* * *

  Stepan had suffered in life from his sometimes excessive altruism, but what he didn't have was a tendency to heroic self-sacrifice and suicidal tendencies. And his choice between his life and the life of that psychotic shamaness of some VIP family, he would have waved goodbye to her and gone into the fog, only then he would have avoided Morgrave, just in case. The earthling even now, on this yer of higher spheres, even through all the interference, still felt his body and totems resonating in the amplifying signal.

  And he still had the bracelets on his hands, in which he had invested only one function, but he had invested it so well that he was waiting for the discovery of knowledge from the artifact branch, but no, the System was greedy. Now on these bracelets is all his hope. Otherwise, he would only pray to Autogoddess. But even if she saves nowhere her chosen one, Stepan's pride will not survive it, having arranged his death from shame for his own worthlessness. At the moment when the barriers finally colpsed, when the circle-from-circle simply burst, revealing an evil shit, who was the senior spirit minimum, as well as a bunch of smaller shits. Stepan would have waved to them, but his hands were busy.

  Standing in a crucified carpenter's pose and hovering in the spiritual current, he bent his arms sharply at the elbows, pointing his wrists downward, allowing the bracelets that had disintegrated into segmented tabs to slide downward and gather into two groups of concentric rings at knee level, if his current torpedo-like and fish-like spiritual form, which did not even have a third arm now, had a concept of knees. A moment and each of the circle-bracelets, which was, in essence, a miniature and turned inside out circle-from-circle in an extremely unusual specification, shone with the brightest fsh of pure light, slightly burning even Stepan. And then the young man began to be carried away - through each of the circles passed an extremely concentrated stream of ether, a generous portion of spiritual force, burning out the reflection of the bracelets that worked, but this force was under a strict vector, literally imposing this vector on the surrounding universe, where the directions as such may not exist, especially at such a depth.

  The bracelets guided him, and his consciousness drew a straight line to his own body, and then the homemade Fart jet propulsion carried its creator to the only possible goal. In fact, it was not his idea, but a systematic recipe from the cssics of Calls combined with Totems, Territorial magic, and Remote Control techniques. At that moment he was literally persuading his spirit to despise distance, which meant nothing in the spiritual world anyway, and the surrounding reality and etheric currents were temporarily bending to this conviction. And that's why he, rushing in a straight line and flying into new mole holes, did not fall deeper, but every time went up, so he always became closer to the goal, and not vice versa - for a few minutes he simply could not move not in the direction of his own body and the protective totems that outlined him. It wasn't teleportation yet, but something very close to it (even if it only worked on the shaman who had left his body) and, more importantly, it didn't care about distance and space metrics.

  But, as, it’s very expensive.

  And it still takes quite a long time to prepare.

  And extremely dangerous, that's it.

  The problem was that a fair share of the hungry spirits - those who were fast enough, smart enough, or just in time to tail the first two categories - were following him, using the channel Stepan had created to pursue him. One of them strengthened this channel to keep up and not to lose the others. The only consotion was that the huge and terrifying elder spirit, which was even stronger than Dreamwalker and certainly stronger than the windy protector of the stupid shamaness, was not among the pursuers. Apparently, having chased the irritant out of his sight, the chupacabra was satisfied enough. Or he thought he would spend more energy on the chase than he would get from eating his victim. However, the shaman would still have to survive the rest of the creatures somehow, and preferably in such a way that Upper Lyady would not die out because of the fact that all this abomination had scattered to the nearest hills and other remote corners.

  Nothing, he had a ready line of defense there, something to counter his enemies with. Stepan continued to direct himself, wasting the resource of his bracelets, and the stupid thought that he should look like two streams of ether, merged behind his back into one, were bsting directly from his ass. The image was so stupid and clingy that he had to forcefully suppress a smile and keep his concentration, or the slightest mistake and his ass would be ripped off either by the same stream of ether or by the spirits that had caught up with him.

  Stepan had not yet seen the real world, but the clock, the clock was working, and he knew exactly what time it was and what time of day it was.

  Somewhere out there in the real world, the st rays of the cold winter sun caressed the motionless, ownerless shaman's body.

  It was getting dark.

  * * *

  The shaman arrived on the battlefield first. One could even say that he led all his relentless pursuers in a well-thought-out and carefully pnned ambush, and his mental and seeping into the issued images of panic swearing, interspersed with another “God I do not want to die (c)” was simply a means of introducing disinformation in the camp of the enemy, to confuse them and instill a false sense of superiority. That's how Stepan would tell his prospective listeners if he lived to a ripe old age, without revealing such a piquant detail as the barely mastered skill of shit in the spiritual body. Well, even if he had mastered it, he could just tell them that it was his way of throwing shit-bombs out of a fierce anger to slow down the enemy and cause confusion in their already not too slender ranks.

  The opponents were just a little behind at the moment of entering the zone of control of the clearing, hitting the outer contour of the defense with all their mass. They did, of course, they couldn't help it. It was created for the enemy to break through it, but not immediately, but as te as possible. The shaman had the real luxury of a few moments to think, and he spent those moments thinking hard deciding tactics and next steps. Logic and panic told him to merge right away back into a body that was feeling quite well, fighting in a familiar state and not being afraid to die from a zy wave. When he returned to the removed suit, he would immediately protect himself from the specific blows of the enemy, as well as be able to attack no less effectively, simply because he would not be afraid to die from the first touch of someone's false legs with a mouth on the end.

