulder. Tol walked over to them and dropped his burden from his shoulder, forcing Kors to hastily moveaside.

“Ah, thank you, Tol,” Nik sat up on the bed, looking at the prince, who showed no signs of life.

“He fell under the table,” Tol explained, “I found him and picked him up.” The fact that Nik and Kors were lying together didn’t seem to make much impression on him.

Kors was even a little offended that Tol always ignored him so blatantly.

“Tol, do you miss your friend Alis?” he asked.

“Al… uh…” Tol mumbled and froze.

And Kors very clearly felt his inner resistance. Even if Tol missed Lis, he didn’t want to be open about it, especially with Kors. He didn’t love him. Tol knew that Kors was Nik’s father, and Tol loved Nik very much and somehow managed to accept this information for himself. But despite this, he still considered Kors primarily a representative of the punitive authority, from whom it was worth staying away, because Kors in the past brought nothing but trouble to them. And Tol perfectly remembered these conversations, from which everyone’s mood deteriorated, and Arel became nervous and angry. Many times Tol heard Enriki say excitedly, “We need to complete this mission. We need to fulfill this order by all means. We cannot refuse, can’t you understand what it threatens us with! You shouldn’t quarrel with this person. Our integrity depends on this man!” And everything like that. Therefore, Tol didn’t accept Kors, and Kors was even somehow offended by this. No, of course, he didn’t need the friendship of a stupid thug at all. But all the same, it was somehow annoying inside that Tol rejected him like that, although Kors had never done anything bad to him personally. He didn’t use him like he did with Arel, he didn’t threaten him like he threatened Enriki, and he certainly didn’t bully him like he bullied Squint-Eye. Kors was never interested in Tol, he never even called him for interrogation. But here… Kors had done nothing bad to him, but continued to receive a stable portion of hostility at each of their meetings.

Nik got out of bed and walked over to the lying Arel, slightly lifted him up and began to undress:

“Tol, can you help me?” he asked.

“Yes, of course, my friend!” Tol immediately reacted, even with some relief from the fact that now he was really busy, and Kors would leave him alone and not ask any questions.

Together with Nik, they carefully undressed the drunk Arel, laid him on his side and covered him with a blanket.

“Really good caring friends!” Kors grinned mentally, and when Tol finally left, he remarked contemptuously:

“I don’t understand the pleasure of drinking to unconsciousness,” he looked at Arel, who was sleeping, and saliva was flowing from the corner of his mouth. “What is the joy of not feeling anything and being dependent solely on the goodwill of others?”

Nik returned to his seat and lay down again, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Maybe the joy is in not feeling anything…” he said thoughtfully.

For a while they just lay on the bed, not moving or talking. Kors was sad, his body and face ached after the beatings.

Nik seemed to feel his pain:

“Well, I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “I’m sorry, I lost my temper. There was no need to try to run away from me.”

“It’s my own fault,” Kors sighed, but he was pleased that Nik was sorry.

“Don’t run away from me like that, don’t try to hide, you’ll only make things worse for yourself.”

“I understand.”

And suddenly before the eyes of Kors, quite unexpectedly, the contour of the heart appeared, fuzzy at first, and then brighter and brighter. A gold foil heart, just like the one Nik gave him. Kors watched in surprise as it floated up to the ceiling of the room, becoming voluminous. Inflating like a balloon, the heart shimmered, increased in size, swelled more and more and finally burst, showering Kors with thousands of small golden hearts.

“Ooh!” Kors exclaimed, amazed at what Nik had done. Kors had no idea he could do that, create such illusions.

“Nik! How did you do this?!” Kors couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s very cute and very stupid at the same time, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

And Nik continued to look up, and now a bright scarlet heart flared up under the ceiling and sparks scattered like fireworks.

“Oh, that’s enough! Nik!” And Kors, not understanding how to do it himself, also tried to imagine the outline of a heart under the ceiling and hand it over to Nik. He succeeded. It didn’t turn out to be as difficult as he thought, so he added an image of Nik himself, his sweet face, to the center of the heart, and Nik saw it. To Kors’ surprise, he immediately intervened and erased his image as if he had brushed it away with his hand, and a white china cup appeared in place of his face.

Kors understood and laughed:

“No-no, no-no, Nik!” He brushed off Nik’s cup and replaced it with a beautiful china figurine. It was a ballerina doll, and, moreover, she was spinning around her axis. Now Nik laughed. He swept away the ballerina, and instead of her a small and fluffy white kitten appeared.

“Nik, Nick, I love you!” Kors exclaimed. Nik turned around, his eyes ablaze with a mischievous gleam. He smiled at Kors, who impulsively pressed his lips to his. And when they finally broke the kiss, Kors looked up at the ceiling again and saw that the kitten was still sitting there, pawimg impatiently. Kors, unable to stand it, laughed again.

And Nik laughed too:

“I forgot about him.” Nik snapped the picture.

“My kitten, you are trying to cheer me up and console me,” Kors said gratefully, “if you only knew how good I feel with you! You often hurt me, but you also give unearthly pleasure.”

“I don’t hurt you, you hurt yourself,” Nik disagreed.

Kors paused, thinking, but not for long:

“Yes, I admit that I am largely to blame,” he agreed sadly. “I acted very selfishly, satisfying my desires with you and not really thinking about how you feel in these moments. But all this is in the past!” He assured Nik warmly. “And now I want, first of all, to please you. I want to please you, not upset you.”

“Vitor, what’s on your mind again?” Nik pursed his lips slightly and rolled his eyes.

“You gave me so much pleasure, and I just got hot! Wanted more and more! You gave me the priceless gift to see the hidden, you taught me. And I didn’t want to make an effort, I just wanted to enjoy. And now I am very ashamed of it!”

“Eh, everything is fine. Calm down.”

“No, it’s not good! Imagine that you, for example, have a close friend, and you are always happy to share with him everything that you have yourself. He eats with you at the same table, sleeps under your roof. But after a while, your friend will become ashamed of the fact that he uses your kindness and does not give you anything in return.”

Nik chuckled skeptically, but said nothing.

“Nik, I want to give you my pleasure. I want to give first and then receive.”

“But I’m fine with you!”

“No! I want to have fun only when I give it to you!”

“Damn, what are you thinking about?” Nik shook his head. “Maybe try to forget about your pleasure at least for a minute? Can you even think of anything else besides this?”

“Nik, do you remember how I fed you porridge?”

“Oh, motherfucker…”

“So, when I saw that you were eating my porridge with appetite, that you liked it, you know how pleased I was! Seeing your joy from my food, I rejoiced no less than you! I want to please you as much as you made me happy when you ate my porridge!”

