Chapter 15

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"Cavalry!"

Kryp closed his eyes even tighter, thinking he was having a near-death hallucination.

So this is what death looks like... Well, a dignified ending to a not-so-successful life.

"Cavalry!"

Nothing happened. No one was killing him. Only the stench spread out in a dense cloud, clogging his swollen nose like hard absorbent cotton. Fidus could feel the huge mass that stood at arm's length. He could hear a gurgling in the rotting womb and a steady slithering noise, as if from the countless fingers that rustled the demonic sack from within.

Who is screaming so terribly? And where is the clanking coming from?

"CA-VAL-RY!" Olga yelled, pounding on the iron railing with the blade of her old knife. - I call the cavalry!!!

The gourd rushed forward, ignoring Kryp, simply sweeping him out of the way. For a moment, Olga's mouth gaped open as she stared at the rolling shit that was hurriedly nudging itself with its "arms". The monster moved unbelievably fast for a creature with such mass, and yet devoid of legs. Olga thought that maybe the idea of calling for help was not such a good one. What's more, it was probably the very idea that was going to get her killed.

The thought had somehow exhausted itself. It's hard to think when you're running away. Olga moved along the railing, toward the viewscreen. She expected to run to the pillar that loomed farther away. Then, after passing a thick faceted pillar, turn sharply and try to hide in the labyrinth of "offices". With each step, it became clearer and clearer that she was fucked. She just wouldn't make it. She hadn't made a correction for her exhaustion and the mountains of trash she had to avoid by looping around. Only now did Olga realize how weakened she had become after days of no food, chronic fatigue, and endless terror. Her legs seemed to barely move, any obstacle-even a small chip under her sneaker-threatened to topple over.

The girl was no longer running, but rather walking quickly. The gurgling was getting closer. The demon kept its pace with ease, rolling a little faster than Olga's steps. Just enough so that the victim had no hope of breaking away and hiding in the deserted rooms. And then her ears reached the most wonderful sound in the world, the sound of angelic trumpets - the familiar hissing, for which, in fact, the fugitive had started a performance with shrieks.

"Quickly ... Bitch..." ...the girl squeaked out, stopping.

She had to bend down and lean her hands on her knees, gulping for air. So, breathing heavily, she saw two thin twigs, like short scythes or wildly long claws, resting on the wrought iron railing. They trembled, taking the weight of an invisible body, so much so that they left visible notches in the metal. The monster swung over the railing in one cohesive motion, ending up exactly in the middle of the line connecting Olga and the sack, five meters each way. Up close, the creature seemed even creepier than it had been in the alchemical warehouse, and in a sort of... solid. And inanimate. Despite its decidedly biological nature, the beast seemed closer to machines than to creatures of flesh and blood (and chitin, for that matter). Too murderous, too mechanically precise.

Alien.

The evil sack stopped, wiggling its tentacles. It was silly to speak of any emotion in relation to the pus bundle, but it seemed to Olga that in the bubble's purposeful movements there was... uncertainty. Some kind of malfunction.

"Hey, kill each other," Olga whispered it at first and then realized that she had spoken the thought aloud. At the same time, she remembered from what movie this "I call the cavalry" came to mind. That is, the movie came to mind, as well as the fact that Taktarov played in it with a machine gun, but the name completely slipped out of my mind.

And if they don't?

She took a step back. Then another, fighting the almost irresistible urge to rush to the railing and jump down. To finally get it all fucking over, once and for all.

With deceptive, almost weightless ease, the "mantis" was joined by the second. It looked like a stamped copy of the first, down to the smallest detail. The wood crunched under its supporting paw, showing that the monster actually weighed a lot.

God help me.

Olga took another step back. The monsters didn't seem to be interested in her at all. At least something nice! Yes, and the purulent bubble was finally distracted, shifted its "arms" to the top, and froze, trembling in the dim light. Mucus rolled down the gelatinous, slimy sides like a parody of profuse sweat. Behind the bubble, Olga saw Fidus. The guy lay motionless, like a broken mannequin. Tears came to his eyes. Olga did not know what she felt more sorry for - the poor Kryp or the futile efforts to save him.

