Backstreet evolutionist.., p.24
Backstreet Evolutionist (Book 2): A Progression Fantasy Adventure Series, page 24
The hair that hung to his shoulders was stained with blood and dirt. His tunic was torn, his left hand was bandaged, and his right hand rested on the hilt of his rapier. As always, Yury was the image of the valiant soldier, although alas it didn’t impress his father.
“Finally,” muttered the baron angrily, drinking down his coffee, taking a final drag, and dropping the cigar butt into his empty mug. “I suspect you already know that the Bogdanov clan has fallen.”
“Yes, Father. The butler informed me,” answered Yury, standing at attention.
“Excellent, that saves time. A huge column of monsters is moving along the Perm-Yekaterinburg highway. I want you to take an armored car, load up a couple of goats or whatever livestock you can find, and fit a loudspeaker on the vehicle. As you drive, I want the animals to make as much noise as possible, so that their cries are heard by everyone around, by every piece of filth that’s crawled out of the rifts,” said Arkharov with hatred in his voice. “Then you hit the Kungur—Lysva—Gubakha road. As soon as you reach Gubakha, hit the gas and get out of there.”
On hearing this, Yury sighed deeply and rubbed his temples. His father was sending him to cut off the monsters that were moving toward Yekaterinburg. What’s more, he wasn’t proposing setting an ambush and destroying them. No, the task was for Yury to become bait and lead the monsters in completely the opposite direction, into Cherchesov’s lands.
“As you command, father,” nodded Yury, leaving his outrage at the decision unspoken.
“I hope you understand why I’m sending you specifically on this mission. Any guardsman would die, but for you there’s a reasonable chance you’ll complete the task and come out alive. And if you do die…” Arkharov tapped his fingers on his desk and told the whole truth: “Then our entire clan won’t be long in joining you, as there’s no way we can endure war on three fronts.”
“I’ll do whatever is required of me,” nodded Yury, then headed for the exit. When he had closed the door behind him, Akrharov sighed heavily.
“Whatever’s required… If Alexander was alive, Cherchesov and Malyshev would never have dared to attack. But now all I have left is Yury…”
* * *
You know, it’s always nice to come back home, where you’re loved and expected. Where your nearest and dearest beat your ass so hard with a belt that you can’t sit down for a couple of days. Basically, you’ve already understood that Mom was REALLY waiting for me. Waiting with a belt in her hand that Mog had very generously lent her — a belt with a steel army buckle.
The buckle bore the Arkharov family crest. To be honest, I’d never actually paid attention to it before, but now it was firmly imprinted on my buttocks. Mom chased me around the house, scolding me and I… I, like a true gentleman, permitted her to hit me once. What I hadn’t reckoned on was that one hit would be enough to make my legs give out, and that as a result I’d get a couple more blows as a bonus.
A plan formed in my head to squeal like a stuck pig and appeal to universal justice, but I decided against it. Lying down on the floor, I rolled over on my back and stared up at her with puppy eyes, saying: “Mom, please forgive me. It’s all my fault.”
Mom immediately burst into tears and rushed over to hug me. She told me that she loved me and that she’d been worried sick about me. Then she asked me to forgive her for beating me. But then she added that it was indeed all my fault and I’d made her do it. Otherwise, she’d never have laid a finger on me. I listened to all of this while pretending to sob.
Yes, the belt hurt, but it was perfectly bearable. I remembered how, in my past life, one dragon had bitten my legs off below the knees. Now, that was really painful! Fortunately, the overgrown lizard bit me with its last ounce of strength, then died. I just drank some of the dragon’s blood, my wounds healed up, and over they next twenty-four hours, my legs grew back. It even cured my flat feet. So no, you couldn’t scare me with a belt.
While our three-act family drama was playing out, Mog remained in the yard, obviously listening in. The first act was tragic, as I was beaten with the belt. The second act was our reconciliation, and the third act was negotiations. I told Mom where’d I’d been, who I’d made friends with, how I’d spent the day, and how important it was for me to interact with new people. Obviously, I didn’t mention the stealing, the cigarettes, the wine that Pez had found, or my fight with Lumber.
