Chapter 6

* * *

It was hard, and then harder, and by the end it was unbearable. But still, she made it, though her fingers were sluggish and scratchy by the end of the long climb, and her arms felt cotton and aching at every joint. Once she almost fell off and only by some miracle caught herself, hanging on like a tree-hugging monkey. She paused briefly a couple of times as she climbed, thinking aloof that she wouldn't have been recognized in the old hairdressing salon now. A dirty, swearing girl with disheveled, straw-colored hair. The simplification to the original state happened naturally and almost imperceptibly. That's all right when it was all over, then she could be a well-mannered and cultured lady again. In the meantime, Olga only strengthened herself in the idea that the old habits and reflexes here would be more useful than the skills of civilized city life.

We made it. This seems to be the way to write on the ruins of Berlin. Well, or rather, we crawled. I crawled. Olga lay on the concrete floor for a while, feeling too exhausted and tired even to sleep. Besides, she was freezing - there was an icy draught in the elevator shaft, which sucked the heat through the leather and tarpaulin like a leech.

Now there's another fucking hatch... God, what a bunch of assholes built this place.

Another hatch on a double hinge opened with a faint rustle. The thick "pancake," which looked like a triple-thick sewer cover, came away smoothly, heavily. A passage opened inside. It was dark and dusty behind the riveted round hole. But it seemed a little warmer. Olga gripped the hilt of the knife in the sheath from the magazine with duct tape tighter and climbed inside. She tried not to think about what might be waiting for her. And what if Kryp was wrong. Or she'd misinterpreted his scheme, sketched out with a trembling hand. Or ...

"Fuck," the girl repeated once more, squeezing through the narrow aisle and thinking that for fifteen real years and three attributed, it was all too harsh.

Exactly, a warehouse, just as painted. Olga had never seen anything like that in her life. Except in the Harry Potter movies mentioned earlier today. The room seemed enormous. No, even gigantic. It seemed so because both the sides and the ceiling were hidden in semi-darkness. "Semi," because there was some kind of light, though-some kind of fluorescent tube light fixtures, attached at regular intervals. Stuck on... Who the hell knows? Frames? Racks of infinite height?

Olga gritted her teeth and covered the hatch's heavy tab, leaving a small slit, glowing red. So that she could find her way back afterward. The girl hoped it would not be necessary and she would soon be rescued. But short experience with the locals had already shown that "shit happens" or something like that. Olga clutched herself into a ball behind something that looked like a toolbox about waist high. And tried to assess the disposition with a more rational and attentive eye.

A rational and attentive observation showed that the warehouse was even larger and higher than it first appeared. The draughts were in the aisles and howled overhead like in a cave. Racks of shelving occupied all the visible space, similar to the product racks in hypermarkets like Ikea. Except that most of the items on them were not boxes, but laboratory-looking glass vessels. Jars, flasks with intricately curved spouts, and bulky jugs. Some were empty, some with powders and crystals. Some sparkled with all sorts of liquids of unnaturally bright colors.

Most of the bottles, as far as Olga could see, were numbered, and the tags were not glued, but tied with string, like the prescriptions in the old pharmacies. Some of the bottles were even handwritten on the glass with felt-tip pens. Rows of these glass bottles stretched up and down as long as she could see. And, judging by the thick layer of dust, whatever alchemist had mixed his elixirs, he hadn't touched the warehouse in at least a couple of years. In the distance, something boomed, at regular intervals, like a big wheel turning a hammer. At any rate, that was Olga's first association - the measured twisting and rhythmic "boom-boom-boom" of something heavy.

It's all questionable... and dangerous. She wanted to sneeze and swear again. Olga could hardly keep herself from doing both. It was creepy. Not scary, but creepy, like being in a crypt. And cold, probably from the draughts.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Olga realized that the knocking was coming, booming closer and closer. And in the direction of the booms, a light flared up, a familiar bright light like the LED lights she was used to. The girl squirmed even more behind the box, feeling the coldness of the fluted tin. God, if only it were Kryp's friends... She ran her hand over the "zipper," feeling the heavy gold "credit card" in her closed pocket. Which to show, the plate or the badge on the chain? Probably the skull.