She blinked back a tear and missed the start of the fight. The mantises attacked simultaneously, as coherently as if they were communicating telepathically. They darted in geometrically precise arcs, coming out on the conditional "flanks" of the bubble (if you count its "front," the part facing Olga). And where the onion-headed number three came from, the girl did not understand at all. It seemed to have jumped from behind the broken and piled into a sloppy barricade of chairs, similar to theater benches. Apparently, it was the spider's custom to attack in threes. Everything was silent, with only the scraping of claws on the stone and the scattering of debris. It seemed that the crawling jellyfish was going to die, Olga remembered all too well how three of the same freaks had made giants with stern cannons.

The sack gathered itself into an almost perfect ball, spread its arms like a devilish parody of a kolobok, and... The first "mantis" flew into the well of the atrium, bringing down a whole section of heavy railing with wrought iron bars. The bag seemed to intercept it in flight. And, turning on the spot, threw it further, using its opponent's inertia and its insane force. The monster squealed in flight, tried to latch on, waving its sickle-shaped claws frantically, but in vain. The fall was high, so the meowing screech sounded for a few more moments, but no one cared anymore.

The demonic jellyfish took the second opponent on the chest, rolling right under the blow. A broad, swift as a thought, the claw opened the glossy side of the meter-long slit with surprising ease, without resistance. The slit splashed generously with mucus, and the momentum of the movement and the oncoming roll of the sack threw the mantis onto the thick foil. The edges of the "wound" wrapped up, spreading even wider, the wet side of the jellyfish swelling from the inside. The monster stuck to his opponent, the sack wrapped its entire surface around the mantis, grabbed it with thousands of greedy fingers, and began to pull it right into the ripped side, devouring piece by piece. At the same time, the sack stretched out a bundle of tentacles two or three meters at a time, holding the third at a distance.

As Olga had already noticed, the six-legged freaks made incredibly disgusting noises, but the cry of the mantis being sucked alive sounded surprising... alive. It combined the terror, the pain, the despair of a living, thinking creature. The usual screeching gave way to almost human screams. The third freak flailed back and forth, trying to come to the aid of its fellow creature, clawing at its tentacles with sharp strokes, but the bubble threw more and more out of its gelatinous body at a rapid pace.

Olga ran, skirting the creatures fighting to the death in an arc, back toward Fidus. Her legs became even tangled, the girl fell, smashed her hands in blood, rose again. And, sobbing with fear and despair, she continued to stubbornly strive forward.

Don't die, please, just don't die!

The sack rolled onto one side, crushing the devoured one. So that the wild cries were immediately silenced. It wiggled in place, muttering and squelching, then rolled in the opposite direction, right on top of the last six-legged creature. The claw cut healed, without a trace. The onionhead disappeared, swallowed without a mark. The bowsman, too, disappeared, swallowed without a trace. The sack slid over the sluggishly twitching stumps of its own limbs, picking them up and absorbing them right through the translucent hide. The remaining monster slid back, moving its claws, glancing around with two quick strokes of its broadhead. Either he was dissatisfied with the prospect of a fight, or the creature was assessing the battlefield.

Fidus was alive and almost conscious. "Almost," because he seemed to be balancing on the edge. His eyes were unfocused, his lips were twitching, dropping flakes of foam, and his jaw was slack.

"Get up!" Shouted Olga. "Get up now!"

The sound of her voice seemed to bring some life back into Kryp's empty gaze. Fidus snapped his teeth shut and stared at the girl with an inexpressible mixture of horror and gratitude. And despair, but the girl tried not to think about that.

"Get up!!!"

Olga could not see what was going on behind her, but she could hear it. It sounded like the creatures came together one on one and intended to smash the whole floor brick by brick. It rumbled like an excavator, methodically smashing everything within reach of the shovel.