  Panic was one thing, but logic was another. The body would be far from being able to function as soon as the inhabitant who had been absent for over a week returned to it. Even though Stepan had taken care of everything, even though the body was supported by healing spirits which even now had not stopped working, even though the body was nourished by the potions he drank, even though the atmospheric moisture condensed in his stomach to quench his thirst, but still he would have to lie down for at least another hour after the return. Stepan had not counted on such a powerful chase. He could not even imagine a scenario in which he would have to bring such a fierce crowd to his home. With a weaker enemy his guardian spirits would have coped without the participation of the shaman, but now his participation is damn important and necessary. He could help, he could adjust the work of the defense array, guide his wards, recall the most tired, distribute the quality of nourishment from totems among the participants of the battle and cut off this nourishment to the enemy. However, then you will have to become solely a conductor. It will no longer be possible to participate in the battle personally, just pointless it will be. He will only interfere with his own subordinates.

  The decision had to be made quickly. Stepan made his decision without going down to the body. On the contrary, he went up higher, reaching out with all his senses and essence to his will, which impregnated the pce as tightly as he could make it. The first line of defense had almost fallen, but among all the attacking spirits who had rushed into that line, following in the wake of the spiritual express from the shaman's bracelets, no one had noticed how that very line, weakened in front, had become monolithic in the back, cutting off the possibility of retreat. Yes, when he created this line, he was obviously thinking of something else. He didn't want to be the cause of the vilge's extinction if one of the creatures went somewhere else, to the people. But he hadn't counted on such a crowd of guests.

  The spiritual world was distorted, shut in on itself, and even though it was not yet a spiritual pocket, escaping from the resulting trap would be a challenge even for the most dangerous of the entities that followed him. The main enemy, to Stepan's great fortune, really did not pursue the fleeing man. He could still fight with the rest. The first of the lines of defense burst and the creatures with all their evil wave rushed into the space of special control, flickering between the trees, stumps, and fallen leaves and getting closer and closer to the clearing itself, where so beckoned from the smell-light-substance of the exposed spirit of the shaman and his powerful totems. The circle of cut-off closed finally, cutting off the clearing and two hundred meters of radius from the edges of the clearing from the rest of the spiritual pne, which did not strengthen Stepan and his retinue but slightly weakened the forces of the attackers.

  Next, before the enemy entered the clearing itself, Stepan pyed the first act of the coming storm, starting to activate his preparations. The first to go off were the trinkets and cloth ribbons hanging in the trees, and the signs carved around the tree trunks glowed with a light invisible to the ordinary eye. It's not an attack yet. It just strengthens the weakening effect and a chance to scan the enemy normally. And he's not happy with the results - many, many dumb and evil masses, both small and rger, as well as at least eight pockets of really strong spiritual disturbances. Some of them were triggered by a mass of small spirits, some by a few strong spirits or one strong one with an entourage of a bunch of small ones, but at least three were just damn powerful bastards who'd come to savor a shaman's body and didn't need an entourage to do it.

  You motherfuckers, I'm gonna feed you like this for the rest of your life, for the rest of your fucking ten minutes!Despite his bravado, he was calming himself down now, because there were so many creatures gathered for his soul. On the other hand, his bravado was not entirely unfounded, and he immediately began to prove it, both to himself and to his opponent. A will pull a thread, a wish pointing to the malleable matter of the spiritual reflection of the bloody gde, and he was already mixing his calls, pre-created preparations, territorial magic, and scraps of witchcraft avaible to him, reaching for the pots buried under the ground from the generous potter, reaching for what he had left there and activating them all at once. At the same time, he pulled another strand of his will, weaving the third limb into a multitude of small tentacles, each pointing to the bulk of the totems, or simply to the patches of grooves covering the tamped earth that merged into primitive but effective restraining patterns.

  The ribbons hanging from the branches and trunks begin to smoke as if burning in an invisible fire. They give off heat and an extremely unpleasant odor-not odor for spirits, but the effect of pepper spray in the face of the creatures that got too close is actually a side effect of the main idea. It's as if an air-wind wave and some unhealthy buzzing are going through the spirit world, braiding images and attempts to send those images, depriving the already not particurly coordinated creatures of the remnants of that coordination. First of all, the blow was directed against the guides, that is, the grown representatives of the pack entities, which came after him not only alone but also in the company of the pack, directed by them. It did not deprive them of control, but at most slowed their responses and loosened the leash on the dense and angry crowd of little things.

  And suddenly, without giving the enemy a second thought, the unextinguished coals in the pots buried under a thin yer of earth were lit. The pseudo-totems, the trap totems, which had served as the basis of the supporting barriers, were now acting as bait. This decoy was deceptively sweet and nourishing, full of offerings burning in embers and smoke, so accessible and free. And the dumb, angry, aggressive, and also permanently hungry fry literally rushed into those pots. Their trouble was that the smoke in the pots was really full of power, not the worst offerings were used for fuel and coals but only these offerings were scarce, and the spirits who broke into the pots, on the contrary, a lot. And it was possible to leave this totem only after Stepan had unlocked the base of the lock, which he was not going to do. And here, in the cramped and uncomfortable totem, soaked with the smoke of incense and the embers of offerings, the spirits of various spheres gathered spontaneously fell under the st, hitherto hidden effect of the pots: they sharply ceased to distinguish between temporary allies and food. Well, it was not for nothing that he selected such special additives in the smoke to provoke a massacre between unintelligent and stupid creatures, was it?