“Again porridge…” Nik drawled. “And in your head, it seems, too…”

And Kors suddenly felt something gently touching him, penetrating his chest and touching his heart. This touch resonated in him with an incredible surge. Kors felt his heart explode with delight. Much like the illusion Nik had just created, the heart of gold exploded into thousands of hearts. It was an absolutely unearthly sensation and pleasure, and it filled him to the brim with something bright, light and beautiful. Kors had never experienced such emotions before in his life, and it was divine.

Kors froze, and when he came to his senses, he could only whisper:

“Nik…what did you do? It was something else… it was… I had made love to a Demon a thousand times, but now it wasn’t like that, it wasn’t love from a Demon! It’s… it’s like I’ve been kissed on the heart by an angel! Nik, were you an Angel?”

But Nik remained silent.

“Nik, answer me! You must answer me! Nik, I have asked you a question. Were you an angel before?”

“I wasn’t,” Nik answered reluctantly and as if through force.

“No! You can’t lie to me! You were an angel!”

“I wasn’t!” Nik repeated irritably and got up from the bed.

“Where are you going?!” Kors responded immediately.

“I have to catch up,” Nik explained as he walked over to the cupboard that served them as a sideboard.

But Kors shouted:

“No! You don’t need it!”

“Vitor, why are you yelling!? I have a headache.”

“Not now!”

“I need it now. My withdrawal begins, but I don’t want to bring it to a roughness.”

“Nik, stop it! Don’t act like that!”

“If you don’t like it, go away! I’m not holding you!” Nik snapped, opening the closet and intently examining its contents.

“Ah, well, I understand. Judging by your answer, alcohol is still running in you, so I don’t see the need to drink at all!” Kors remarked with undisguised disappointment.

Nik didn’t answer him and took a bottle of unclean moonshine from the shelf.

“And even more so this abomination!” Sitting on the bed, Kors carefully watched his actions.

“What difference does it make to you, I’m not pouring it down your throat!” Nik filled the glass to the brim.

“I don’t like it when you’re drunk!”

“Ahhhhh… well…”

“Why are you ruining everything again now?! Don’tyou understand that with this drink you are building a wall between us!”

But Nik paid no more attention to Kors. He drank the contents of the glass without any pauses and without looking up.

“Take some bread at least…”

“Vitor, stop grazing me, go to bed already! We have a lot of business to do tomorrow.”

“Yes? Business? Tell me it you care about it!” Kors remarked caustically.

“I care!”

“No, Nik! You are not interested in anything! You don’t have an interesting hobby. You don’t give a shit about anything! From what you love, you experience an incomparable feeling of joy without any stimulants. When you do something important for you, it captivates, inspires, and you don’t want to dull your mind with alcohol.”

“Stay away…”

“It gives a surge of strength, you want to wake up early and quickly start doing what you are interested in, forgetting about everything. But you don’t understand, you don’t give a damn about anything, you’re bored, you get sick all the time, you feel bad. You live from dose to dose, just to feel normal! And nothing makes you happy. You can’t do anything but pull yourself out of the hole. And again there inexorably crawl. You wake up from the fact that you need a dose, and fall asleep from the fact that you took a dose and finally you can pass out. What interesting things I’m talking about!”

“I do everything.”

“Under the threat of punishment! Because you were ordered!”

“Come on, come on, remind me of the Shit World and my broken wings, always the same song…”

“Everything was so good! And you ruin everything again! With these eternal catch-ups! Then you “catch up” for a week! And you still can’t get out, and then you stupidly fall through again and again you try to get rid of the torment and catch up, only so as not to experience these breakdowns. Endlessly! Do you like it?! Is it true? Always feel yourself in a position — ‘I have to catch up, otherwise I will die’?”

“No. And… yes.”

“You fucking idiot… you ruined my mood again… I just got better! And you ruined me again!” Kors shouted in annoyance.

“That’s all, back off!” Nik also raised his voice.

“Are you interested in anything when you need to catch up?”

“No!”

“And in me?”

“Just don’t bother me! And that’s all! I don’t bother you.”

“I love you, Nik! You have to understand it!”

“I love you too,” Nik went up to his father and sat down next to him, looking into his eyes penetratingly and blinking his long eyelashes:

“I changed for you, Vitor. I forgot when was the last time I had a real blast, drank without thinking about anything, and fucked whoever I want. One day with some, the other with others, changing them several times a night and not even remembering their names. I became faithful because we have a family and I value our relationship.”

“No! Nik, you are spoiled and ruining everything around! And now you have defiled all the beautiful things that just happened between us! You’re a damn Demon who ruins everything!”

“You know, if you want to see the Demon, look in the mirror!”

Kors clenched his fists in despair. He really wanted to give Nik a slap for his behavior right now, and Nik felt it. He froze, waiting for a blow, and he was ready to dutifully accept it from his father. But just as much as he wanted to hit him, Kors wanted to hug him, to press the top of his white, shaggy head tightly to his chest. He wanted to hit and caress his Nik at the same time, because he was angry with him and loved him very much. Not understanding what he wanted more, Kors ended up doing neither, he simply defiantly turned away, lay face down, burying his face in the pillow, and muttered:

“That’s all, leave me alone, Nik, I want to sleep.”

He “heard” how Nik internally went out of indignation, from the fact that Kors first began to bring him to emotions and reproach, and then he himself abruptly closed the topic. But Nik coped with indignation and did not continue to sort things out, but simply lay down next to him, turning away and covering himself with a blanket over his head.

So they lay, silent and offended at each other, until they finally fell asleep, and, waking up in the morning, began to prepare for their departure from the Estate.

Chapter 19

Kors spent most of the day preparing for the departure. Without changing his habit of doing everything carefully, he spent a lot of time personally checking the carts with trophies, knowing full well that he was unlikely to need all this goodness, and by and large he didn’t need it, because he was a Demon. He was with Nik and Arel, and there was no point in decorating his mansion with luxurious furniture and gold utensils. Kors won’t return there and won’t live there. The past head of the King’s Security Service is gone forever. But Kors, with some inexplicable stubbornness, continued to count and double-check everything, tormenting and tiring Parky and Adrian with endless orders.

When in the evening Kors finally returned to the room, he saw that Verniy had already laid the table for dinner. Nik hadn’t been there yet, but Arel obviously didn’t bother himself too much, and, judging by the pile of gnawed bones on his plate, he was the first to arrive long ago and had already managed to satisfy his hunger. Wearing black leather pants and a white unbuttoned shirt, he sat on the bed, holding a cigarette in his hand. Seeing Kors entering, Arel lowered his cigarette-free hand, raised above the head of Valentine, who was huddled at his feet. Kors realized that alone, the prince amused himself, as usually, by beating his younger brother. But Arel, for some reason, didn’t continue his execution before the eyes of Kors, and despite the fact that Valentine couldn’t see anything in front of him because of the restrictive strip on his eyes, he realized with some inner instinct that his owner was no longer going to beat him. Having relaxed a little, he immediately got on all fours next to the bed as usual.