"He'll kill us!"

Who "he" was didn't matter much anymore. Whoever won, it was obvious that the fate of the two men would be decided quickly, very quickly. Olga was crying, no longer restraining herself. She pushed and pummeled Kryp, realizing that she could not pull him, much less lift him.

"Come on, please... Get up... Let's go."

Fidus wheezed, coughing up blood. Olga ran her hand through his stiff, shoe-brush-like hair, wiped the scarlet streak from his pale, like a dead man's face with her sleeve. She looked down from above.

"Please," she said very quietly, looking into the young man's bright eyes, full of pain and gloom.

Please ...

The noise stopped, which meant that now they would have to deal with a winner. And Fidus answered Olga with a direct, very meaningful look. He took her hand firmly and squeezed it, not at all like before, when his grip was weaker than that of a child. Gritting his teeth, in one breath Kryp stood up, and Olga sat down, her jaw dropped. It was too creepy, too unbelievable. They switched places. Now Fidus was looking down at her. There was the distinct mark of death on the man's face, and the fire of fanatical determination blazing in his eyes. In the dying man's hand, the blade glinted icily. When had Fidus managed to pull it from the sheath on Olga's belt? God knows. But he did.

"Run," Kryp said, and Olga understood him, or maybe she thought she understood him. Perhaps her consciousness, twisted to the limits by the horror of what was happening, had ceased to distinguish between reality and phantom, between the real and the imagined.

"Run, Olla."

She looked upon him as a deity, the embodiment of the Emperor, the true King of Glory. And that made Fidus feel very peaceful. He turned toward the enemy, who swung around, waving his spurs, spreading greedy fingers under his pelt in readiness to accept new prey. His broken leg burned with fire, and the young man knew he could stand, but he would not take another step. He had the will, but his body could not take another step, his muscles and torn ligaments could not endure it. However, there was no need to go anywhere.

"I am Inquisitor Fidus Kryptman!" He shouted frantically, raising his blade, the simple soldier's knife of the Guard. There was something incredibly symbolic, very right, about dying with such a weapon in his hands. As a true warrior, one of an endless army of those who, century after century, had passed on to one another the Duty and the Will of His, the greatest and best of men.

"I'm not afraid of you," Fidus spat blood at the blind creature, and this time there was only truth and confidence in his words, straight and fierce as the cleansing fire. The young man took the knife with both hands and brought it up, preparing to fall forward, multiplying the weak blow with his weight. One blow, and then he would die. After that, the demon would kill the girl as well, but it would no longer be his fault. And even if Kryptman Jr. did not live as a true inquisitor, even if no one will ever tell about his last moments, but at least he will die exactly as an inquisitor should. Fighting the true, genuine Evil to the last opportunity and beyond, where the will becomes immeasurably stronger than the mortal body.

"I am the protector. And you are powerless against her while I am alive."

It sparkled and hit right through the ears and into the skull. A thunderous noise rolled around. Then it hit Kryptman, violently and terrifyingly, shaking every nerve, every last cell. Fidus, slipping into the unconsciousness of a deep fainting spell, realized that it was not the enemy that had struck him, but the pulse of an electric paralyze.

There was a roar and a rumble overhead. The cacophony was eerie as if a battlefield with a mad sawmill had erupted all around it. There were gunshots, the rumble of nearby explosions, and a sound unbelievably similar to a chainsaw, only about three times bigger and more powerful than a regular one. There was also shouting all around, loud and loud. There was also howling and creaking and God knows what else. Even through the closed eyelids, there were flashes of blindingly bright light, as if an electric welding machine was going off at full speed. It smelled like ozone.

What is it?! What happened?!

She was standing, and then everything around her began to explode, lightning was striking, something else was... Olga covered her head with her hands, trying to hide her ears with her elbows at the same time. She wanted, as usual, to crouch down, pulling her knees to her stomach, but she did not have time. She was crushed by something that looked like a hydraulic press, at least as heavy and unrelenting. It seemed as if the invisible thing was about to go through her spine and diaphragm.