  The crowd had seemed incredibly huge and invincible was sharply reduced by times, by orders of magnitude even, which immediately raised the morale of Stepan, and the defenders hastily arriving at the contract call, and, of course, those of the battle spirits, which were already sitting in totems, waiting for the order to tear and torment. In reality, of course, it was not a drop in the sea, but not a crushing damage: the loss of the enemy all this little thing simplified the life of the shaman and his retinue, but did not make the enemy less dangerous, because he did not lose even a fourth of its power, because the strongest or at least just not too small spirits did not react to such an obvious trap.

  Some of them, even the more or less strong ones, had fallen into individual traps, like trap pits, snares, and predator pockets, which reduced the number of attackers even more. It was a pity, but most of these traps, which could have been a serious problem even for strong spirits, were activated by the same crowd, wasting their potential on worthless targets. It was a shame when a hunger pit with a destructive pulse that could seriously injure even one of the eight brightest opponents was activated on a random small leech. On the other hand, more massive traps were more effective, like rocks scattered here and there, which first drew in small spirits and the surrounding ether, and then the invested effect forcibly and temporarily changed their aspects into one shared one, rather than making them synchronously die of conflict. And then the power came back out of the cracked stone, releasing the ether poisoned by its agony and death convulsions, which it used to suck up rather than hurt those too close to it. And yet, where the pots had worked perfectly, some of the traps had failed.

  But Stepan has only begun.

  The second act was marked by the finally burnt-out ribbons on the trees: blurred by smoke and ashes, they fell as weightless dust in the real world, but in the spiritual reflection they grew as revived streams of etheric breeze and began to braid not only their trees, but all the rest of the space of the gde closed on itself. Some spirits reflexively or consciously began to attack these ribbons, which significantly simplified their lives, but most of them either did not have time, or they were not so strong that they could easily tear the billet fed from the pce of power of the shaman. Still in time, still the Earthman managed, unfolding his byrinth, closing off certain sections of it of space separated by ribbons, tearing the collective of guests into separate groups. Again, this was nothing incredible, in fact he had used a simir barrier at every call where he summoned more than one spirit to keep them from attacking each other and the shaman. But now a simir barrier in plurality covered the entire clearing in separate segments, keeping it stable through long preparation and feeding from the totems. The totems tirelessly pumped through themselves the power extracted from the deep yers of the spirit world, while the spirits sitting in them, like mules, pumped the invisible pump, delivering this power. Without the material basis, which had already been successfully burned to shit, this creation would not st long, not counting the fact that many of the spirits had begun to tear apart the individual segments of the byrinth and squeeze them with their power.

  But he doesn't need much. He had enough of what he'd already received: a manifestation of will and the first mixed group of some rge leeches, beast-like stuff, dark corruptors, and who the fuck knows what else, who had miraculously not started to torment each other, was carried straight to the clearing, first almost smearing them against the second and much more powerful barrier, and then sending them straight into the jaws of the already ready summoned spirits. Stepan was not shy and called all those who were fit for this fight, and most of them came, although a couple of them only assessed the degree of danger and immediately left. Stepan did not prevent them from leaving. He just didn't have time. And if he didn't let them out, they could become the enemy's side, but he memorized each of them, involuntarily writing them down in his personal firing notebook. He would send a liquidation team after each of those who had abandoned him, despite the payment received in advance. The main thing is to survive now. However, most of those called to the battle showed up. Though they were anxious, they came and successfully built themselves into the defense, were energized by totems, and took the positions indicated by the shaman. He suppressed panic, but not adrenaline - even though the body with that adrenaline did not exist - he again accelerated himself beyond the limits of normal thinking, intuitively realizing that he would be able to repeat such a trick in a meat body, albeit with health concerns.

  In the meantime, the first group of the enemy delivered to the address met with a pack of jackals, a couple of dark naturals, and a small pack of wind spirits, quickly ceasing to be and exist. The fact that Stepan was still summoning now, and had originally prepared the army for this occasion with the expectation of confronting other spirits, so he had selected the appropriate properties of the contracts. It turned out that a crowd of hooligans and bandits ran into professional soldiers or killers, starting to py the role of a flock of birds thrown into a working airpne turbine. The turbines liked it and even asked for more, and Stepan hurried to fulfill the request, pulling both the second and third groups before the enemy completely broke the maze. In the third group, he dragged one of the leaders into the confines of the second line as well - surrounded by a thinned and partially potted retinue of strong spirits, like a clump of tentacles and worms in a cloud of greenish darkness. A sphere of poison and corruption. It was the standard of the kind of shit that shamans never summoned because it was useless and would cause trouble. Sometimes they do, but it's on the same level as the bomb he used in the forest near Fantrelle. Shackle it, put it in a vessel, and then release it in the enemy camp.

  This one was good, powerful, even dangerous. If it had not been in the front line but had supported its retinue from behind, driving them forward and feeding some of its power, it would have been hard, part of the defensive preparations would have been spoiled, and part would have had to be hastily spent to prevent the breakthrough, not to mention the losses in the summoned fighters. This entity had the unpleasant ability to give even the smallest creatures the properties of its spirit flesh - poisonousness and gradual, accumuting rot, which could also intercept the control of a weak spirit or part of the totem. A very unpleasant enemy and Stepan spared no billet for him: one of the totems, very specific and not made by Stepan at all, shone invisible in the real world beacon, the rest shone in response, and then the firefly sitting inside, received together with the totem for the completion of the almost forgotten assignment, struck a cleansing beam of the highest power, putting all avaible reserve in the attack and immediately sneaking back into his house. That was it, he'd had enough fighting for today, poor guy.