Kors, without saying a word to the prince, took off his gloves and went into the bathroom, carefully washed his hands, fingers studded with rings, and only then sat down at the table. He was hungry and ate fried quail with pleasure, only from time to time glancing skeptically at Arel lying on the bed, who poured himself some wine, and at his unfortunate slave, diligently depicting furniture.

There were no clothes on Valentine. The skin on his arms, legs and protruding ribs was black and green from numerous hematomas, leather belts crashed into his thin body. They were connected to each other with metal rings and numerous fasteners. The belts were richly decorated with shiny spikes and padlocks.

“Prince Arel, are you making a horse out of Valentine?” Kors grimaced, finally finishing his dinner. “Why did you decorate the boy with a harness? To make him look like your Beauty?

Arel laughed shortly and, as usual, imposingly stretched out:

“Yeees…”

“Royal blood flows in him,” Kors remarked accusingly, “you can’t treat him like that — turn him into a table, into a horse! You constantly beat him for no reason, there is no living place on him, look! He is very thin, with ribs sticking out, stomach sunken. Do you feed him at least a little?”

“I do,” said Arel.

“How? With leftovers from our table? Prince, you can’t do it! Valentine is half true black. He looks more like your father than you do. Or rather, you don’t look like Chester at all. And his mother, this girl, although she was a slave, was a pure-blooded black, and probably still virgin and innocent. If you compare all the facts of his birth, damn it, he is more noble than my Nik!”

“He is a slave,” Arel snapped harshly.

“That’s not how it’s done, prince! You had to either get rid of him right away, or, if it turned out so that you left him, act within the rules. And according to the law on the purity of blood, Valentine is supposed to have a better attitude. You have no right to humiliate a true black like that!”

“I do what I want,” said Arel.

To this, Kors merely shook his head and, flashing his cigarette case, lit a cigarette.

“Kors, you yourself suggested cutting off his nose and rubbing it with black paint, do you think this is the best attitude within the rules?” Arel asked slyly, and Kors choked on the smoke from his cigarette.

“Damn, I was just joking! You don’t understand jokes at all, you stupid handsome prince!”

“Ahhh, well, yeah,” Arel agreed.

Kors decided to change the subject.

“Arel, tell me what it’s like to be the last descendant of a royal family! I know that after the death of his eldest sons, Chester, with maniacal persistence, tried to leave an heir to the last.”

To Kors’ dismay, Arel only yawned in boredom, not experiencing any emotional outburst at the mention of his father:

“By the time I was born, my father didn’t give a shit about anything for a long time,” he replied indifferently, continuing to lie relaxed on the blanket of northern fox fur.

Arel was well aware that Kors was asking him about his family simply because he had nothing to do and wanted to entertain himself with one of his favorite activities — “interrogation”.

“You were born in the second ten heirs, I think so, right, prince?”

Stretching out his hand a little, Arel lazily fiddled with Valentine’s braid in his fingers, sticking out between the lacing of his helmet. Valentin froze, standing on all fours, afraid to make the slightest movement.

“I’m at the end of the third ten,” said Arel.

“What?” Kors didn’t understand.

“I’m the twenty-sixth.”

“Oh Gods! Arel! I’m sorry for you! And what about Vil? He is the illegitimate son of Chester, but born of a noble lady. Not royal, but good blood.”

“Vil is a couple of months older than me,” Arel said.

“Then it turns out that you are not the twenty-sixth, but the twenty-seventh, and not the last, because the last is Valentine.”

“Vil and Valentine don’t count,” Arel disagreed.

“Yes, your ancestors, observing the purity of blood and entering into closely related marriages, dug their own grave with their own hands,” Kors continued his reasoning, “and even if they had not been defeated in the struggle for the throne, your family would have died from degeneration anyway. And no riots were needed. Endless closely related marriages, when brothers married their own sisters, the complete absence of even not so noble, but fresh blood, and as a result, you can thank them for the madness and epileptic seizures that you inherited.”

Arel just shrugged his shoulders, he didn’t care, but Kors didn’t give up:

“Prince, I can’t get this badge around your neck out of my head…” he began, confident that this would definitely touch Arel and make him feel strong emotions, but at that moment the door opened and Nik entered the room.

Seeing him, Kors for a moment forgot what he had just said, and even Arel let go of Valentine’s braid and half rose on the bed. Because Nik was wearing a chic long cloak, trimmed with wide stripes of bear fur. A magnificent bear collar fell down on the chest, thick fur flowed down the hem. For Nik, the cloak was too long, and therefore the hem decorated with precious fur simply dragged behind him, sweeping the floor. But Nik himself looked very pleased and, seeing how both Kors and Arel looked at him, he realized that they appreciated his new clothing.

“Arel, you gave me that cloak then, didn’t you?” Just in case, he clarified.

“Yes, yes,” Arel answered hurriedly, and Kors was ready to swear, he felt that the prince could hardly restrain his laughter.

“Well, now, finally, I can put it on,” Nik said happily, “it’s not as hot in the Black City as it is here, Arel, and this bear cloak will be just right.”

“It’s already cold in the Black City now,” Arel agreed.

“Yes!” Nik was even happier. “That is great!”

“Where did you dig it up from?” Kors asked, unable to suppress a smile. In this cloak, Nik looked very solid and funny at the same time.

“This is the cloak of Arel’s father, Ch… Chester, I noticed it a long time ago,” Nik answered. He stood in front of them even with some pride, and in fact, despite all his outright pathos, this bear cloak really suited him.

“Are my clothes not enough for you?” Kors noted. “Why do you need such a heavy and warm cloak if you don’t feel the cold anyway?”

Nik immediately pouted his lips and sat down on a chair with a displeased look, wrapping himself in a cloak so that the bear collar hid his chin, and looked at Kors reproachfully:

“And now what? Should I go naked? Why are you always talking so hurtfully?!”

“Gods, what have I said?”

“I don’t know… but you know how to do it!” Nik turned away.

And Kors, smiling slightly, looked at Arel:

“Prince Arel, you have given Nik a present, but what about me?” He tried to put notes of resentment into his intonation. “Maybe you can give me some present too?!”

Arel looked at him in surprise, not understanding whether Kors was joking or asking seriously:

“And what should I give you?”

“What you want! I’m not asking for anything special or expensive, a simple gift is enough for me, as a sign of respect from you,” said Kors. He lifted the goblet of wine he held in his hand. “For example, this goblet!”