I was stepped on, the girl realized.

I was stepped on!

Something particularly loud exploded, so loud that the girl went deaf despite her ears tightly covered with her palms. God, how loud a real gunshot sounds... It was like being hit in the ears with tennis rackets. It really, really hurt. But the rumble of the battle subsided. Judging by the fact that no one was in a hurry to remove his leg from Olga's back, the conditional "good" who came to the rescue won. Well, probably. At least, that's what I wanted to believe. As if accompanying Olga's brief thoughts, the weight disappeared from her back, and at the same time, something painfully hard hit her from the side, knocking her under and tossing her face upward.

And now they've turned me over, Olga guessed.

She didn't want to open her eyes, but she risked opening one narrow slit of her squeezed eyes. Right next to Olga's nose there was a Barrel, with a capital B. One might even say Huge Barrel. From this distance, it seemed bottomless and as wide as a railroad tunnel. The round and smooth pipe, with walls two fingers thick, reeked sharply of something burnt and chemical. Behind the barrel began a metal box, and behind it, in turn, a gauntlet of gauntlet-like knight's mitts. The hand seemed human but incredibly large. Farther away, somewhere in the conditional infinity, two green lights burned, like night binoculars from a game. The eyepieces glowed grimly and did not promise anything good. The humanoid figure buzzed and clicked as if a dozen wall clocks were going at a time inside the hull.

"Oh," Olga said honestly, or rather half-suffocated squeaked, not knowing whether to rejoice in the unexpected rescue or to prepare for death.

The barrel loomed up, taking up almost the entire world.

It's a stupid way to end, the girl thought, waiting for life to drown in the blinding flash of a gunshot. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, the smell of burning chemicals becoming almost unbearable, and then abruptly weakened.

"Surge," someone from the distance said in a human voice. And the heaviness disappeared.

Olga sighed softly, expecting the fractured ribs to burst into her lungs, but nothing happened. After a little breathing, she opened her eyes a second time, a little bolder now.

To her right stood an iron giant, like an axe-wielding giant in two drops of water. He was as cubic, tall, and frightening. In one hand he held with seeming to ease a ghastly-looking cannon, like a machine gun with a disproportionately short barrel. The gun, by all appearances, was shoved into Olga's face. A trickle of whitish smoke was still streaming from a hole in the gun's housing, which looked like a sliding curtain with a handle.

To her left, a man of normal proportions looked down silently on Olga. Tall, however, barely reaching the middle of the steel giant's chest. Dressed in something flowing, dark, like a raincoat of thick leather. A similar robe was on Kryp, over his cuirass. The man was completely bald and wore a white headband for some reason. Every inch of his face was also covered by an intricate pattern of infinitely intricate tattoos. It seemed to be symbols of some kind, letters of sharp as if chopped, like Viking runes. In the bright light, Olga couldn't see any clearer.

The man stared, frowning unhappily. Olga looked back with one eye, afraid to open the other and not daring to lift a finger at all. The bald man shook his head with a heavy sigh and showed the girl his open hand. The smooth skin, exactly in the middle of the palm, was mangled by a thick scar. It looked like a drawing, scorched or carved, and not just once. Olga recognized the silhouette of an eagle-like bird that was popular in the area. Obediently, rather than by common sense, she slowly and timidly folded her fingers in a gesture she had spied on Kryp. She rolled her eyes, and, as best she could, she gave a look of extreme piety on her face.

Well, maybe the experiment was not beneficial, but at least it did not spoil anything. In any case, they didn't seem to think about killing Olga on the spot. The bald man raised an eyebrow, chewed his thin lips, made a gesture as if stroking something invisible. The faint movement was echoed in Olga's head in a flash of a strange sensation. It was as if his fingers had slid right through the crinkles. It didn't hurt, and at the same time, it was extremely uncomfortable. A second eyebrow rose now, and a lively interest peeked through even the runes of the elaborate tattoo.