  But the corruptor turned out to be an even bigger loser, for the remnants of his retinue were simply torn off, along with pieces of spiritual flesh, and he was simultaneously stunned, paralyzed, and even a little farted. He was killed quickly and with no effort, and those who could hit from a distance were the ones who attacked. A dozen air and fire elementals fell into the real world, and Stepan shoved the stunned corruptor into it. And already in the real world, thin but powerful lightning struck, fmes erupted, showering multiple sparks, several of which were stopped by the defenders covering the shaman's senseless body, and the spoilsman, who screeched inaudibly, squealed disgustingly, and screamed desperately, died in a squirming fit.

  It was a good start, and one should not stop after that, so Stepan did not stop. Instead pulling out the fourth and even the fifth groups. This time without strong creatures. Those, by now, had successfully torn the byrinth around them and were now rushing towards the clearing on their own terms. They were attracted by the shaman's soul, the power spilled around them, and the traces of many calls and offerings that could be devoured from this pce, so they had no reason to slow down. The reasons to be cautious were suppressed by numerical and even qualitative superiority, as well as by the general maliciousness of the cattle. Both groups of little things the growing and gradually awakening army of the young spirit caster destroyed, but he did not have time to use this trick anymore - the byrinth had fallen and the remnants of the enemies had already started beating into the second yer of defense, running exactly along the edges of his personal clearing.

  Under the gaze and scanning impact of Stepan, mentally shouting new wishes of all good things to the stupid brawling shamaness and all her family, were those who in the future, very unpleasantly close, will pose the most important threat to his livelihood. Three spirits were though strong, but so, tolerably strong, in fact, dangerous only due to the support of a still significant pile of small things that they dragged behind them for the sake of cover and offense. The really difficult enemy were four spirits, which retinue or not at all or had it in its infancy, or had it, but without it they were fearsome. Looking at each of these immaterial monsters, the shaman became sad, offended, and very much wanted to still go back in time, leaving a randomly met rival in css where her own stupidity, shortsightedness, haste, and bad character led her. But since he had no time travel skills, his desire was limited to his thoughts.

  The first of the spirits looked humanoid, but not human. It is the owner of the rgest retinue and completely different directions and spheres as if he did not care about the selection of personnel and conflicts between them. It was very thin and skinless as if having been in Auschwitz and Buchenwald at the same time. He seemed so fragile that he could be broken with a blow of a stick. But the image of a mouth full of needle teeth hinted at not particurly good aspects, and there was a lot of evil and insidious power in him. Even more, he was pulling it into himself from the assembled retinue, literally sucking even unresisting spirits to the bottom, leaving them only etheric shreds and squeezed spiritual flesh. A spirit vampire, and one that seemed to be able to vampirize primarily its brethren rather than the inhabitants of the Reality. It was an unpleasant and dangerous enemy in other conditions. Here and now, Stepan put him as the least worrisome of the four, simply because his will and control over the clearing allowed him to override these suction mechanics, though not completely, but very significantly. He couldn't even squeeze his victims properly, though he hadn't even crossed the second barrier yet, beyond which the pressure of the totems would become the most intense.

  Such leech-like overgrowths, though not in shape and form, but in specialization, reveal themselves as a true force when they have time to prepare and the opportunity to attack first. Right now, the skinny one had neither, so his danger level could be reduced a little. But only slightly, because it's not just an overgrown leech no matter how much he wants it to be. Otherwise, it would look like one. No, it's skilled in spirit control and probably mental influence, since its victims are so willing to bear its sughter. Not good, not good at all, but worse still, the spirits, drunk to the bottom, do not disintegrate, but continue to float around the sucker, and he does something with them. Yes, with the help of his pots, Stepan had cut the feeding base of this bastard, but he suspected that the scrawny thing would still demonstrate some cunning and unusual tactics.

  The second spirit had almost no retinue, just a handful of aquatic-animal-type creatures that followed their elder counterpart voluntarily rather than being controlled directly by him. This entity resembled a huge swordfish, swift, agile, masterfully pnning between the etheric currents, and its bde-nose was dangerous even for Stepan's barriers, being the main, the only, and damn powerful weapon. Yes, the creature had nothing else to show in battle, but it obviously had enough, because its speed and maneuver multiplied by the piercing power of the nose-bde allowed it to tear apart even a not-too-maneuverable elder spirit with luck. A natural astral predator, very specialized and the more dangerous, even if not strong. This freak would have to be taken down literally first. He must not be allowed to show his best features. Otherwise, the elite of Stepan's summons would be thinned out, because this entity would hit the very elite against which the fish was most effective.

  Now, while he is not in a hurry to chisel into the barrier, letting someone else waste his strength, the creature might even seem weak, because he doesn't have much energy reserve, but maneuverability and striking power will py for the fish. And there is no one suitable in the stock, and those who are will be needed in the battle with other opponents. So it turned out that this swimmer was worth killing as quickly as possible, but at the same time not to take away from the important matters of the strongest summons. Or, strike first, tear the enemy literally with the first blow, immediately directing those freed after this blow to cover the holes that arose. It can go both very smoothly and calmly, or with extremely high losses among the thrown into the battle spirits of lower gradation, which the enemy will knock out in packs, while the strongest servants of the shaman will jam the fish, maybe even with dynamite.

