The temple was in turmoil. Skinny magicians rushed around the vast hall, dragging reagents and relics to the right places. The old men’s, dressed in rich robes, issued orders and brandished staffs, striving to hit a gaping student or each other.
The plump man, who stood out in the sight of the unkempt old men, nodded vigorously, agreeing with the image of Godrinael hovering in the air. At the same time, the second and third chins of the man emitted indecent slaps, and sweat rolled in a hail from his bald head, leaving marks on the fabric of the camisole, decorated with gold threads and precious stones.
The face of God disappeared, but a handkerchief appeared in the fat man's hand. He turned around sharply, from which the clothes that were tightly fitting on his figure tightened even more and one of the buttons flew into the eye of the old magician.
- “We don’t have time for these games, get up you old fart! Why isn't the circle ready yet?" - The fat man spoke in a thin voice, approaching the crouched magician, shifting from one foot to the other - “We have a great honor, but you can’t even remove the extra benches?! By all knowledge, if we fail, every one of you will end up among the poor begging for alms! With such an appearance, you can merge with them without any problems!”.
The panic intensified. The old men ran around the hall and began to give kicks and slaps in the face to the students, who were already carrying out assignments at the maximum possible speed.
The fat man walked towards the exit. Sweat didn't want to stop, getting into his eyes. The handkerchief was completely soaked and had to be squeezed out.
He grabbed the door handle, turned it and fell into the strong arms of the dead man.
The man's eyes opened, pupils dilated, at the sight of the dead monk, from whose eyes blood was still flowing, and a grimace of horror froze on his face.
Under the weight, the man fell on his ass, looking at the body frozen in the air. A smiling face appeared from behind the monk.
- “I beg your pardon, Mr. Murdy. I'm finishing cleaning, it was the last one. I'll tell you that he hid be healthy. Climb into the statue of the goddess? If you hadn't hired me, I'm afraid no one would have been able to find him! What a terrible situation that would be. Is not it?" - A tall man with narrowed eyes held the corpse by a piece of robe with one hand. The other hand was extended to the fat man. He wrinkled a little, but allowed the mercenary to pick him up. Despite the huge weight, separated from two hundred by just one eclair, Murdy practically took off and was deftly put on his feet.
- “Great job. You really are worth all the money I paid” - His voice was still thin. Murdy was rich and confident. The people of the kingdom feared and revered him. He usually treated everyone as rabble, dirty tools whose purpose in life was to serve the powerful of this world. Even the king could not control his actions, so great was the strength of his family, and the wealth, in the increase of which, he saw his goal.
But this mercenary. He himself appeared in the impregnable mansion, without disturbing the numerous guards, dogs, and a couple of outlandish animals that could hear the fall of a drop of water at the other end of the castle.
There was something wrong with this young man, a certain sense of menace haunting Murdy no matter how hard he tried to get rid of him. Even rejuvenating meat, which is usually so satisfying, becomes tasteless when he thinks of that smirk.
- “Going for a walk? Yes, today is a great day for a walk. Sunshine, light breeze. And you can’t say that it’s already autumn” - They walked along the corridor. The mercenary adjusted his step to the unhurried hobble of the rich man, carrying the corpse in one of his hands - “I beg your pardon, we need to leave him before he completely spoiled our mood”
He flung open the door to the wide hall and threw the body into it. It landed with a thud, adding to the pile of corpses. Murdy watched the scene in horror. He ordered the killing, participated in several major battles, but usually at a safe distance. Where the smell of blood and flames, interrupted by incense, the smoke of smoking mixtures, and the concubines praised his talents as a war and a true strategist. Here, he was in the front row.
The bodies of the monks, bent in unnatural positions, were randomly scattered around the room. Some hung from the walls, nailed with long iron spikes. Others formed heaps, rivulets of blood running across the floor. But all of them were united by one thing - a grimace of horror, frozen on their faces. Eyes staring into the void and wanting to be blinded forever rather than continue to see the approach of such a death.
“God, there are hundreds of them here…” - Murdy managed to think.
The door slammed shut. The fat man shuddered and looked at the mercenary's face. It was too close to his face. This person seemed to have become even higher, filling the entire corridor. His thin lips parted to reveal a row of sharp teeth.
- “Isn’t it true that I did a good job?”
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The day of the ritual has arrived.
Godri sat on his throne, admiring the perfectly done work of his slaves. Ideal for people. But even this should be enough to give him true power in this world.
On the center screen was an exquisite statue carved from the finest marble. He had to resurrect the artist for the occasion. To be honest, someone else flaunted on the pedestal, it was almost impossible to recognize him as a crooked old man.
