They left the empty locker room, opened a heavy door, and entered a large room where Cyril could see five or six deepenings in the floor. He had hoped to see cast-iron bathtubs, faucets, showers, pipes and valves, but he saw a row of shallow pools in the floor. Each one had size of an ordinary bathtub.
"How do I get water?" He asked. "How do I drain dirty water and change it to a clean one?"
They went to one of the baths, but Cyril saw an empty bottom and no drain hole.
"Water is poured in pitchers directly from the spring." The girl explained, pointing to the end of the room, where a fountain half a meter high gushed from the floor. "You do not need to drain it, just get out of the bath, and the elementals will do all the work for you."
'Okay.'
"Can't they full the baths?"
"Unfortunately, no." She said. "They are only able to evaporate to become stronger. The Clean Heel clan has built its baths on the site of springs for centuries. Since elementals need to feed on sewage to maintain their life cycle, the Clean Heel clan offered them a symbiosis. They not only evaporate water, but also absorb all the sewage."
"Well, it's quite clever." Cyril said. "Run me a bath while I look around."
'I'm a cheeky one.' Cyril chuckled.
"I'm sorry, but it's not my job to fill the tub." She said politely.
"In the name of Fate." Cyril added.
"Yes, of course."
'Power inspires.'
He watched as the depraved guide took an earthenware jug near an empty pool and went to the spring to get water. Standing with her back to him, she leaned toward the source, showing the magnificent shape of her buttocks. Cyril felt the blood start to flow from below, and his tool visibly tensed.
'Son of a bitch, what the fuck!? I love my wife, I want to die to get back to my family! But why is every chick in this world trying to seduce me? And why am I willing to fuck anything that moves!?'
He watched as the girl filled the jug and turned to face him. She glanced at his crotch again and smiled. Careful not to spill the jug, she carried it to the tub and, leaning back again, emptied the water.
'On the other hand, Natasha is dead, and I don't think anyone would judge me.' He found an excuse. 'I have already violated morals when I killed three people. Then I killed an innocent animal. Two innocent animals. What's the point of being cultured now?'
The girl smiled sweetly, cast a quick glance at his awakened penis, and, without a word, went back to fill the jug. The room was quite hot, and the thin dress clung to her sweaty body. Cyril drew attention to her neat breast. Small but well-shaped bumps that would fit perfectly in his palm. The view from behind, as she leaned in, was even more exciting. Cyril wanted to pull up the dress and penetrate the girl right now.
But this was not to be.
"My dear, who is this gentleman?"
A door opened and an old woman appeared at the far end of the room. The fat body was dripping with salty sweat, the folds of fat glistened in the dim light of the bath, the giant breasts almost reached the navel, and Cyril did not dare look lower. A look at the face with the thin mustache and three chins finally killed the desire to copulate.
"I am the representative of the clan of Fate, and you, old woman, have interrupted us." Cyril blurted out, not fearing the consequences.
"The clan of Fate, you say?" The old woman bowed her head. "Let me see your tattoo, young man."
'Fuck, I'm done playing. I've never had a tattoo in my life. Fuck it, we stand Stalingrad, and any fucked-up thing is just to my advantage.'
"Why the fuck would I show you something?" He attacked in self-defense.
The depraved guide froze with the jug in her hands, looking first at the old woman, then at Cyril and back again.
"Lady Oink, this man spoke on behalf of Fate, I didn't dare to doubt."
"Honey, did you check his sign?" The old woman was surprised, looking at the depraved guide.
She swallowed. There was a look of undisguised fear in her eyes that made him tense, to say the least. However, from below he became offensively soft, for which he hated the old woman with all his balls.
"I never thought." She stammered. "Can anyone...?"
The old woman laughed, interrupting the girl and shaking her fat folds. Her terrible laughter filled the room, and Cyril felt uneasy.
'How disgusting you are.' Cyril almost vomited. 'Shit, I'm so itchy. Fuck the tour, I got the idea. Gotta wash up.'
"My dear, cough, cough." The old woman coughed, tired of laughing. "Do you still believe that the clan of Fate watches everyone? Right now, any ragamuffin is ready to spin nonsense in the name of Fate, just to get their own benefit."
"But this is blasphemy!" The depraved guide was afraid. "I almost…"
She looked back at Cyril and his fallen penis, blushed, and bit her lip. She really wanted to give herself to him and get special privileges in the clan of Fate, but it turned out that she was brazenly deceived? She was afraid to believe it.
"Show me your Fate tattoo." She whispered, clutching the jug.
Cyril grunted. The situation had not turned out as he had expected. He had to think of something. Or not?
'First of all, who is the granny? Second, why should I be afraid of them? I'm invulnerable. Third, damn it, I really want to wash this blood off of me!'
"I need to get the blood off me." Cyril said. "The tattoo is under it."