Cyril had made a good run and was now moving steadily toward the white walls. The sun was pleasantly hot from above, and the hot stones of the pavement had stopped burning his bare feet, all because the demon inside him was trying to protect the precious vessel.
Cyril, of course, loved himself like any sane person, but did he consider himself precious? It would have been nicer to be a fragile, useless decanter of murky glass containing his grandmother's liquid shit. Then he might have been smashed to smithereens instead of storing the damned demon inside.
These thoughts swarmed somewhere deep in Cyril's mind, while a storm of completely different reasoning raged on the surface.
'What the fuck was I hiding for?' Cyril thought. 'Why the hell did I hold back and be a fucking sweetheart when no one gives a fuck? I got a lot of people killed. Where are the police, where are the guards? The Clan of Fate? Fuck the Clan of Fate! I'm strong, so why should I be careful?'
Cyril moved forward, oblivious to the changes. He wasn't just slapping his bare feet on the pavement. Every time his foot hit the ground, just before he lifted his foot to take the next step, his toes gripped the stone and crushed it like a sugar cube.
There was fire in Cyril's eyes, but Cyril was sure that he was in control of his own body.
'I just wanted to fucking die.' He thought. 'So what? They don't let me die here. But I got strength, invulnerability and awesome speed!'
This thought seemed particularly funny to Cyril, and he laughed.
"Hahaha, if it gets too hot, I can always run away, right?"
'Like a cowardly weakling.' He thought and immediately grabbed his head. 'Wait. That's not my thougth.'
The street was almost empty, and no one paid any attention to the strange guy without shoes. How many of us haven't talked to ourselves at least once in our lives?
The white walls were only a few dozen paces away. A pair of white-robed men stood at the high gate. They squinted in the sun like cats as they talked.
'Don't you dare run away when it gets hot.' A very clear thought came to him. 'You better make some fire.'
Cyril didn't notice the fire in his eyes at the thought, but he felt his fists clench.
"I think I understand." He whispered, and stopped slowly. "Hello, Amon. How often have I mistaken your speech for my thoughts?"
Whether the question startled Amon, or whether the demon thought the conversation was over, the fire in his eyes faded, and the pavement began to get hot again. Cyril cleared his throat and rubbed his face, recovering.
"Well." He said. "It doesn't change my desire to get Clara back."
Standing on the hot stone became unpleasant again, and Cyril strode to the gate. Soon he came to the two wizards. The mages' outfits resembled those of an alchemist, differing only in color and the fact that their faces remained visible.
The kittens purred among themselves, oblivious to Cyril's approach. One of them had a white beard, and the other had a bare face.
"Good day, men!" Cyril greeted. "May I come in?"
The kittens stopped purring and looked at Cyril. He smiled as wide as the muscles of his face would allow, and made the wizards squint even harder. Finally, the bearded man remembered his duties as a gatekeeper.
"What brings you, stranger?" He asked, tilting his head slightly.
The second wizard, probably the youngest, judging by his bare chin, looked at Cyril curiously.
"I'm looking for a friend." Cyril said in his usual slack tone. "She went to the Clean Heel clan a couple of days ago, she promised to come back, but never came."
Cyril shrugged, looking innocent, and also looked at the young monk. Apart from his bare chin, everything about the boy irritated him. However, Cyril was in no hurry to bully.
'After all, she could be anywhere.' Cyril thought. 'But, fuck, what if the wizards are strong enough to kill me in a battle?'
"What is your friend's name?" The bald chin asked in a tone, as if he was helping a child find its missing mother.
Cyril resisted the urge to paint his chin the color of blood.
"Clara." He said good-naturedly, and looked at the white beard. "She worked in a nearby bathhouse."
The bearded wizard's face changed and he quickly whispered something to the bald chin. The bald man's eyes widened in surprise and he took off to duck through the small door behind them.
"Wait here." The wizard said in a serious but friendly tone.
"Yep."
Cyril moved aside and stepped on a soft grass beside the road.
'What a fucking problem.' He thought to himself, looking back at white beard. 'I would like to start a fight to test my strength limit, but I don't know how to approach. Man, it's a shame I never fought when I was a simple guy. I've never started a fight in this world.'
Cyril thought that if he had an older brother, the problems at school would be reduced to the same scenario. The bully attacks, Cyril is afraid, the older brother comes, the bully begs for mercy.
But in real life, Cyril had to dodge and bargain to avoid grabbing a black eye from a bully. For example, a math test secretly written for a bully cost Cyril three weeks without being bullied.
The bald chin came running and pulled Cyril out of his memories. He whispered something to the beard just as quickly, and the wizard nodded.
"You can come in." The bearded man said, and turned to point at the door behind him. "You'll be met."
"Thanks." Cyril whistled, and stepped off the soft grass.
'I'll try to be impudent and provoke someone to aggression.' He decided, moving impressively and rather stupidly. 'Maybe I get angry? Aaarrr!!! It doesn't work. The day is too bright to be angry.'
Cyril passed by two wizards.
'Amon, my friend! Let's have a Sabbath?!'
Demon inside him was silent, as if offended by the precious vessel's behavior. He managed to get into the body of such a brat! Why not be in the body of a warrior or at least a strong butcher? No, Mr. Demon, take a manager. A mid-level manager, fuck.
Cyril went through a small door in the high gate and found himself in the clan courtyard. However, the word yard did not apply to a huge plot of land. Green lawns stretched for hundreds of meters, neatly trimmed trees bloomed with white and pink flowers, and the dense green of their foliage cast a dense shadow on the soft sand of the well-groomed paths.
Ahead, a small pond surrounded by tall palm trees flashed in the sun. White-robed wizards sat under palm trees or strolled around the pond, but they all had one thing in common.
The wizards contemplated.
"What a fucking Zen?" Cyril coughed. "And who's going to meet me? Hey!"
He turned, but the door in the gate was already closed.
"Shit." Cyril whispered, and decided to start small.
He walked over to one of the trees, which was growing well seen for the fellows near the pond. Cyril swung, focusing on the straight palm, and split the barrel. The green crown fell to the ground, giving Cyril a pleasant smell of flowering branches.
A second passed, then another, and Cyril began counting the monks, waiting for a reaction. No one paid any attention to what he did. This was getting annoying.
"I'm trying to bully here, and you don't care?" He grumbled. "Okay."
Cyril left the tree, walked closer to the pond, and stood in the middle of the path so that he was clearly visible to everyone. Then he unzipped his fly. The succubi had been generous with their tea, and now the plentiful stream hit the sand. A pleasant murmur filled the quiet courtyard.
The blatant disrespect had a small, but still effect. One of the monks looked up from his contemplation of the pond and grimaced. However, he quickly returned to meditation.
"Oh, what a fucking shame." Cyril swore, removing his cock. "Do you have to go up and chop a man over the head like a tree to start a fight?"
He didn't have time to test his theory when he heard a familiar voice.
"Cyril!"