  The number three contender for Stepan's guts was... Balls with Whiskers. Okay, we have to be serious, but this spirit really looked like a huge scrotum floating in the ether currents, which from the sides was crowned with two bundles of dense and stiff, but thin tentacles. It looked extremely obscene, and in another situation ridiculous, but in fact the creature was really powerful, damnably strong, and obviously not ordinary. The tentacle-whiskers carried a serious threat, and the spirit itself, without a clear sphere, was clearly not just a predator, but also preferred shaman's meat. It literally vibes of hunger and hunger to devour, to devour slowly, leisurely, digesting a little at a time, letting it savor the suffering. By the looks of it, it had a lot of experience in eating careless shamans. The creature was literally broadcasting to Stepan and its own allies that it had come here for the spirit and body of a miserable little man, not for the power invested in totems and the clearing. It was trying to frighten and break the will of the former, to calm the tter, and at the same time to y cim to the part of the prey it needed.

  Something told the young man that if he properly searched for references in local folklore or specialized literature, he might even find records of this hovering Whiskers scrotum. For true seniors, for recognized masters, it is not dangerous. For beginners or inexperienced shamans without the support of a senior mentor, this spirit was a terror. He could also deliberately stalk them. And if the mentor also turned out to be weak and inexperienced, then he too would be wiped to dust and this dust would be sucked into the maw hidden between the two saggy balls. Giger would have burst into tears of happy ecstasy with this shit, but Stepan wanted to cry. The creature pressed and pressed hard, literally pushing fear into the earthling's essence, but that was nothing. In a normal state of mind, he would have been able to drive away those ball-bearing whiskers, and the creature wouldn't have come near him at all. He was already off the menu. He had already gained enough personal power and defense contracts that the cautious shit wouldn't come to death. Only now the situation was unusual, and the creature had plenty of allied entities that had a chance to eat whatever it wanted, which meant it wanted its favorite cut from the still suffering in agony inhabitant of Reality.

  He would have assigned such shit to the first position in the degree of the greatest danger to his isekai ass, but as, the st of the prominent guests turned out to be a worthy competitor to the flying scrotum and to be honest, he winged it like an ace covers a jack. And it wasn't because the mustachioed bastard was so weak, no, the creature was still deadly and very experienced in confronting shamans. It was just that the st of the four was a spirit of the animal sphere, but very thickly mixed with some kind of not even darkness, but literally infernal anger, horror, and simply brutal cruelty. Bears are not very kind animals, the spirits of this kinship are also often very dangerous, with arrogance, conflicted and excellent in battle, whether it was defense or attack, the role of the actual king of the forests, firmly entrenched in reality and feeding the power of the spirits born from this image. But this specimen...

  * * *

  Back on earth, Stepan, who had not yet emerged from adolescence, read somewhere a study, a theory, or a fiction posted on the Internet that originally bears were called in a completely different way, in Svic and Germanic-Romanic nguages. But the name of a cute bear so afraid to call, with superstitious horror fearing to attract this name of the evil beast, which attributed to the most different and extremely terrible mystical properties, that they began to speak allegorically, as if it was "medved", "ursus" or "bear", from which over time it is allegorical name and became permanent. At that time, the guy missed this information by his ears. He had enough other tasks and things to do than to check every story on the Internet. But now, for some reason, it came to mind.

  The creature was fearsome in too many ways. It embodied the very essence of unprecedented animal cruelty and mercilessness to prey, inevitability and fear, the fear that every living and not-so-living creature feels when encountering an ultimatum predator for whom everything encountered and all encountered is prey. Wild power, curbed in the shackles of spiritual flesh, in the dark haze covering the image of a killer bear-cannibal. Strength, speed, the ability to stalk prey anywhere without losing track of it, but also monstrous armor and resistance to both the abilities of spirits and cssical magic, the ability to kill in both the higher realms and the real world. He would have tried to call it if such a thing had been a little bit communicative, instead of seeing everything around him as munching, not munching yet, soon munching, and too strong munching for now.

  Against this one, it will be necessary to throw one of the elite summons to the deliberate devouring, just in the hope of at least deying the ass while the young man will deal with the rest of the armada and then concentrate on the Bear-from-Hell. Oh, and against the Whiskers he'd need to throw in some serious fighters, not to mention the Fish and the Skinny Sucker... He hoped his elite summons would be enough, those with contracts that allowed them to be summoned to fight other spirits, not mortals. Stepan would have panicked a long time ago, but he was already constantly spraying this panic in all directions since the moment of his return, rejoicing to himself that he was used to meeting panic with frantic actions, not stupor, thirst for escape, or reflexive attack. There was nowhere to run to, and trying to strike could only end everything faster, but no less painful.

  The spirits pressed together, pushing through the second of the barriers. Stepan did not even hold on to it. The totems and the bed with his body were covered by the third most powerful barrier. It would be better to channel his strength and nourishment into the spirits being summoned and incarnated. He had accumuted a lot of summons, mostly not easy ones, with exotic and unusual abilities, but mostly still weak. It appeared that his weak and medium strength summons could easily tear apart even a noticeably rge crowd of simirly inferior entities, but there were not enough elite fighters to match the elite scum that had come after him, ready to fight on such terms.... they were in short supply. He could only hope that he would be able to hold out until the ordinary summoners had dealt with the ordinary meat, and then the rest would be kicked together.

  A lizard-like warrior, armed with two yatagans, rose near one of the totems, covered in a plume of smoke and smoke. He smelled of blood, war, fires, smoke, and victory. A one-time contract, but the spirit had accepted the terms of the deal, having already chosen his opponent and received Stepan's confirmation. The smoky veil surrounding him was no darkness but concealed no worse. Its smoke served as both weapon and armor, and the two bdes were only slightly inferior to the nose of a swordfish, if you counted them together, of course. Two totems fed him at once, one fully powered, the other in reserve in case he needed a boost. It gave him greater speed, and the ability to save effort and spend more of his strength while taking it from his allies.