The boom, meanwhile, came closer, and now it was clear that it was really footsteps and some disproportionately heavy ones at that. It sounded like a diver rattling his leaden boots. Big Daddy from BioShock? That's what it sounds like, very similar, only without the rumbling. And not at all like the help one would expect. A bright light flickered in the dark corners, reflecting brightly on the hundreds of flasks. The girl squeezed the badge that hung around her neck, pulled slightly in indecision.

"Oh," she articulated silently, with only her lips.

The girl was used to being in a place where miracles lurked at every corner, only not miraculous, but scary and very crazy. But this was not what she had expected. Yes, they were really footsteps. And yes, there was really only one entity walking, very heavy in appearance. Other than that... It made her want to rub her eyes and wake up.

He stood about fifteen meters away, maybe even closer, separated from Olga by five or six rows of alchemical tables. Huge, like the room itself. Not just huge... Perhaps the most accurate word here is "cubic." An anthropomorphic-looking giant that seemed equally extended in height and width, and in-depth as well. He was about two and a half meters tall, or rather more, and seemed to be made of straight lines, angles, and geometrically regular circles of varying diameters. Armor, yes definitely armor, but somehow abnormal, unnatural. As if the wearer escaped straight from a Korean online game, where everything is exaggerated, oversized, to immediately reveal the level of the player. Giant boots extending to the feet, hypertrophied shoulder pads, cubic knapsack with nozzles behind. And ... yes, good lord, a real axe behind that satchel. The axe was just like a Viking's, only about the height of Olga, that is, six feet or so.

The helmet, which looked like the hoplite bucket from "Troy" with Brad Pitt, glowed with two green lights in place of the eye slits. It seemed very small in comparison to the other details. From the satchel behind his shoulders protruded a boom with three of the brightest lights, which rotated independently of one another like lighthouse lights. So that was who was sitting in the earthmoving wagon... Yes, a giant like that would have had a lot to do with that projectile. Maybe even more than one, if you put them in a line.

The giant stood for a long minute or two, almost motionless, with only the creaking and clicking of something inside the armor, as if the MMO knight had been wound up like a clock with a spring. And there was enough light, so Olga could see the stranger close enough, right down to the emblem on his right shoulder - two arrows in a circle. The spotlight above her helmet buzzed, spinning.

Olga pressed her lips into a tube and exhaled slowly, preparing to come out of her hiding spot.

And then everything happened very, very fast.

All three lights rotated, merging their blindingly white beams into one, and out of the half-light came... something. A jagged figure with a perfect Gigerian outline that crawled between the racks, spreading its arms and legs and grasping its hands. It was something long and multi-jointed. With claws that looked like both sickles and hooks. The Hulk stepped forward extending both arms, and the barrels extended with clang over his heavy gauntlets. A funnel-shaped nozzle on his left arm, something thick and perforated on his right.

The image was literally imprinted on the retina of Olga's eyes. Two figures, frozen for a tiny fraction of a second in the painfully bright white light. A man and a demon. And then another multi-fingered shadow condensed into the darkness above the titan's head. It leaped from somewhere above and swooped down like a hunter spider. A third ghoulish creature slid behind the giant's back, sprawled out at the very floor, clawing at the frequent fine grating. Olga opened her mouth, feeling a thin thread of saliva slide down her lip and chin.

The leaping demon broke the boom with the spotlights, grabbed all his limbs at once in the shoulder pads and the backpack. Here was where the giant surprised me. Before, it had moved with a kind of majestic slowness. Now... Olga didn't even realize what the attacked rescuer had done, so fast it all happened. He waved his arms, and in the next instant, the spider-like monster from Giger's albums was already flying toward his colleague. The giant ripped it off, along with the small debris of its armor, spun it in a half-turn, and hurled it like a hurling cannonball. The two monsters crashed into each other with a bone-rattling clang, entangled by their long limbs. The rack shuddered, and the bottles fell in a sparkling waterfall, making the hall resound with the clear, crystal sound of shattering glass.

The Ambal turned around with unnatural speed for his size and mass. So that the attackers, one plus two, were strictly at his sides. He stretched his massive arms out to his sides and fired both barrels on his forearms. The thick thing with holes in it turned out to be a shotgun or something, and the flamethrower-like nozzle was really a flamethrower. The thick thing with holes in it turned out to be a shotgun or something, and the flamethrower-like flamethrower was really a flamethrower. A sheaf of buckshot ripped through the clutching freaks, ripping chunks of something soft and disgustingly flabby out of them. The flamethrower snorted a bright yellow fountain, covering the third with perfect accuracy. The target only rattled, shrieked, somehow mechanically, not like a living thing. That was the end of the fight. Olga wanted to clap her hands. The hell knows what kind of person was hiding under the thick iron, but wild creatures of the spider kind were definitely much worse. Now she was willing to believe that the bruiser represented the forces of good. Olga opened her mouth, intending to...