The version I told Mom was about five great boys who I played soccer with. Then we lit a campfire and sang songs. It wouldn’t have worked so well, however, if I hadn’t told her there were three girls there too. Hearing of my success with the opposite sex, Mom felt genuine pride.
“Oh, did they all really look at you? Were they pretty girls at least? Hmm… Well, I see. I’ve got a ladies’ man on my hands. Oh, Misha, I didn’t realize I was going to be a mother-in-law so soon. Did you like any of them in particular? Will you bring her home to meet me?”
She showered me with an endless stream of questions, and if she’d had her way, she’d have already been drawing up a marriage contract with one of the girls — for the future, just in case. Still, that was the secret ingredient that persuaded her to let me go out again. However, she did have a couple of conditions. First, I had to be home before dark, and second, I had to do all the exercises that Mogila set for me first, and only afterwards could I go and have fun.
The conditions were absolutely fine by me, and I happily agreed to them. Mog came in from the yard, we ate in silence, and we went off to bed. As I was falling asleep, I immersed myself in my mind palace and examined the Enhanced Pheromone Production crystal.
It was a real shame to destroy it. On the one hand, it was a useful attribute, and it was quite possibly only thanks to its effect that I’d been beaten only three times and not thirty-three. On the other hand, it was going to cause me all sorts of problems, as it acted on all women around me indiscriminately.
That meant that whether I liked it or not, girls who were already spoken for would take an interest in me, and that was bound to cause all manner of conflict. I was trying to bring peace to the whole world, not to win the heart of every member of the opposite sex. Not that one precluded the other, of course, but I could handle the girls without the dominant.
“Recycle Enhanced Pheromone Production to boost Mana Cotrol!” I shouted, and my words echoed around the cave.
The Enhanced Pheromone Production crystal burst and scattered powder across the floor of the cave. Then the resonant female voice said: “Accepted. Mana Control 59% developed. Do you wish to recycle another dominant to further develop the ability?”
Well, yes, of course I did. The only problem was, I didn’t have any useless dominants to spare. Although… I looked at the Wood Carving crystal and remembered the useless whistle I’d carved for Mog. I wasn’t planning on leveling up that skill, so off it went to recycling.
The female voice announced the result: “Accepted. Mana Control 64% developed.”
I stared at the pyramid and sighed sadly. Not only would it take a whole heap more dominants to level up Mana Control, the yellow bar on the side of the pyramid wasn’t rising very fast either. At best, it was a fifth of the way up right then. Which was a pity, as I’d have been very glad to upgrade the slab again. Leaving my mind palace, I nodded off immediately and slept like a baby, which I basically still was.
In the morning, however, the punishment began again. Mog decided to get up an hour earlier and to spend that hour chasing me around the yard. Then he had breakfast and left for work, while I remained sitting on the bench in the sauna, my muscles aching from the excess exertion. After all, the pervert didn’t give me even a second’s respite. Can’t do any more squats? Then do push-ups! Can’t do any more push-ups? Then run! Can’t run anymore? Maybe a stick to the ass will help.
Once I’d got my breath back, I decided to go fetch some water. I put a stool next to the well, stood up on it, and began to turn the handle to bring up the bucket with water in it. A couple of times, I nearly fell off the stool, as it was completely rotten and swayed from side to side like our alcoholic neighbor. In the end, however, I managed to get the bucket out. I took it back to Mom, and at first she scolded me for carrying heavy things, but I could see in her face that she appreciated my concern.
After that, Mom began to wash the floor in the house, so I ran back to the sauna and pulled the smartphone out of the spatial pocket in the ring. The first thing I wanted to do was to go online and find out what was happening in the world. However, when I unlocked the screen, I was immediately confronted by a message from somebody who was listed in the contacts as “Dad”. All the message said was: “You bastard! I’ll never forgive you! If it takes the rest of my life, I’ll have revenge for my son!”
