Глава 16

Using Originium Arts is not the hard part of the combat.

Red and black mist fill the air. The white silhouette within does not speak or move, not even the fringes of its clothes.

It does not dodge or fight back, simply existing there in silence, allowing the barriers around it to wither away.

A void, a vortex that devours everything.

You are...

The scenes in the cognitive realm continue to flicker. They return to where they began.

A wilderness of unknown name or location. One could call it—

Sargon.

Why... why would this happen...?

Catastrophe has destroyed our home, why must war take our lives as well?

Padishah, silent and wise...

Hear my prayer, and comfort...

My pain.

...Futile.

Search as you might in my consciousness, you will never create a vision that makes me choose to sleep in the void.

You ■■... Padishah.

A Padishah. This is your past.

Your people sought comfort from you, but you would not even grant them an illusion, though it would have taken you little effort.

It's not comfort, it's just a lie.

A sweet dream cannot shaken the ancient, corrupt royalty.

I left that place, fled of my own accord.

Indeed, you are not shaken.

Your voice...

You cannot become the source of the voice, Yurodstvo. You cannot become... 'me'.

Because I cannot speak, and because you're simply—

'An Echo.'

'People see in me the reflection of their perception and expectation.'

That's how you come to be.

But to you, and to my own folly...

I have no expectation.

You are strong...

You have not been tried or baptized, yet you wield power almost the same as mine.

Yet you have neglected your power, this gift... you should have used it to proselytize and lead your people.

What made you leave your palace? What made you give up on power and become weak?

I realized...

Knowledge is more lasting than authority. The truth is stronger than lies.

And you...

You have spurred them onto a path of destruction, to die upon this frozen soil.

Why?

Soft laughter ripples through the air.

It is revelation. It is ■■. It is proselytization. It is sacrifice.

The land is about to undergo drastic changes. Those who are not strong will be destroyed.

Therefore, I nurtured a spark, making it strong, making it spread.

It will burn all that is impure, and all shall be born again within.

Mantra is certain she can kill it. In the realm of the mind, it will take little more effort than snuffing out a candle.

But what will killing it do? She is unsure. Besides, is there victory to be gained when your foe never engaged?

Stop wasting time, Yurodstvo.

Cease your influence on the people here, and let them leave with me.

Otherwise, Ursus will soon need a new Yurodstvo.

No... no...

Your past is thick and long, ■■.

But it must be there, somewhere...

Your pain, the pain that you ■■ hide from...

'Accept it.'

There was no time for Mantra to react. A split second of hesitation is enough to cause a crack in the cognitive realm that she used all her strength to maintain.

She realizes her error almost instantly, but countless responses are already coming from outside the realm.

I accept.

I... I accept.

I accept. I have long accepted.

I can eat straw, moss, drink snow water with gravel mixed in, until my stomach is full, and I shall not hunger. Not anymore.

See? Death is not more terrible than living.

At the end of her vision, Yurodstvo is white and slender, not a trembling apparition, nor a hunched old woman.

Whatever its appearance, it will continue to exist, as long as a single person believes in it.

The cause is not here. It is somewhere else.

Time starts flowing again. Mantra looks around, and her reason and emotion fight a war in her head, arguing about whether to try to fix the error, or beat a retreat.

Soon, she makes up her mind.

Elysium.

Right here!

I need you to use thermal imaging to mark the location from the outside. Connect me to every miner here.

Can you do it?

Of course—

You got it!

The woman's cold voice appears in every miner's head.

The instant that the connection is made, she realizes that these people can no longer endure any more shocks from mental Arts.

She can only keep out Yurodstvo for so long. Time is of the essence.

Perhaps this will be cruel to you. But I believe it's necessary to reveal the truth.

If this exodus began out of despair and manipulation, then you should at least decide your own ending.

Who's... talking?

How did I end up back here...?

We're not here! We ran away with Rankin—we cut out the chips and got away!

This isn't real.

You're half-correct. This is not the truth of the present, but of the past.

You killed the one on the ground. Yes or no?

Yes, yes! We killed him... Rankin killed him!

I thought Rankin was a hero. He said he would take us to a place where the Infected won't be looked down on, but he abandoned us in the end...

So you validated the truth of this scene.

I was there! I saw it. We killed and defiled our own soul...

Look again.

Tell me. Who is it?

Nadia, Vetochki's babushka. Everyone in the mines respected her, even the guards.

You respected her too. In the way that you respect your elders, or in the way that you respect a statue of a god?

There's little difference, if you live to her age in the mines.

She stood among you. She joined the revolt.

No, she didn't. She wasn't there... no one would ask an old woman to fight.

She's here? Who is she looking at? Is she mourning the fallen? Why would she mourn a murderer?

Because it was she who killed him.

What?

Rankin and your group never killed the last one who fell.

What killed him was his hubris, and the one who created the illusion, making you blame yourself for his death.

'Yurodstvo.'