From the yellow wall of raging fire flew a sprawling shadow. Dropping drops of liquid flame, the creature leaped at the knight, thumping furiously with all its paws, tearing the outer covering off, breaking the wrist weapon. The fire seemed to do little or no harm to the hard outer covering. And from behind came a tangle of what seemed to claw alone - numbers one and two attacked again, coherently, as one fighter about a dozen paws. A sickle-shaped claw cut the giant's legs beneath the knees. It seemed - though it was impossible! - that the blow pierced the armor, even though it looked very thick, invulnerable to the sturdiest bone. And yet ... apparently the claws of the "spiders" were not so simple.

For the first time in the short battle and during the observation, the giant made a sound unrelated to the workings of the suit of armor. Through the visor came a shriek or a growl, wrenched by a sharp flash of terrible pain. It sounded very... human. In the next instant, the giant toppled over onto his back in a short backward roll, crunching the two clawed creatures. And, like a pro wrestler, he tossed the clawed one over himself, clutching at his cuirass and arms. Rolled obliquely, over his head and shoulder, though Olga never understood how the giant had managed to do it with the hump of his shoulder pack and his axe. No, though, when the titan rose to his feet, the axe was already in his hands.

Olga did not notice how she gripped the hilt of the knife with a death grip. The solid, imposing "Ka-Bar" seemed tiny, harmless, very funny compared to the fierce battle of the giants, each of whom could probably kill a man with a careless blow.

The nearest monster took advantage of its closeness to its target and stepped into a clinch, grasping the axe. The giant swung forward at once, as in a good street fight slamming his helmet into the long, knotty fingers, smashing them against the steel forehead. Without losing a moment, the knight swung his axe free from the enemy's grip. An axe as tall as Olga's painted a curve, knocking down another rack. And, in a rain of splinters that showered down on the fighting men in a sparkling waterfall, it fell on the enemy's head.

Olga crouched behind the crate, the force of the blow seemed terrifying, even from the outside. The monster's head, which looked like both a deformed skull and an onion, was covered with bone plates, like a prehistoric amphibian, but the bone did not withstand it. The axe went between the eyes at the base of the blade, splitting the monster's head like a wooden deck. The strange creature somehow immediately picked up, curled six long hilted arms toward its abdomen, tucked its short, segmented tail into something compact. And froze. Round eyes rolled out on short stalks, like those of a crab, and the red dots of its pupils darted in different directions.

Contrary to expectation, the giant did not attempt to free the weapon wedged in the ugly skull. And the big man was moving noticeably slower now. The blow to the legs was not in vain. But the fighter had no intention of giving up. He turned around so that his back was to the rack. At least for a moment, he protects himself from an attack from the back. And took another demon literally on the chest. He stop the attack with two swifts, "boxing" strokes, held a beautiful technically flawless hook to the right. So that the creature, whose skin was still smoking after the flamethrower salvo, flew off into another flight sweeping away another row of bottles. The battlefield was already covered with a thick layer of broken glass, which squeaked and squealed protestingly with every step of the fighters. The fight was silent. The fighters remained silent, except for the beastly hiss of the torched creature and the scream of the knight's pain. Only the gnashing of armor, the creaking of bone plates, and the deafening rumble of the destruction of the entourage.

But the giant missed the next attack, because of his injured legs. The spider clawed at his shoulder pads, flailed his middle pair of limbs with the biggest claws. And tore off a piece of the mask of the helmet. The knight cried out again, now, without the armored barrier, his voice sounded quite human. But the warrior continued the fight. Locking his opponent's short neck in a wrestler's grip, the giant turned and settled down so that he was pressing the creature with his full weight, then began pounding on the bulbous head with his enormous fist. Like a wrestler in an arena. Except it wasn't a fake fight, it was a real fight, full force, to the death. The armored gauntlet went up and down, the multi-legged monster jerked convulsively, with such force that it tossed the big man, who weighed a few cents. But the warrior only tightened his grip, working with the clarity and force of a sledgehammer. A punch, another punch.