But Kors was cunning, the goblet was clearly not simple. Made of thick frosted glass, decorated with a bas-relief of grape tassels, with a heavy gold stem, the goblet was truly a real work of art. A man-made miracle created by experienced craftsmen. Moreover, depending on whether wine was poured into it or not, and how long it was held in hands or touched to the edge with warm lips, the goblet changed its color. The glass was of a pale green hue when the goblet was empty, and turned maroon red when it was filled and warmed by the owner’s hand. And now, in Kors’ hand, it shimmered golden-orange.

“Goblet?” Arel asked. “Well, take it if you want!”

Kors smiled contentedly.

“This cup, like the cloak, also belonged to your father before?”

“No,” Arel shook his head negatively, “it is more ancient. It was used by priests during some holidays dedicated to fertility. I don’t remember… but I remember that my father never touched it and never drank from it just like that, only on the Harvest Festival all family members took turns taking a sip from it. I was a child, but they also let me sip from it.”

“Why does glass change color from green to purple?” Kors asked, fiddling with the gift and obviously admiring it.

Arel looked somewhat bewildered at the table, where apples and bunches of black grapes lay on a dish:

“It seems… this symbolizes the ripening of grapes…”

Kors admired his cup now:

“Thank you, Prince Arel.

“You are welcome, I’m not greedy,” Arel smiled a little condescendingly.

“And for me it is valuable,” said Kors, “as well as the fact that Nik accepted and wears my gift,” he looked at Nik and at the chain that gleamed on his cheek.

Kors thought with pleasure that no matter how angry Nik was with him, annoyed, down-hearted or offended, he still continued to wear the chain put on by Kors and didn’t take it off. He didn’t even think about doing it. Nik probably didn’t realize how important this was to Kors, and how it turned him on every minute Kors looked at his Nik and saw the chain hanging down when Nik tilted his head, or slapped him on his face with his sudden movements. Nik didn’t seem to notice these inconveniences and the fact that the chain obscured the edge of his lips. Sometimes it obviously interfered with him, and then he himself held it with his hand, slightly shifting it to the side, but he never said anything to Kors about this and didn’t take off the jewelry.

“Nik, do you like wearing my chain?”

“Here it’s starting again…” Nik drawled. “I said yes.” He pulled his cloak tighter, pulling the collar all the way up to his nose.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yes. Vitor, I had a chain from the nostril to the ear before you, I often put it on, Arel will confirm it for you. I’m used to it. Everything is fine. If you want, give me a second one.”

“N-n-no…”

“You can hang it not on the other side of my face, but next to this chain. Insert the second ring into my nostril and attach the chain to the other hole in my ear. Do you want me to return the nose ring? Will you attach the chain to it?”

“Then it will be inconvenient for me to kiss you, it will interfere. Don’t say it, Nik, please don’t seduce me, don’t provoke me!”

“You can do whatever you want with my appearance,” Nik said, “I’m yours. You shouldn’t have broken your blue stone ring, I really liked it. I love being yours.”

Kors couldn’t find suitable words from the emotions that swept over him.

And Nik carefully and somehow stubbornly looked at him. Now the soft evening light from the half-open shutters fell directly on his eyes, illuminating them and making them even brighter and more transparent, gray-blue. Kors saw that his right eye, no longer covered by bangs, was not squinting to the side so strongly.

“Nik…my boy…I really appreciate your words. Should I cover the shutters? Does the light bother you?”

“No,” Nik shook his head, “I began to see better. And my eye is recovering. Thank you for your treatment, daddy-sir.”

“You have unbelievably beautiful eyes!” Kors couldn't stop staring at him, his stomach aching sweetly. “No, light eyes are still more beautiful than brown ones.”

“And I like the ones like yours,” Nik disagreed, “your eyes are more beautiful.”

Kors looked at his reflection in the mirror: his face was swollen, there was a purple bruise on his lower jaw, and under his eye, too, which made his eyes, so beautiful, according to Nik’s eyes, look squinted because of swelling:

“Yeah…” unable to resist, he sighed sadly and immediately felt Nik shrink inside. Kors looked up at him in surprise. Nik’s expression was slightly ashamed, embarrassed, he completely buried his nose in the collar.

“He is ashamed! Kors understood. “He is ashamed of himself for beating me and smashing my face!”

It cheered him up and made him a little happy. Kors turned to Prince Arel lying on the bed:

“Arel, give me your dye, please!”

“Why do you need it?” Arel asked, and at the same time there was neither surprise nor interest in his voice.

“I want to dye my face. We’re going back to the Black City, how am I going to get there with a face like that?”

“Vitor, is it because of Zagpeace?” Nik was surprised. “Are you afraid to disobey the order of true blacks?”

“Of course not! I didn’t care about their punishment! I just want to cover up the bruises. I don’t want to be seen with bruises, it’s shameful.”

And Nik cringed again.

“But you’re a master,” he remarked cautiously, “masters shouldn’t paint their faces, it’s even more shameful than bruises, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but now I am with you, along with the disgraced prince Arel, and I will paint my face as one of the prince’s people, as a sign of solidarity with him and belonging to your team.”

But Arel, who had been so relaxed before, suddenly sat up abruptly on the bed and said:

“You’re not in my team, Vitor.”

“What?” Kors was surprised.

“You are not from my team,” Arel repeated, “I didn’t accept you into the team, and you didn’t pass the initiation.”

Kors was even taken aback:

“Well, take me into the team! What is the problem? Or am I not worthy of being in the team, but simply speaking, in the gang of Prince Arel?”

“We have always voted before accepting a new team member.”

Kors rolled his eyes.

“I am in charge of my team, and the final decision remains with me,” Arel continued, ignoring the mocking expression on Kors’ face. “But to make everything fair, I always gave everyone the right to vote and took into account the interests of my team members. If the majority was in favour, the newcomer had to be initiated and volunteer to become my slave. I myself decided where I would put my brand and what size it would be.”

“Holy shit, how many conditions!” Kors was indignant. “What the heck! I’m ready for anything, I’ve been your slave for so long!”

“You are not my slave. Nik just gave you to me for a while as a gift.”

“I don’t see much difference.”

“You know, Vitor, how I treat my slaves, aren’t you afraid?” Arel looked at him, narrowing his eyes cunningly.

“No! After everything that has already happened to me, I’m not afraid of anything!”

“A member of my team must carry out my orders and tasks,” Arel continued, “whatever I order. What if I order you to go and collect money from the townspeople in my street?”

“I’ll do it! And I bet I can do it just as good as Nik. When they see me, they will be even more scared!”

“Do you agree to be mine, to obey me? Do you want to be a member of my team? Think again carefully so you don’t regret it later!”