"Tolle eam," commanded the man in the armband.

Olga did not understand how three or four men with grim faces and ominous-looking rifles came to be nearby. Not as brutal, of course, as an armored diver, but also very impressive. The armed men's gear was reminiscent of Kryp's armor. It was the same black, solid, straps with holes in them. They took the girl without further ado, yanked her upright. She was pushed, pointing in the right direction, without much harshness, more of a businesslike, unyielding manner. She now seemed to have a personal entourage and guards.

Well, at least it wasn't a execution squad.

"Quia non conveniunt," the steel giant muttered, muffled, with a withering wheeze, as if the speaker were defective.

He and the tattooed man argued, but without much energy, in a low-key manner. The girl, meanwhile, was led on without any reverence, carefully and at the same time businesslike. Like a thing to be delivered from one point to another without breaking on the way. A team of men hosed down a bubbling puddle of greasy slime. Judging by the smell, the smoke, and the usual gas masks, they were pouring acid or some kind of caustic. She wanted to believe it was the remains of a fart bag. Above their heads floated the already familiar skulls, at least a dozen of them. One had real iron handles attached to the bottom, like a little terminator. The bonehead was diligently scribbling with a fountain pen on a roll of yellow paper. It looked maddeningly comical, though Olga was too exhausted to even smile, let alone laugh.

Kryp was carried past. The wounded man was placed in something that looked like an open-topped coffin. So the girl even flinched, thinking Fidus was dead. But no, the boy seemed to be quite alive and even blinking. The coffin moved on its own, sliding a meter above the floor without any legs or wheels. However, Olga was beginning to get used to the local wonders of science, so she was not even surprised. The flying stretcher was accompanied by two women in white armor, reminiscent of a smaller version of the armor of an iron lumberjack with a cannon. They, too, frowned grimly and businesslike - apparently, walking on serious cheeks like after a week of constipation was a must in this millennium. Olga wanted to smile at Kryp through the force after all. But at that moment the girl was pushed in the back so that she almost lost her balance. And then the plane's coffin disappeared behind the backs of the attendants. The girl sighed and walked on. They didn't seem to be in any hurry to thank her for saving Fidus.

Olga's legs were shaky and she waddled as fast as she could. They stopped pushing her, evidently realizing that her ward could not walk any faster. One of the brutal escorts silently slapped her on the shoulder with a gun, attracting attention. When the girl flinched, turning around, he also, without uttering a word held out his free hand something like a small bar of pressed sugar. The girl nodded appreciatively and immediately took it in, snapping her teeth like a six-legged creature in a fight. From the taste, it was more like glucose, but either way the bar was sweet and must have been terribly nutritious. Only now did the girl realize how hungry she was. The guards looked at each other, and Olga noticed some semblance of emotion on their faces - a restrained amusement and a touch of compassion, no other than from her miserable appearance

She wonder what a shower looks like in the far bright future?

Some men and women of a quite human appearance were passing by, though they wore strange clothes, almost all black, or at least in dark colors. Most carried weapons, and many wore patches and badges with incomprehensible symbols. However, the familiar upright stick with a crossbar and the inscribed skull was often repeated. Station XVI seemed to come alive again, filled with movement and human voices. Life was returning to the crypt.

Olga thought that no matter how it turned out, things had not turned out in the worst way. Yes, still nothing is clear, everything is strange and even disturbing. However, at least there were people around, not evil freaks. And they're not trying to kill her anymore. Everything will be fine from now on.

It certainly will.

Because it can't get any worse than before.

She smiled, breathed in the air, still filled with the smell of acrid weapon chemicals. It made her feel... lighter, or something. After all, this was all her doing. She went to the machine. She called for help. Where else would an army come from? She survived the unimaginable. And she saved Kryp. She - Olga - managed to do and experience more amazing things in a couple of days than she had in fifteen years of her previous life.

Yes. The adventure is over.

Or maybe it was just beginning ... Who knows?

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