The creature hissed and opened its mouth, stretching out a long tongue that opened at the end with a bundle of thin tentacles. It launched itself into the broken helmet, probing for a face. The anthropomorphic fighter responded by shoving an armored palm right into its jaw, knocking out small, sharp, piranha-like teeth. He pushed forward, overcoming the demon's frantic convulsions. He seemed to go into a frenzy, flailing the huge man wherever he could.

Out of the darkness came the vile face of the third "spider". The monster crept leisurely very low literally cowering over the glass crumbs. It was as if it were sacrificing a fellow-creature, winning an opportunity for a successful attack. And the giant either didn't see death creeping up. Or was ignoring the monster, planning to finish the task at hand first.

The tentacle seemed to find living flesh beneath the shattered armor. It tensed, and it jawed like the oesophagus in an anatomical chart. Blood spurted from the shattered visor. And almost simultaneously, the fighter fumbled at the base of the "tentacle," squeezed and tugged as hard as he could. Or maybe the broken shotgun on his forearm worked, it was not very clear from the side. Either way, the second demon went limp. Its jaws opened like a mitten, spewing a stream of murky, bubbling liquid onto the floor and knight's leg. Round balls of eyes popped out on slimy stalks just like the previous one. This must have been how the body reacted to death, relaxing some muscles.

The third demon rushed forward. With a slight movement, unexpected for such a large creature, it partly sidestepped, partly deflected the outstretched arm with which the knight was trying to stop the attack. And hit.

Even Olga noticed this blow. Because there was no longer the same speed in the movements of the thoroughly battered monster. So the knight would have been able to either dodge or counterattack by choice. But the warrior was wounded, the suit gaping holes. And the big man in the strange armor missed the attack. A long claw, no less than two of Olga's palms, stung like a stiletto into the gap between the collar of his cuirass and the base of his helmet. The six-legged spider, which had already lost one of its limbs, stubbed its three "legs" into the lattice floor, tensed its ugly body, and, with its tail vibrating with exertion, jerked toward itself, literally ripping the giant's helmet and head off.

Strangely enough, there wasn't much blood even after that. Two thoughts were woven together in her head. The first was that ыру had to get out of here. The second was not to be discovered. The mutant spider had managed to shut the amazing knight out, and he'd swat her in a heartbeat.

Olga crouched even more behind her flimsy shelter. Though it seemed physically impossible. She literally tucked herself into a knot of thin bones, muscles, and dirty clothes. She clutched the hilt of her knife, knowing that if the creature suspected an uninvited onlooker, it would be easier to stab herself with it. The beast, meanwhile, crunched and squeaked with broken glass. Metal clanked. Then a series of heavy blows began as if a butcher's axe was hammering at an iron stake. Olga did not even pray, just lay there in a tense knot, trying, as best she could, to breathe slowly, measuredly. And not to wet herself with terror.

There's that grinding sound again. And the dragging of something heavy. The dim lighting, the smell of death. And something chemical that made her eyes water. Olga closed her eyes, repeating to herself "I'm in hell, I'm in hell... God help me...". And so, word by word, she fell into a kind of trance, mingled with infinite horror and at the same time disbelief in what was happening.

It's a dream. It's just a bad dream.

She did not know how long she had lain there in a half-lucid state. Just at one moment, she realized that she hadn't heard anything for a long time. Nothing at all. Only the measured drips from the many liters of broken bottles, some of which remained on the racks, oozing their contents.

It took a long time to pull herself together and see what was behind the box. But still, Olga managed to do it. And ... there was nothing. That is, the mess remained. The crumbling rows of racks remained. Thousands of broken dishes remained. A large pool of blood, shimmering dully on the shards under the light of the blue-green tubes.

And that's it.

At that moment, the girl discovered a whole new dimension of fear she had never known before. Because with clear clarity she understood. These monsters resembled both spiders and ugly mutants with six-legged tails and hydrocephalic heads, like aliens from an unknown hell. They were not animals.

Only a creature endowed with intellect could carefully cover its tracks and remove the bodies, evidence of a fierce battle.

Olga slowly crawled on all fours to the hatch. Slowly, on all fours, because her legs were trembling. And it was scary to raise her head, every moment she thought that now from the semi-darkness would follow the crushing blow of a sickle-shaped claw, capable of crushing armor two fingers thick.

* * *