“What are you saying to me?” Kors shouted. “I agree to all your terms, what should I do now?”

“First, we must vote whether to accept you at all or not,” said Arel, “since now only I, Nik and Tol are here from my team, then two votes in your favor will be enough. I’m not against you, Vitor. I vote yes, I’m in favor of having you in the team. Nik?”

“I’m also for daddy in our team!” Nik snapped back. He finally threw off his heavy bear cloak from his shoulders, and, going up to Arel, sat down next to him on the bed, watching with obvious interest what was happening.

“So, it makes no sense to call Tol,” Arel summed up, “in any case, there will be two votes against one.”

“I’m sure Tol would be in favor too,” Nik put in.

“Yes, I think so too,” Arel agreed. “Vitor Kors, we want to see you in our team and voted for you unanimously.”

Kors barely suppressed a condescending grin.

“Thank you, prince.”

“Now you must follow my orders. It will be your initiation, and if you pass it, you will remain in the team,” said Arel.

“Well?” Kors, slightly smiling, looked at such a serious Arel without any respect, although he himself asked to be a part of his team. “Everything is so difficult for you, it turns out. Frankly, I didn’t expect such complex actions from you, Prince Arel. What task do I have to complete? I even became interested.”

Arel turned to Nik, who was sitting next to him:

“Nik, tell Verniy to bring someone who gets caught first.”

“Well,” Nik said readily.

Arel kicked Valentine:

“Get under the bed and don’t make a sound!”

Valentine hurriedly lay face down on the floor, crawled under their bed and lay still there.

Verniy appeared very quickly, and under the elbow he led the slave girl. She was wearing a leather muzzle, and in her hands was a large wicker basket.

“Here,” Verniy reported, “she was walking along the corridor. Will she fit?”

“Yes,” Arel nodded.

Leaving the girl in the room, Verniy left. The slave girl stood where he had left her, clutching the basket with both hands, lowering her eyes to the floor and not moving.

“I can already guess what I will have to do,” Kors drawled somewhat disappointedly. “Everything is very predictable. So what? Should I fuck her? I don’t want to, of course, but I’ll try.” Kors approached the slave, looking at her thoughtfully. Walking around, he took the girl by the long black braid, decorated with multi-colored beads woven into it:

“Hmm…” he said and, letting go of the girl’s braid, wrinkled his nose, “she stinks so hard, Arel, can I make her wash at least?”

“You don’t have to fuck her,” Arel replied.

“Seriously? What a twist! What should I do with her then?”

“Kill.”

“Kill?! Oh!”

“You must kill her,” Arel repeated, “right now.”

Kors shrugged.

“Okay. Fine. How?”

“As you wish.”

Without specifying anything else, Kors again approached the girl, who absolutely didn’t react to what was happening, being in some kind of stupor and at the same time reverently delighted that the higher ones turned their attention to her. She didn’t seem to hear what they were talking about at all. Her emotions now reminded Kors very much of those of a blue janitor slave in the Limit. Everything was the same: fear and euphoria.

Kors pulled the basket.

“Let’s put it aside so that it doesn’t get in the way,” he said affectionately. The girl limply unclenched her fingers, and Kors pulled the burden from her hands. He placed the basket on the floor, kicking it sharply to the side and at the same time grabbing the slave girl with both hands by the throat just above the slave collar. His face became tense and his mouth twisted a little, but not from emotions, but rather from physical effort. There was a distinct crunch of breaking cervical vertebrae. In an instant, everything was over, and the lifeless body of a girl with an unnaturally twisted neck fell to the floor like a bag, the poor thing did not even try to show at least some resistance.

Kors looked at Nik and Arel, and the way they looked at him seemed strange to him.

“What?” Kors didn’t understand their views. “I couldn’t do it this way? It had to be a knife? I just didn’t want to make dirt in the room!”

“Well… actually, she might have wet herself,” Nik pointed out.

“She might have wet herself anyway, even just from the delight of being brought before her masters,” Kors protested. He walked over to the table, and tearing a large juicy grape from a bunch, twisted it in his fingers, as if examining whether it was good enough. Finally, bringing it to his mouth, he squeezed the berry with his teeth, biting and feeling the sweet juicy pulp in his mouth with pleasure.

“You are in the team,” Arel said in a dull voice.

And Kors smiled smugly:

“Arel, did you come up with this initiation when you were thirteen? It seemed to you to be the most terriblething in the world?”

Arel was silent and embarrassed, and Kors shook his head condescendingly:

“You, in fact, are children — just as thoughtless and cruel as they are. Your mental development stopped somewhere in adolescence, and you are stuck there. If you take away all the cunning nature of the Demon from Nik, there will be an orphan human who, because of difficult living conditions, went headlong. Inadequate and dumb as a tree, to such an extent that he is absolutely unable to analyze and realize the consequences of his rash actions, and because of that he endlessly gets into trouble. Because everything somehow happened by itself! Forgive me, Nik, for this bitter truth.”

“Anal… analyze…” Nik tried to repeat, and, realizing that he was getting something wrong, he laughed.

Kors nodded.

“Yes, yes, that's right, Nik, everything is ass-backwards with you.”

Kors looked at Arel.

“You, Prince Arel, are mentally ill, and besides, you are terribly lazy, although, in fact, not bad. And stupid too. But, to give you credit, Arel, you knew how to select people. It takes a certain talent to assemble a team consisting of a corrupt pedophile investigator, a murderous March, a military traitor and a criminal from the Limit of the unclean ones without a name and documents.”

Arel remained silent, and without waiting for an answer from him, Kors asked:

“Tell me, did it happen that one of your friends couldn’t pass this test?”

“Yes.”

“Who?!” Kors was genuinely surprised.

“Vil.”

“Your half-brother?”

Ariel nodded dejectedly.

“That’s right, your father had sons resembling assholes! The elders couldn’t win the throne and disappeared. You are insane. Vil is weak. AndValentine is just unfinished. Chester gave birth to so many sons, and all useless!” Kors looked at Nik, who was sitting next to Arel.

“Did Nik kill the slave girl too? But, probably, before that he fucked her?”

And, seeing how his son’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, Kors laughed:

“Why do I know you so well? Maybe because you are primitive?”

“You have passed the initiation,” said Arel, “the last thing left is to become my slave. Do you agree?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Kors replied, “put a brand on me and let’s get this over with it, honestly, I’m tired of it.”

At that moment, Verniy jumped into the room like a shadow, and, grabbing the dead slave under the armpit, quickly dragged her out of the room. The unclean dog growled carnivorously under his helmet, apparently unable to contain the anticipation of the upcoming meal. Kors turned away in disgust. He looked at the abandoned basket, inside it:

“Here’s my shirt! Fuck! It was the laundress! And who will wash our clothes now?”

