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Anhelina Krikheli
Macabre: begi
ing
(Перевод - Вероника Писарева)
Mystery novel
Sometimes what is happening in the existing worlds is beyond human understanding. A person wonders what life is like there, who lives there and how. Is it possible to intersect parallel lines? Since they are always near...
Will the angel and the demon carry out their mission? Will they unravel the main mystery? And what to do if there are more questions than answers, even if eternity is ahead?...
Abstract of the series: This is a story about unbroken human will in the fight against eternal evil. Whatever the difficulties are on the person's path, the battle with the darkness continues. Because the choice we make determines each of us. And which side will you choose?
It's not what it seems.
at first sight.
All you need is patience to wait
and find out the truth ...
CHAPTER 1. The feast in hell
“Does it count as receiving Eucharist if I’m drinking wine and eating bread?” a drunk imp chuckled, sitting at the long table that groaned under various viands and demonstrating to everyone a piece of fresh, still warm white bread in one hand and a glass of wine in the other.
The answer to his question was a general laughter and a contemptuous glance cast from under the eyelids of one of the present there. But nobody had noticed it in the general hilarity and drinking.
None of the sitting at the table wanted to show their tails, horns, hooves and other stuff people attributed to them. However, anyone could change their appearance to match the established stereotypes of a particular individual. This feature facilitated their work a lot and raised the degree of fun during bright hell feasts. So now some of the present were changing their noses, expending and even curling their horns with laughter, showing their abilities of metamorphs* or creating convincing dimensional illusions. Tired low-rank habitants of the underworld (as commonly thought) were watching these transformations with bare envy, serving the table. Some of them were punished and sent to gutters without the ability to shapeshift, others were born this way in the families of punished imps. And if the inborn lowers learned to take themselves as they were from the early childhood, their parents burnt with anger immediately, without being able to feel the euphoria of shapeshifting that they remembered quite well from their previous life. And since they lived for quite long, if not forever, time served them as an additional punishment in conjunction with non-appeal.
“Hey, Behemoth**, keep us company!” some shouted out hoarsely. “Food runs thin!”
“You should have called the whole Mammon’s*** «department»!” yelled the others and this remark was stained with a creepy laughter of tablemates.
“We are all here!” was heard from a distance.
Someone decided to pour some more wine and most of them put their shots and glasses in the middle of the table so it was easier for a pouring one to reach them. Only one of them wasn’t drinking, keeping an eye on things with boredom. He ran his slender finger along his eyebrow, absorbed in his thoughts. Those who sit quietly usually stay u
oticed in such companies. Especially since hell’s habitants had long been used to his indifference to such celebrations.
He often caught himself thinking that mindless fun can get boring much faster than blues and sadness of loneliness and that made him even more surprised when he monitored the behavior of people who were finishing one celebration just to immediately start another. In such moments he failed to find the line of distinction between people and his colleagues. And people, moving from one banquet to another with a sincere belief that life is given for the human’s happiness and joy, looked with surprise at those few who stopped on the side to think about something. These were called bores and were avoided. The bore, as a rule, didn’t pay attention to this and remained themselves. But there were those who got offended by the public opinion and joined the folk celebrations, dissipating in the crowd.
The laughter died suddenly. He rather felt silence than noticed it. This drew his attention. Imps were jumping from their places, freshening up in a hurry, or better said, smearing the mud on their muzzles. Some of them forgot to hide horns or pig snouts, some in shame were hiding the end of their furry tails, understanding they don’t have time to conjure its disappearance. In such situations stress did its dirty work even in hell, weakening the object of its attention up to almost complete helplessness and vulnerability.
He frowned as he understood what that meant, but wondered what for.
A man entered the room with high ceilings that hadn’t been cleaned for a long time. He took just one step and remained in shadow whereas others were in the bright light. He licked his suddenly dry lips and ran his hand through his hair, brushing an unruly lock. He looked around the audience and busted out laughing, throwing his head back. The imps looked at each other in bewilderment. His behavior was something unpredictable every single time. He could laugh recklessly one minute and then make a verdict, be immersed in his own thoughts and have mercy, he knew how to be absent and aware of what was happening in his absence.