He was a fine warrior, with a perfectly shaped body, full of youth, but a face full of wisdom that such a young man could never have had time to acquire.
Godri was pleased. If you create an avatar for yourself, why not show your imagination? No, no, this is not at all compensation for his own shortcomings. Rather, an alternative view of one's own Self, which cannot be known using ordinary senses. Or the opportunity to know a new self, in conditions that are only slightly different from the current ones.
A few flicks of the fingers and the images changed their order. Now before him was a creature completely opposite to a work of art. It was as if someone had tried to stuff a hippo into an expensive suit and taught him how to talk. Although, that would be an insult to all hippos.
- “I hope you are ready? Remember, Murdy, my kindness knows no bounds, but if you screw up, you will be stuffed to the throat with my justice!” - With a slight hint of menace, said the god.
- “Yes, of course… I mean, no! We will not be mistaken, everything is ready, Oh great one!” - Once again turning into a waterfall-man, the fat one sang squeaky.
He was recruited many years ago. Choosing a king would be too suspicious. And to endow a certain family with wealth, connections and knowledge is a trifling matter. The main thing is that he be obedient. All of them were obedient.
Of course, he had to send several sophisticated curses on his relatives, but since the time of my great-great-grandfather, there have been no complaints in this family. Apparently, the picture hanging in the gallery was a good reminder of what happens to those who try to deceive God in his own game. What marvelous cries it’s uttered, coming to life on full moons.
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The magicians spread out over the key points of the circle and began to cast spells. Such a complex ritual, it was impossible to carry out alone, so Godri had to break it into several parts. The matrix must be filled perfectly, after which a magic circle will be formed. Most likely, all participants will die, giving all their energy to open a rift that allows him to transfer part of his essence to the statue and control it. But that's a pretty small price to pay for something like this!
They unconditionally agreed to such a sacrifice. Even if they knew about it.
The energy emanating from the magicians was transformed into long, luminous ribbons of symbols, slowly creeping towards the center of the circle. Weaving, changing, reflecting, they formed a small ball, which began to grow, filling the room.
God's face lit up with a smile. Everything will work, that's for sure! He was able to calculate and prepare such an amazing miracle!
Godri unleashed a new stream of magic that made his image clearer and he was able to see closer and better.
One of the students fell silent. The teacher's angry look had no effect, and after a second the old man stopped casting the spell. One by one, they fell silent and looked at the image that hung in the air. The ball melted into the air, leaving a light haze, quickly blown away by the draft.
On the head of the god of magic lay a muscular hand, entangled in a network of swollen veins. There was a crunch. The image is gone.
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- “Gooodriiiii. What are you doing here? I can see that you are dying to share this with me!” - Her voice rose and her hand clenched. The skull of the god began to crackle as it approached the point of no return.
- “Miss Airia! I'm so glad to see you! It? It's just a little experiment, nothing important” - he answered more and more stiffly as his body rose from the comfortable chair and turned towards the Goddess.
- “Are you talking rubbish? What if I shove that little thing up your ass? So deep that you can feel it even in the past?”
Airia's face was lit up with a smile so tight that it seemed a little more and the skin would burst. She slowly approached Godri's face, so that he began to feel her burning breath. The eyes of the goddess glowed with a bright yellow light, and the pupils were drawn out like a cat.
- "You think I don't recognize the avatar?" - Her head began to tilt to the side, and the hand repeated this with the old man's head - “But you would not hide such a thing from me? Yeah, are you an old fucker? No, no, only a complete degenerate could do that, who was fucked right in the brain all his life, so that there was nothing left of them? Do I understand correctly? Answer me. Why are you silent? And what are those tears? "
- “You are right ma'am… I just wanted to… Wanted to make one for you! It's a test pen! You deserve better and I would not like to create something tasteless for you…” - he managed to rattle, as his neck crunched deafeningly.
The body of the god shot up, only to crash into the throne a second later, dragging him towards the table.
His face slowly changed. Each bone cracked, as did the back of the throne, and behind it the table. Wood chips pierced flesh, penetrating deep into his divine essence. All this happened to the roar that rolled through his modest dwelling. The vibration was full of energy, so some of the things and decorations he created turned into piles of garbage, flying to pieces.
What happened next, he did not remember well. The shoe went up. And then fell down. Up. Way down. Up. Way down.
Something else crunched, squelched, and an old man's cry was heard.
“I wonder who it could be?” - He thought, while in his head, or rather its remnants, a calm melody played by the orchestra played.
But he remembered one thing for sure. A simple phrase.
- “YOU WILL MAKE ME AN AVATAR OR GET THE FUCKING DIE!”