“Vitor, I want to put my brand next to Nik’s,” said Arel.

“What? Ah yes, great!” And Kors began to take off his jacket. He stripped to the waist and raised his left arm, revealing a small tattoo just below his armpit, a black swirling monogram — the mark of a Demon’s slave. Nik readily took out his tools and tattooed Kors. It was the silhouette of an eagle with outstretched wings, small and rather sketchy, but still recognizable, the seal of Prince Arel. The sign was located just below the snake’s tail twisted into a spiral.

When Nik finished, Kors bowed his head and looked at the side of his body, then lowered his hand. When his hand was lowered down, it obscured the brands, and they were not visible.

“Now I have seals on me, as on an important document,” Kors smiled bitterly.

“You are the most important,” Nik nodded, “that’s right.”

“You are in the team,” Arel said, “you can dye your face like mine if you want,” and Arel took out paints from his bag and handed them to Kors. Kors took them.

“Congratulations, dad!” Nik smiled at him. “You are now on the team with us!”

“And of course, let’s drink to that, shall we, Nik?” Kors shook his head. He didn’t understand why he needed to become one of the members of the gang of the disgraced prince, but for some reason he didn’t regret anything, feeling some kind of courage, and this frightened him a little.

“Hmm… yes!” Nik agreed, not reacting to some mockery in Kors’ intonation. “Let’s drink to that!”

Arel poured wine for everyone, and they clinked glasses:

“For a new member in our team!” Arel said.

And Nik, having drained his goblet in a couple of sips, joyfully hugged Kors, wrapping his arms around him, so that Kors almost spilled his wine:

“Oh! Nik, honey, be careful!”

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

“You are really children, after all,” Kors smiled sadly.

“Yes, I’m a thoughtless boy in this body, you said it yourself,” Nik continued to smile, “Am I your kitten? Well, daddy, am I your kitten?”

Kors sighed.

“You are my favorite kitten. Paint me then beautifully, as you can.”

And Nick got even happier. And while they were busy, Prince Arel pulled his Valentine out from under the bed and began to amuse himself by taking an open bottle of wine and, putting its neck under the lower shield of Valentine’s helmet, pouring alcohol into his mouth, forcing him to drink and watching with a laugh the way Valentine took convulsive gulps, coughing and trying not to choke.

It was early in the morning, just before dawn, and Kors, as always, was lying on the bed between his boys, but he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t stop remembering and revisiting in his thoughts over and over again that ill-fated evening in the Fort, when Zagpeace Gezaria and Kamiel Varakh had deceived him. Did Nik know about this deception? He must have known everything.

Stunned by the news of the death of his former, but once very close friend, Kors returns to the room with the bear on the wall. Nik and Arel are hugging on the bed, but when they see him, they immediately move apart, making room for Kors to lie between them, and now he also lies between them.

“Where did you run to?” Nik asks him. His expression is completely normal, cute, as in most cases. He tilts his head strongly to one side to his shoulder and looks at Kors with his bright transparent eyes a little inquiringly. “A lying creature, because he knows and understands everything perfectly!” Kors thinks. At that moment, he decided that Nik knew that Varakh had died, and asked Kors just for the sake of decency, but it turns out that Nik knew something completely different.

“Varakh is dead,” Kors answers him.

“My condolences. Rest in peace…”

“No need to say it!” Kors remembered how he shouted it, already at that moment he felt falseness and lies.

“Why are you screaming like that? Did I say something wrong again?”

“No, that’s right, I’m sorry…”

“There were many such situations in my life, I know what words to say.”

“Shut up, please don’t talk…” Kors asks him wearily.

Nik knew everything. He knew that Varakh hadn’t died, he knew that Kors had been deceived. But he didn’t explain anything to him, didn’t console him, didn’t reveal the truth, in fact, he treated Kors no less cruelly than Zagpeace. Why didn’t Nik say anything? Did he want Kors to end up figuring things out on his own? Kors couldn’t find an answer to his question, and now it was pointless to get into Nik’s head, into his thoughts and memories. The demon wouldn’t let Kors read them, wouldn’t let him know what he really thought at that moment. He couldn’t even try, Nik would hear and block him. But Kors can now “listen”to Varakh. Listen and find out what happened more than twenty years ago on that forest road. Kors was scared. Is this truth worth knowing? He has learned a lot lately, but has it made him happier? Maybe it’sbetter not to know? “No, no, you need to cast aside cowardice and find out the truth to the end, whatever it may be!” Gathering his courage, Kors clearly set a specific goal for himself, as Nik taught him. Mentally, he indicated his intention: “I want to see Varakh. I want to see what happened to him on that forest road. I’m ready to see it!” He focused…

Chapter 20

Oh! For a moment Kors even felt dizzy from the tension, he had never “watched” the events of the past unfolding at such a speed.

Twilight.

The horse is running at full speed.

Crazy ride. Crouching in the saddle and constantly urging his horse on, young Kamiel Varakh is chasing the red thief. The forest road winds under the shadow of huge fir trees. The rider is skidded on sharp turns, and mangy fir tree paws are trying to hit him in the face. The horse rushes at full speed, ears flattened, but Varakh, bending strongly to his neck, only urges him on more intensively. Kors feels as if he himself is now experiencing all the feelings of Varakh, he himself is chasing the enemy, his heart is pounding furiously in his chest. He catches up with the red one, knocks him out of the saddle.

“Oh, Gods, be careful, Varakh!”

The red warrior falls to the ground, but, quickly crouching, immediately jumps back to his feet. With one movement, he throws the wicker knapsack that was hanging on his chest over his head and tosses it aside. It seems to Kors that he will now stop breathing from what he sees, because he understands that his newborn boy is in this knapsack. Fortunately, there are thick bushes growing along the side of the road, and the bag falls on the branches, which soften the blow. In the dim light of the rising moon, the red one and Varakh meet in a fierce duel. Kors sees the gleam of their swords. Varakh fights like it is his own baby. He is a true friend, and Kors’ misfortune is his misfortune. Kors’ goal is his goal. The red warrior falls to the ground, and furious Varakh is chopping up the already lifeless body for some more time. Finally, leaving the dead enemy, he runs up to the place where the knapsack was thrown. He grabs it, but before mounting his horse, he stops on a more lighted stretch of road, lowers himself to the ground and carefully takes the baby out from the bag. Kors sees the child in the pale moonlight, wrapped in a rag.