  The great and mighty Donut summoned beforehand, was already spinning nearby. In pure power, he was not so powerful, yes, but in specialization, if the conditions of his existence were met, oh, a surprisingly pleasant addition to their ranks. A spirit whose purpose of existence was to protect the shaman's body, deprived of its inhabitant, could, in a prepared territory, with the nourishment of the pce of power and the approval of the shaman, devour any of those present, except, perhaps, the Creepy Bear. Or even one for two, if you were lucky and supported it competently. As, but it will neither be possible to get him on a permanent contract, nor to summon another simir one - such aspect-exots do not conflict with each other, but both of them will weaken at once, without changing the total power of their presence. Now this toothy and slightly furry, eyeless ball was almost bouncing in pce, seeming to be the only one present who was not only okay with the situation but enjoying it.

  Next to the Lizard appeared a trio of animal-like spirits, bearing some very obscure connection with the Sphere of Unity and Cohesion. Named Nif-Nif, Naf-Naf, and Nuf-Nuf in the shaman's notes, they were, of course, not cute pigs, but very formidable incarnations of wild boars, rge, powerful, fast, and quite vicious, especially if they were angry. They had an aura of unity that allowed the three spirits bonded to the point of near fusion, to work together, stretching out all the damage to them, proportionally reducing it, and losing some of it along the way. You can hit them for a long time, but you can only kill them all together, preferably at once. They are not particurly dangerous in attack, despite the fact all three of them formally belong to the same rank as a Lizard or a Whisker. Still, they will be able to occupy the enemy at least for a while, and then it will be seen, as the shaman hoped.

  Another spirit seemed to flow from a partially cracked jug of snow-white milk, embodying aspects of domesticity, parental care, warmth, and peace. Despite all its power, it did not make a threatening impression. It was hard to believe that a carrier of such a peaceful sphere of home, combined with such non-combat aspects, would be of any use in a harsh battle, but perhaps the other shamans thought so too. And so the guy who had contracted with an entity so unspoiled by the attention of the summoners had gotten an extremely powerful specialist in reinforcing effects, barrier defenses, and even a bit of healing, especially after severe exhaustion. But even in direct combat, this milky something can support both the guy who is tired of constant acceleration of thinking, and his spirits, the main thing is not to cut off the feeding, because the spirit's reserve is not very good, as for the owner of such abilities.

  Everything stood in precarious equilibrium for a brief moment, but then the st rge group of little things emerged from the torn maze, centered around several not particurly strong guide entities, and then the barrier around the clearing shuddered and began to bend into the fifth dimension, signaling the imminent colpse. Stepan spent the time on one st attempt to reduce the number of opponents, even if not by striking, but only by diplomacy. He fshed the Bck Root Mark on his spirit, literally shining it in all directions, and turned to one of the three strong chasers, the most powerful, whose retinue was not the most numerous, but very toothy.

  The creature had no clear image, a cloud of ivy-covered stone with a bunch of eyes made of leaves, but it was undoubtedly a naturalist with a dark aspect. And the young man signaled to this shit in a very businesslike manner, saying, "You didn't manage to eat the quick prey, the prey was too toothy, so do you need to continue the quarrel if you can retreat?" He will even give free passage through the arrays, albeit under the assurance of a contracted spirit, letting both the guide and his retinue go. And if the spirit refuses, then losing his battle this insolent shaman will still - call it - find something to repay before his death. And all this is supplemented with the image of the very leaf-not-leaf left with him, which served as an anchor of summoning for the twice summoned spirit of monstrous power. The very one that would devour not just one insolent spirit, but everyone present in the clearing, even if they were five times that many and fought together.

  The spirit in the enemy's camp reasonably remarked that the shaman's fate was not to be envied, for he would be the first to be devoured. In response, the shaman expressed his indifference to the inevitable death, as well as his understanding that it would be pleasant for him to die together with his killers. The enemy only gurgled with a series of perplexed images at such human strangeness in the shaman's performance, but he did not hear any falsity in the very sincere assurance and was forced to accept the offer and schedule it for his entire retinue. He may have wanted to deceive, but Stepan had a whole totem, albeit small, set aside specifically for contract spirits, and he would not hesitate to squeeze them all out, making a deal with horse fines to the viotor before letting the already-not-enemy to the door open for him. And, most importantly, the opponent didn't realize that this leaf, though nearby, but not activated, and the shaman outside the body, might not be able to activate it, because there you need a very specific impact, requiring a physical impact of the body and blood.

  Next, everything happened quickly and swiftly, as it happens in real battles.

  The second of the barriers colpsed letting in all this filth. Then the events began to race, not even at a breakneck pace, but as if they had been fed by nitro afterburner and went to near-sonic speed, merging into a single chain of simultaneous events. Even though it was difficult to react to all the factors, Stepan's ghostly face lit up with a satisfied grin, because he still had the first move this time. In such heavy battles, it is hard to find anything more important than initiative properly utilized.