When I saw it, I was worried for a moment. What if there was some means of tracing the phone’s movements. Then I relaxed, however. Maybe they could trace the device, but what good would it do if the phone was nearly always in a spatial pocket? I deleted the judge’s message and finally went online.
The first thing I saw was an advert for Izmail Venyaminovich Shulman’s pawn shop. A smiling man with a black hat on his head pressed his hand to his heart, though his eyes blazed with greed. Beneath the photo was an inscription: “Just for you, I’m willing to offer the best prices for the junk you don’t need. Come on in and find out for yourself!”
I was immediately interested. After all, I had a dozen rings I’d be happy to sell. The only problem was, there wasn’t a branch of the Shulman Pawn Shop in Mikhailovsk. The nearest one was in Yekaterinburg.
I scrolled further down the page and found a link to the website of the Imperial Academy of Magic, which was located in Krasnodar. The site described all the available departments of magic, and there was a long list of professors who guaranteed to turn no-hopes into powerful mages in very short order.
I read through the pages of all the professors and sighed in disappointment — not a single absolute among them. In other words, the people who were teaching the rookies hadn’t even reached the top themselves. That was very disheartening, and teachers like that really weren’t much use. Still, they were better than nothing. It was a pity I’d never be able to go there. My father would never give me the money, and nor would he let me go all the way to Krasnodar.
I was distracted from further exploration of the worldwide web by a loud knock on the gate.
“Misha! Are you coming out to play soccer?” hollered Pez, peeking over the fence.
Mom was already standing on the stoop, smiling.
“Well, Mr. Sportsman, off you go. But make sure you’re back by evening,” she said sternly with her hands on her hips.
“Fanks, Mom!” I blurted, racing out of the gate.
* * *
Yekaterinburg
Three armored cars turned onto the Yekaterinburg — Perm highway, each with a machinegun turret on its roof. Each car carried a driver, two gunners, and six sheep. The animals stank, bleated incessantly, and would have only too gladly got out of those metal coffins, if it weren’t for the fact their hooves were tied.
In one of the cars sat Yury, watching the road and thinking about what was ahead of them.
“Your lordship, this is just too much. We’ll die from this stench long before we get to our destination,” complained Sergeant Petrikhin.
Hearing this, Yury just smiled. Oh lord! Ahead of them was a living hell, and this idiot was worried about an unpleasant smell.
Chapter 22
THE THREE ARMORED CARS rolled steadily along the bumpy Yekaterinburg—Perm highway. As always, Yury’s car was in front, leading the way. Yury believed that a commander should inspire respect in his subordinates and set them a good example. So, he was always the first into the fray.
A new moon rose in the sky, illuminating the road with a deathly pale light. It felt like a portent, warning Arkharov’s guardsmen that there was nothing good awaiting them up ahead. Villages flashed past them, throwing horrifying shadows in the beams of the headlights, while inside the armored cars, the guardsmen continued to discuss more pressing issues.
“Yury Konstantinovich, maybe we can just throw these sheep out and travel light?” asked a mustachioed guardsman who’d only been breathing through the crook of his elbow for the previous two hours.
The six sheep that were lying tied up at the far end of the armored car heard this and immediately began bleating loudly. Maybe they were protesting this blatant abuse of animal welfare, or maybe they just understood what the near future held for them.
“Of course we’ll throw them out, just a little bit later,” said Yury, smiling with pale lips.
Protecting the clan was no easy job for him. It was increasingly often that he had to use the doping that was slowly but surely killing him — for the glory of the clan, of course. Yury dreamed that his father would notice him, value him, and love him. That he would treat Yury the way he had treated Alexander. But it never happened, and every time Yury thought, “Just a little bit more! Just one more job, a couple more suicide missions, and everything will be different!” Everything, however, stayed the same.
Sometimes, it seemed like Yury was obsessed with his father’s approval. That may have been true. In the boy’s mind, the Arkharov clan didn’t exist without Konstantin Igorevich. Baron Arkharov was a role model, and the numerous stories from his life had woven in Yury’s mind the image of a godlike figure who always knew what to do and never made mistakes.