Varakh gently unfolds the baby, realizes that it is a boy, and sees that Inness’ chain glittering around his neck, on which she strung her wedding ring. The chain is wrapped around the baby’s neck twice. Kors recognizes both the decoration and the ring. Without a doubt, these are his wife’s belongings. Not only that, he also recognizes Nik, despite the fact that his little childish head has rather dark hair, not at all as white as it is now, rather dark blond. Nik has neat, slightly pointed ears, like the ones of the whites, and such a pretty face! He is no more than a day old, but Kors sees his plump lips folded like a bow. These are the lips of his boy, he recognizes them from a million. Nik is his son! But he is not breathing, his eyes with long eyelashes are closed, his face is deathly pale. Maybe it’s the light of the moon? Unfortunately no. Varakh lets out some kind of inhuman howl of despair, turning into a sob, puts the child on a rag, bends over him, begins to put pressure on his chest, blows into his mouth. All in vain, the child is dead. But Varakh tries for a long time to revive the lifeless body.

Finally, having lost all hope, he hugs the dead baby, tears in his eyes. Varakh sits, swaying from side to side, and weeps bitterly. He has no idea how he will tell Kors about this. But Kors feels that his friend doesn’t even think of leaving the child in the forest, and, be that as it may, he is going to bring him to Kors, who at this very moment is sobbing inconsolably over the grave of Inness that he dug out. Varakh knows that he will increase his friend’s grief, but he doesn’t even think of lying, and now Kors doesn’t understand why this didn’t happen in the end and Varakh lied. He doesn’t understand… The crackling of breaking branches makes Varakh distract himself from his grief. The horses take off and run away with a wild neighing, and Varakh freezes in horror, because something is moving towards him from the darkness of the thicket. Something nasty, large, black, with an elongatedreptilian muzzle and a serpent’s tail goes over many long spider legs moves with on the sides of the flexible scaly body, creeps, writhing and hissing, and sticks out a long and thin forked tongue. With a trembling hand, Varakh tries to grab the sword, but it falls out of his suddenly numb fingers. Varakh can’t move, and suddenly he clearly hears an order in his head:

“Give me the baby!”

Varakh, with the last of his strength, presses the baby to his chest, but the monster approaches him.

“Give me the baby!”

And Varakh, closing his eyes in fear and trying not to look at the monster, obeying, slowly puts the son of Kors onto the ground. The front spider legs gently lift the baby, surrounding it with a tenacious cocoon. Turning around, with incredible speed, only flashing black scales, a terrible creature is hiding in the darkness of the forest. And Varakh remains seated. Finally he gets to his feet, pale, staggering like a drunk, and walks along the road, trying in vain to look for his horse. He would return to the garrison and tell Kors nothing, keeping what had happened to him on that damned forest road as a terrible secret that no one needed to know about. The secret that the son of Kors died, and he was carried away by a monster from the underworld itself.

“So that’s why you didn’t believe that Nik was my son! That’s what you knew, Varakh!”

Covered in cold sweat, Kors sat up in bed with a jerk. With some kind of horror, he looked at Nik, at his boy. And he, as if sensing his wild look, woke up and opened his eyes. He lay on his side and silently looked at Kors. Just looked.

“My son is dead,” Kors said in a dull voice, looking into his eyes, into the bright false eyes, “I saw you take the dead child from Varakh.”

“No,” Nik sat up in bed.

“If not, I want to talk to my son,” said Kors, “get out of his body now, let us talk.”

Nik quickly ran his hand over his face, brushing back his tousled hair.

“I am your son, talk to me.”

Kors shook his head in denial.

“You are a demon.”

And Nik seemed to be worried:

“Am I not your son? You are my Demon Daddy, you are above me in the hierarchy! Well?”

“Please let the human go…” Kors asked tiredly again, “I need to talk to him.”

Annoyance appeared on Nik’s face.

“Vitor, I recognize that look of yours. I don’t like that look of yours when you stare at me like I’m a piece of shit. Have you fallen out of love with me again? Eh? You told me that I was your favorite kitten, that you would never stop loving me!” Nik raised his voice in annoyance. “Why are you cutting the kitten into pieces now?! Why did you divide him into a human and a Demon? You are shredding him into separate pieces! You are ripping off my skin and dig into the insides! I’m in pain! Love cannot be cut into pieces!”

“I’m not tearing you in half!” Kors shouted back as well. “I love this symbiosis of human and Demon! It is you who constantly tear my heart to pieces with your lies!”

Nik closed his eyes and hit himself on the head with his fists several times.

Kors didn’t stop him. Before, he always stopped Nik when he started hitting himself on the top of his head, but now he just watched indifferently and waited for him to stop.

Nik lowered his hands, relaxed his nervously clenched fists, and looked at Kors in confusion.

“Why don’t you want to let me talk to my human son?” Kors’ voice was cold as ice.

Nik dropped his shoulders.

“And what about those words of yours, Vitor? You yourself told me: ‘…you add fire to a beautiful appearance… an ideal combination… external andinternal complement each other… when a person and a Demon are not separately, but together, you become whole, become a person!’ And what was that? Again your empty chatter? Well, daddy, if now you don’t want to perceive me as… as a person, as a whole, so be it…” Nik looked up at Kors, eyes full of expectation and hope:

“Why do you need a human? I love you!”

“Enough!” Kors yelled so loudly that he woke Arel up, who jumped up on the bed and stared at them incomprehension. But Kors didn’t care about Arel right now, he only looked at Nik:

“Demon, stop lying and fooling me, hiding behind love! Just let the human go! What are you afraid of?!”

“I’m not afraid of anything! I am him!”

“N-o-o-o! You are not him at all! My son was dead!”

“Well, if someone dies, can’t you continue to love him?”

But Kors didn’t listen to him anymore:

“Let the human go! I want to ask my son how he survived! Let HIM tell me the truth, I don’t believe YOU anymore! Gods! You… you and the witch resurrected him with Black Water! That’s why you always need it! His body lives only thanks to this hard stimulation. What did you turn him into? You made him a walking corpse!” Kors roughly pushed Arelaway, jumped out of bed and began hastily dressing.

“Where are you going?” Nik asked suspiciously.

“Anywhere! Only not to lie in bed with my dead son!”

“No! Thanks to me, he’s alive!” Nik shook his shaggy head and squeezed his temples with his palms.

“Thanks to you, he moves a little! But if you leave him, he will die!”

Kors paced the room nervously from corner to corner.

“That’s why he’s mentally retarded! Not developed, barely walks, sees and speaks poorly. Falls constantly into a state of stupor, sits without moving, and is silent. He told me, ‘I don’t exist. I am nobody. I died’. He told it to me! And I didn’t attach any importance to these words! That’s why you don’t feel cold in his body, you don’t feel hunger, food is tasteless for you. And the world comes alive a little only in the dark!”

“No, that's not because of it!”