  A moment, and it was as if a corridor had opened up before the spirit of dark nature and his entourage, where the will of the shaman and his totems did not restrain or slow down these very spirits. He still had time to offer this entity to change sides in the coming battle. The spirit even tentatively agreed, but he asked for a lot of extremely specific things. To the offer to pay ter in double amount answered indifferent refusal. The pack of creatures flew down the corridor quickly and very hastily, because no matter how uncomfortable the feared betrayal of the earthling felt, for them under so many attentive gazes and the will of the contract - the whole totem inhabited by the spirits of the deals went into cooldown, they gave all avaible forces for the sake of such a rapid and very punitive contract - were many times more unpleasant and frightening. The shaman couldn't vouch for it, but it seemed as if the main creature had mauled a couple of disobedient servants when they tried to grab a piece of the totem formation's power. It wasn't surprising, given the severity of the sanctions and the power Stepan would have over the offenders, since the spirit had taken responsibility for his retinue as well.

  The other spirits from the enemy camp froze for a while appreciating this maneuver, but just for a while, thinking they would get more. The most cautious could have realized they would get more, not only in terms of power, but also in terms of kicks, but the minority voice meant little. The only way out of the trap was to kill the shaman and tear apart his retinue, which they tried to do. The swordfish rushed forward without the deceptive clumsiness deliberately dispyed in the mocking pretense, and shot himself not even like an arrow, but a real bullet, an artillery shell. Fish was not aiming at any of the strong spirits or even at the ghostly shaman frozen in their midst. He was aiming at the material Stepan, hidden by the third barrier, at his empty body, which could be occupied having received a receptacle and a source of power or could be nibbled and satiated. He ignored the unhappy-hating hissing-screaming of Balls with Mustache, as well as his intention to take the shaman as a whole, clearly showing the level of cooperation and mutual understanding between the enemies of the earthling.

  Cool, badass, fast as a bullet... fshed in Stepan's mind an old meme, and then he continued it already with his addition. ...fast, agile, and, damn dead. Donut, fulfilling his contract and most important role, rushed towards this blow without a second thought, right under the blow of the unambiguously deadly nose-bde, impossibly managing to intercept the attack even though he should not have had such speed to intercept it. Swordfish put most of his reserve on the line to break through the barrier and his defenses, so the defenders wouldn't have time to react. And he could not turn from the attack he had already pnned, nor did he want to, nor did he see any way Donut could interfere with him and stop his dash.

  The young man somehow aloofly thought it was very in vain that he called this spirit Donut, appealing to the old anecdote that now I'm a meat pie because it should have been called at least Honorary Langolier. The jaws of the spherical spirit opened to its full frontal area, it became one huge maw with dozens of rows of constantly twisting teeth, concentric rings descending ever deeper into the bottomless throat. All the power of the swordfish's blow went into that mouth, and only a few scraps of spiritual flesh flew - all that was left of the entity that had lost its swift and seemingly win-win battle. Donut Langolier also spent a lot, and the creature's desperate death blow slightly hurt his mouth. It was an uncontested victory at the cost of a scratch and barely a fifth of the spirit's reserve. His strength was rapidly replenished by the boost coming from the totems.

  SpoilerT.N. Kolobok a.k.a. Donut is a character of the Russian folk tale known to all. Summary of Content. The family bakes Kolobok. At some point, he comes to life and runs away. Kolobok rolls along the path and meets different animals. And each time deceives them and runs away from them. In the end, he meets the Fox, who turns out to be more cunning, and the Kolobok is eaten. Stepan refers to an alternative version of the story. Kolobok eats Fox. And thus acquires the meat filling. Turning into a meat pie.

  [colpse]The spherical bullshit that instantly ended its fight, literally fountaining pleasure and happiness into the surrounding spiritual space, immediately rushed towards the Skinny Sucker. However, there was no such an easy walk. One of the remaining chasers, an earth elemental who reeked not even a Stone, but the Depths, came to the skinny one's aid almost instantly, covering him with the risk to himself. Stepan and his scanners only now began to see the thin threads of power, stretching from the skinny one to the mighty elemental spirit - a mental web, practically invisible, since even the strong essence did not see anything until the st. The skinny shit had suddenly shown himself to be much more dangerous than originally thought. Stepan didn't have time to change the orders and tactics had already been conveyed to the retinue.

  The toothy ball struck quickly and swiftly, even though it was not the same as the jerk of a devoured fish, but it was still a very decent speed. But the retinue of the spirit, braided with vampiric threads, and he himself stood in Donut's way with a jerk, covering the skinny one with his own spiritual body and flesh. An attempt to put up a protective barrier from his retinue failed, the spherical shit simply made its way through and even hit the guide, but that was the end of the spurt and the protector had to retreat. He broke out of the encirclement, having received only a couple of scratches, which under the intensive nourishment from totems immediately began to heal. Then, he was attacked, tried to squeeze, did not let him out of the encirclement, and the Skinny tried to put his control thread on Donut. In theory, it should not give the result. This Langoler is a very specific spirit, but the Sucker has already once managed to surprise very seriously. He would help Donut, but the picture was completely blurred, all forces had already been thrown into the battle and neither Stepan nor the enemy had reserves left. Unless the trifles, but the trifles will only help this scum, very quickly coming under control.

  The three brave piglets turned out to be not only brave but also wise. Therefore, they did not attack the beastly terror but only showed their presence and took a defensive position. By their actions and broadcast images they hinted that the enemy would either have to attack them or they would stab him in the back. Shrouded in a haze of anger and pain the bear was not intimidated by their demonstration. He does not even seem to pay attention to it, attacking decisively and swiftly with the confidence in his superiority that was part of his spiritual nature. He is a predator. All others are prey and food. That is the only way the world exists. That is the only way it can have rules, it cannot be broken. The beast's blow was not just a blow of spiritual reflection of a cwed bear's paw, no. It was a literal embodiment of the concept of the inevitable victory of the predator, a fatal blow to the defenseless victim, after which there is no need for a second one. Stepan didn't understand how the three didn't run away at once, but it seemed greed had pyed its part. The shaman had promised them a very generous reward for not even a victory, but for holding off the threat for a long enough time.

