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