“My son! Gods! I saw my little boy there, with the witch, in the dark crypt, with his hands tied, as they bind the dead! The living dead, he was digging the ground… my poor son… you didn’t even give him a name! I have understood everything! I understand why you smell like death! It’s the sweetish smell of grave decay… the smell of decay!”

“You don’t understand anything!” Nik exclaimedalready with obvious anger, watching Kors rushing around the room, getting ready, grabbing his things, fastening his iron stick to the belt. “You only think that you understand everything, daddy, but in fact you always have your favorite garbage in your head!”

Kors paused for a moment.

“No, Demon, I have understood everything! And, damn it, I realized this even when I first saw you at the interrogation! I thought you were the Demon in the body of my dead son! Therefore, I began to avenge him without pity! And I was right! My intuition did not fail me at that moment! I! Was! Right!”

“But you yourself later communicated only with my human part many times! He talked to you, played chess and cards. Did you play with the dead?!”

“You confuse me because you keep him alive a little for your own purposes!” Kors approached the bed from Nik’s side, hovering over him and looking down with a challenge, and Nik lowered his eyes, staring at the bedspread, and was silent. “Well? Why are you keeping silent?!” Kors shouted indignantly. “You have nothing to say? And I, a fool, reproached myself so much for this spring ball, for punishing you so, for exposing you to ridicule! I did everything right! It serves you! Deceiver!”

Nik didn’t answer, just gave Kors a quick, wolfish glare and twisted his lips in an evil, nasty grin.

And in the head of Kors, the memory of his campaign with the unclean ones under the mountains to the Ore Town suddenly flashed very clearly. The way they swam across the lake and then made a halt in a cold cave with lilac stone flowers. Kors then asked Nik for a long time about his life, and, as it seemed to him, he learned a lot.

Karina told me that you grant wishes. And I believe in it. You know, I haven’t asked you to do mine yet.

“And?”

“Nik… when you complete all your Missions here and turn this world upside down, and this will happen soon, because in the West you have already changed everything. There is no more Western limit of the unclean, and the Farm is in complete decline… Lis will now change everything in the East, and only the Black City will remain. When you leave and take me and Arelwith you, let the human go. I want to help him, really. I don’t blame you for your cruelty to him, I understand that you are both bound against your will. Restore him the same way as Lis, and send him upstairs to his Rosa.”

“Do you also believe, like Karina, that she is sitting at the Portal and waiting for him?”

“Yes. For some reason I believe in it. After all, I myself loved Inness for many years. Only I had no hope, but Rosa does. Let him go to her.”

“If I do everything here as I was ordered, I will let him go. I don’t wish him harm, I will restore his body and let him go. I don’t make people slaves without their consent, as you do. Mara made him a Demons’ Slave, and I was simply ordered to be in this body, that’s all.”

“Will you let him go? Or are you saying you can let him go?”

“I'll let him go.”

“Thank you!”

“Deceiver! Pretender!” Kors began to furiously throw things from the bedside table, on which boxes of Nik’sand Arel’s cigarettes, a comb, several assorted glasses and bottles were placed. Everything flew to the floor. Kors approached the table and brushed his precious goblet off the tabletop, but to his surprise, Arel’s gift didn’t break. Unable to calm down, Kors kicked over the laundress’ basket and chair, continuing to destroy everything around, until Nik finally shouted:

“Vitor, stop it! What’s happening with you? Are you crazy?”

Breathing heavily, Kors turned to him.

“What’s happening with me?! What’s it, huh, Nik?!When I asked you, there in the cave, I asked you to fulfill my wish. You agreed! I asked that my human son be released when you have completed all your Missions here. You agreed. You said, ‘I’ll let him go.’ Already having bitter experience, I clarified: ‘Are you saying that you can let him go, or will you let him go?’

And you said, I’ll let him go.’

But there was a catch! You knew that without Black Water and your support, he wouldn’t live a day! You knew that, in fact, he is dead, and letting him go is just killing him! But you didn’t explain anything to me! You promised to grant my wish! And you always keep your promises! In my ignorance, I asked you to kill my son!”

“You have to be careful with what you wish for…”

“Especially when you ask the Demon! Yes?”

Nik was silent.

Kors grabbed a bottle of wine from the table, and, throwing it hard up, took several large sips at once right from the neck:

“I killed my son!”

“When you didn’t save your pregnant wife or when you made a wish?” Nik said and smiled.

“Are you kidding?!” Kors tossed the bottle at him. Made of thick glass, it withstood the impact, falling near the bed and rolling across the floor with a clang.

“It’s all because of you! Deceiver Demon!”

Nik leaned over a little and looked at the burgundy puddle of grape wine. It continued to flow from the heavy bottle lying on its side. Nik looked at Kors.

“Vitor, why are you so worried? Maybe it will be better for your son, because, according to you, he died a long time ago. Then he is tormented, as they say, huh?”

“You are a cheater! Deceiver!” Kors couldn’t stop.

“I didn’t lie to you! You motherfucker!” Nik hit the bedspread with clenched fists: “Remember before you make a drama! I said I would restore his body and let him go! Do you remember?”

Kors froze.

“But is it possible?”

“It is impossible for a human, but everything is possible for his Creator!”

“What?..”

Nik rose from the bed, awkwardly stepping on the spilled wine.

“I’m tired of your tantrums, Vitor! And you won’t go anywhere, I won’t let you go anywhere, whether you love me or not, it doesn’t matter! We’re leaving together. The Black City has been waiting for us for a long time.

Kors nodded sadly.

“Yes. I said this phrase to Varakh. I said these words to Varakh and left, having stopped looking for my son. I abandoned my son.”

“And now you’re throwing again!” Nik tried to get closer, but Kors stepped back quickly, trying to keep his distance.

“I’m not leaving him!” He retorted hastily. “I’m just tired of your endless moral oppression, your pretense and lies! I want to trust you, but you are never completely sincere! Why are you doing this to me? I’mtrying! Trying! What have you done?! Kors stopped screaming, tears in his eyes.

Nik shrugged indifferently.

With the hope of support, Kors turned his gaze to Arel, but the face of the prince was, as always, indifferent and impassive. He didn’t care about Kors suffering. They were not touched by his pain for his son. Kors looked into these seemingly human faces, and understood that there were not people in front of him.

“You soulless beings! You have no compassion for the pain of others,” he said in desperation. “Why are you torturing me like this? For what? Who you are? Where are you from? Answer me!”

Nik and Arel looked at each other, slightly smiling, and looked at such a sad Kors.

“We are rulers,” said Prince Arel, smiling.

But Nik shook his head, as if disagreeing with him, and added:

“We are slaves.”

“We are everywhere.”

“And we are nowhere…”

Оглавление

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20