The Mist and the Lightning. Part 13. Ви Корс

      The expression on the face of their commander Atley Alis was confident and firm, there was not a drop of fear or doubt, not even any excitement. And it was very much felt that Lis was not playing, and this was not a pretense, not a mask of confidence, put on the face of an inside frightened and confused person, but a real inner strength that came from the depths and involuntarily reflected on his face. Both the commanders and the mercenary soldiers: the unclean and black, seeing such Lis, perked up, calmed down and also with joyful excitement, casting aside doubts and fear, rushed to carry out his quick and clear orders. And, if at first, perhaps, they were a little confused, now there is no trace of their confusion.

      Marcus was standing at the top of the fortress wall, his head bare, on which dark hair had grown slightly. His face, under the very eyes, so as to hide the shameful tattoo, was covered with a black mask-shield.

      “Fast! Explain how to proceed!” Lis nodded a little nervously towards the box. They used the reds’ supplies and poured the “mixture” that Marcus made into their stock. Marcus began to show, he set fire to the fuse himself, which was surprising, because he was a scientist, not a warrior, threw the ball far down from the wall into the enemy crowd. There was a deafening roar, fire broke out and smoke poured out. From the explosion, the reds scattered like chips in different directions. Kors’ mercenaries grabbed the balls: they understood everything. Marcus looked at what he had done with a crazy, unseeing look; even through the roar, the screams of the wounded and crippled people were heard. He turned to Lis, and he bared his teeth in satisfaction:

      “Run, do more! More is needed!” Lis turned to the black warriors. “Help him fill up the gunpowder and bring it here! Faster!”

      “Yes, sir!” Marcus shouted, and as if not realizing that he had killed or maimed several people with his own hand, he rushed down the stairs to his workshop. Marcus was in euphoria, some kind of frenzy and wanted to fight like everyone else, and only later he would be able to soberly think about it.

      Kors found Nikto on the left side of the Fort near the bear cage. He had no doubts that Nikto would be here, with his unclean ones, and it was hard not to recognize his blond hair. The reds managed to break through a small section of the old wall near the menagerie. They stormed this weak point of the Fort just as Lis’ warriors once did, and the unclean ones held the defense with all their might, not letting the enemy pass.

      Kors saw at what a frantic pace his Nik, Prince Arel and the unclean ones were fighting, not allowing the reds to enter the Fort through the rift in the wall. Kors, without a second thought, rushed to them. Nikto saw him, he was distracted for a moment, turned around:

      “Kors?! What are you doing here?”

      “I'm with you!” Kors shouted, trying to make Nikto hear him through the roar of fire-shooting “sticks of reds” and “lighters” of Marcus. He didn’t see his face and couldn’t understand how Nikto reacted to it.

      Nikto didn’t say anything to him, and there was no time for that, the red ones climbed through the gap made in the wall, and they had to fight back. Kors himself was not up to talking, as he was immediately attacked, and he was distracted by the red warrior who had attacked him from the side. Kors managed to dodge and block the blow, immediately responding with a counterattack and despite the noise surrounding him, it seemed to him that he very clearly heard a gurgling sound escaping from the throat of the red when he fell choking on his own blood.

      The roar of explosions, screams, the glitter and clink of swords, the crunch of breaking bones and the groans of the dying – Kors “heard” everything at the same time. He caught this crazy drive, and some other strange union with the unclean, as if he was now connected with them. Zaf, Nija and the others were all here. And Kors saw that they were fighting as one. Prince Arel paired with Nikto guessed his actions several moves ahead. Nikto gave him any orders, but Arel acted as if he were part of him, an extra hand.

      And Kors even became a little jealous, because as far as he understood, Arel didn’t hear the Demon as well as Kors could hear him. Nikto said then about Kors: “He hears whole sentences at once, and not just single phrases” and was impressed by this. And Kors, proceeding from these words, concluded that Arel hears mental orders worse, probably only the simplest ones.

      But when they fought now, Arel seemed not to hear the Demon, but to become a Demon himself. And Kors also understood what Daniel Crassus had in mind when he said that Nikto lacked speed. Yes, despite the pace at which they had to fight back, he was really slower than necessary, performed some series of blows and from this he risked getting faster in response.

      Kors’ hearts literally sank at the sight of these dangerous moments, he felt sorry for Nikto, involuntarily forced to take such a risk. And at the same time, Kors was amazed at how his Nik, despite his physical limitations and lack of stability due to lameness, compensated for his disability, and his technique was really very good and not at all primitive, as one might think. His moves were difficult to predict. He, as they say, “led the enemy under pressure,” literally “twisting”, thereby increasing the possibility that he, sooner or later, would make a mistake.

      Prince Arel insured his master and managed to attack along the way. He beat the opponent with force in the legs and then in the head. He knocked down the helmet, dissecting the forehead and the vessels above the eyes, so that the blood flooded the face and interfered with the view. Without giving the enemy time to recover, he beat the stunned red on the arm, breaking a bone and knocking the sword out of his hands. If the red warrior, losing his weapon, tried to cover himself with a shield, Arel quickly bypassed him and beat in the neck area, breaking the spinal column. The fighter lost his orientation in space and couldn’t keep his balance, with a strong kick of the leg Arel knocked over the red one, completing his attack with a thrust blow to the face or neck, where there was no defense. All this often lasted less than thirty seconds. Arel did it reflexively, automatically, with practiced movements at maximum breakneck speed, immediately switching from the fallen disabled enemy to the next one, which took the place of the killed one. At the same time, he managed in a couple of seconds to hit the red one, who was trying to get around him or Nikto from the side.

      At some point, they still managed to throw the reds behind the wall, there was a short pause as a respite. The unclean quickly moved, putting on the first line those who were previously on the second. It was necessary to have time to rest a little and take a breath. Kors, breathing heavily, bending over, leaned his back against the bars of the cage with the bear, without even noticing it. Nikto grabbed him abruptly by the shoulder and pulled him back:

      “What are you doing! Don't lean against it, there’s a barla!” He shouted, calling the bear as the unclean called it.

      Kors turned and saw the beast rushing about the cage. Nikto’s shoulders trembled, apparently he laughed, because of the noise Kors didn’t hear it, and on Nikto’s face was his deaf, faceless mask and the slits for the eyes were obscured by black glass. Kors knew, and Nikto had told him before, that daylight and especially the “fiery lighters” of the reds blinded him greatly. No longer able to restrain his emotions, Kors rushed to him, dragging him into some kind of broken arch in the wall and ripping off the mask from his face. He remembered that in the morning, after Lis announced to them about the attack of the reds and the attack on the Fort, Nikto immediately rushed to dress and to his weapons.

      He didn’t have enough time to stick the mask to his face, Kors was sure of this and was not mistaken, – the mask gave in, and Nikto looked at Kors with his bright eyes:

      “What are you doing, Kors?! I will stop seeing now!” Nikto shouted, however, quite good-naturedly.

      And Kors leaned towards him, rushed, no worse than Arel, his face was tense, with excitement, doubt – what would Nik-Demon do him now? Would he give him a cold shower of indifference, or…

      But Nikto was all towards him, embracing, hugging him.

      “I