Right then, he was racing through the dark with the clear understanding that his father had made the right decision. Who else could survive this mission? Who else could come face to face with a wave of monsters and live? For the proud scion of the Akharov clan, it was a trifling matter. Although, was it really actually so goddam trifling? If it weren’t for sheer luck and the fact he was doped up to the eyeballs with rift bugs, Yury would’ve died long ago, and his father wouldn’t even remember him.
“Yury Konstantinovich, we’re approaching Kungru,” said the driver.
“Excellent. Turn on the floodlights and the loudspeakers,” ordered the young Arkharov, turning to the guardsman who’d been whining about the smell. “Firs, get up on the machine gun quick.”
“With pleasure! At least there’ll be something to breathe up there,” smiled the soldier.
Floodlights had been attached to the side and front panels of the armored cars. They flared up brighter than the sun, ripping through the darkness. A second later, the whole area was filled with the bleating of sheep. The nighttime quiet, broken previously only by the roar of the engines, was suddenly populated with hundreds of sounds. From the forest on both sides of the road came ear-splitting howls and the crunch of trees. Something big was heading for the highway.
To their right lay the town of Kungur, the streets of which were teaming with all kinds of monsters. Their fanged mouths dripped venomous spittle, and their eyes burned scarlet. Some had fur, others had skin that looked like lizard scales. Noticing the armored cars racing past, the monsters immediately took off in pursuit. The howling they produced made the guardsmen’s ears ring and their blood run cold.
Suddenly, the rattle of a machine gun came from behind them, but immediately fell silent. Yury grabbed his radio and yelled: “Number Three! Report your situation!”
“Shshsh… We’re under attack! Two monsters jumped on the car. Kostin mowed one down, but the other bit off his arm at the shoulder.”
The same instant, there was a piercing shriek: “Aargh! I’m in agony! I’m dying!” In all likelihood, that was Guardsman Kostin.
“Shshsh… We’ve been left without a machine gun, so I’ve sealed the hatch…”
There was a terrible crashing sound, accompanied by the screech of tearing metal. The hatch opened above, and a terrified Firs poked his head in.
“Yury Konstantinovich, some fifteen-foot monster just slammed into the third car. What are your orders?”
“Start suppressive fi…”
He didn’t have time to finish. An indistinct shadow flickered over Firs’s head and cut his body in half. The guardsman flopped down, spraying his commander with blood.
“Goddammit!” roared Yury. “Step on the gas, I’m taking the machine gun.”
Arkharov’s hands slipped on the blood-soaked ladder. When he came out of the hatch into the fresh air, his heart stopped. Wherever he looked, there were hordes of monsters, smashing trees, tearing up the earth with their massive paws, and rushing headlong toward the scent of blood.
“Glory to the clan!” yelled Yury and began to mow down the creatures rushing toward them with thick bursts of fire.
The armored car behind him was also keeping itself busy. The gunner was working on airborne targets, while another soldier in the cabin had cracked open the back door and was flinging grenades at the monsters. They bloomed in bright flashes, tearing the terrible creatures’ bodies to pieces. The monsters fell at the feet of their comrades, causing them to stumble and fall, but it was useless — there were too many of them.
Yury pressed the button on his radio and shouted: “Let the second car overtake us.”
The driver obeyed unquestioningly, and the two armored cars changed places. Yury reached for mana, causing the air before him to tremble. Scarlet flame flowed from his hands, forming a wall of fire twenty yards across, which blocked the road and set fire to the forest on either side.
The monsters didn’t have time to stop. They ran headlong into the fire and burst into flames like matches. Slumping to the ground, they tried to put out the fire. They screeched, jerked, gnashed their teeth, and tore at their own flesh with their claws, but this particular fire was very hard to get rid of.
The chase slowed for a while. The monsters altered their course and began to circle around the fearsome wall, giving the armored cars a brief breather.