  He was willing to pay it, of course, but he realized there was a high probability there would be no one to pay it to, even if the young man survived the whole battle. When he gave them three minutes of active confrontation, he still fttered all three of them. The bear creature didn't just strike quickly. It managed to do it suddenly, even though everyone was prepared for the attack. That was also some of the spirit's peculiarity, an emphasis on the absolute predator's right to strike first, always first and always unexpectedly to the victim. Stepan would have called on the spirit of some analog of the Amur tiger, as no less glorious and fearful animal image, which in real life sometimes eats bears. But the tiger was not among the contracts, and right now it was too te to start making a deal with someone comparable, so instead of the tiger, it was the pigs who had to take care of the tiger. No, the pig, of course, is a great topic, but it's still sad.

  The first blow of the bear's nightmare simply tore through one of the piggies, not the front one, which was preparing to meet the blow, but one of the side ones, unnaturally bypassing their protective formation. And the spirit-beast appeared from the side. Although it rushed into the battle straight ahead, distorting the metrics of the spiritual world in front of and underneath it, despite the shaman's opposition and power over this piece of Reality. Rather, the beast didn't even notice this power, so to speak, it's not his problem that someone's power over the spiritual space is falling away. More and more Stepan regretted he did not bother to summon such a spirit, as well as that this shit is too cruel and does not go to dialog, or he would not have spared any expenses and would have signed a permanent contract. Anyway of the three pigs one immediately said his st grunt, but... now it was their turn to show their aces. In less than a blink of an eye, the two remaining beast-spirits of the united trio received horrible wounds on their sides, and the already torn unit suddenly reassembled itself from the pieces, almost whole except for the same wound on its side, continuing the battle as if nothing had happened at all.

  Well, maybe not three minutes, but at least a minute and a half.

  The milky spirit of domestic comfort didn't attack, just spewed out a snow-white glow, covering all the allies, including Stepan, who was directing his subordinates, with a protective and reinforcing barrier, giving them some of his confidence and peace, as well as keeping them safe from retively simple attacks. It meant little to the stronger entities, but the crowd of allied minutiae, already more advanced than the enemy's was greatly strengthened by the move. When the two armies of weak spirits came together cshing in battle, Stepan's summons matched into mutually reinforcing units, began to sharply dominate over the mostly ordinary and simple small creatures that had no serious trump cards to answer with. The st rge group consisting of several not particurly strong guides received a stream of whitish fog in the very center of its swarming, which slowed them all down and restrained them. The counterattacks either knocked out the trifles alone or were intercepted by streams of the milky protection, preventing them from knocking out the weaker spirits with strong blows.

  The milky spirit covered itself from direct attacks with the same barrier, only extremely concentrated. It also pressed and weakened all those who attacked it. The spirit of the house had the right to protect the comfort of the house, to preserve its good, to preserve the warmth of the hearth, and everyone who attacked him automatically received a kind of weakening curse, which slowed down the replenishment of forces or sucking them out of the reserve. It was an extremely tricky ability, just like the Creep Bear's absolute dominance property. It is derived from the basic nature of the spirit, coming from the concepts of its specialization, which makes it particurly effective. Conversely, he is unable to use this trick in attack at all, only defending the territory that can be called the home of the one who summoned the Milker in the first pce. Even if with a gnce, but to call it a home, a pce that belongs to the summoner on a deep level. With long calls and specific invocations and offerings, Stepan was able to make himself, the spirit, and the higher spheres believe that this clearing was his home, which was even partially true. He spent too much time here, often sleeping overnight, considering the gde a kind of continuation of the house allotted to him. What to say! He regarded his dwelling as home to a much lesser extent than his call pce!

  So, the reinforced small but nimble spirits meeting the attack of their colleagues from the enemy camp confidently and cheerfully dominated, dominated, and humiliated. Stepan's manner of summoning not just any small spirits, but skillful, possessing some particurly powerful, as for its rank and power tricks worked. There, a phantom warrior is fighting, already used once against a dead man with a ntern, and right above him is a lunar, shining only for his partner and allowing him to attack continuously and effectively. This spirit only has fifty arrows paid for, but the boost from the totems will allow it to nd those arrows continuously. The spirits of the weapon sphere, sitting in the rear and not showing themselves from the totems, amplify these arrows turning a very serious weapon into something that kills entities equal in reserve and spiritual body saturation with literally one, or two, hits.

  Here, the five air spirits circling in a continuous chorus are striking with lightning. Each next lightning strikes the same target and ignores more and more defenses penetrating the most delicate and sensitive parts of spiritual organisms, bringing discord and depriving them of control over the pseudo-body. Sometimes they even shoot towards the stronger opponents, but such blows are too weak for them anyway. It's distracting at most. And at the very edge of the clearing hangs a gray-colored cube with absolutely smooth edges. The spirit of not just stone, but stone blocks of what make all sorts of pyramids or rge buildings. In its essence of deep and complete immobility, contentment is monolithic rest. This immobility he transmits to all the entities around him slowing down and not allowing them to approach, attack, or maneuver. If the allied spirits do not care, they, the spawn of the sphere of fire, crushing heat and fme even in the spiritual world, still hit from a distance, then oppose them mainly leeches and beast-entities, they are just in close combat are trying hard. They are rushing with the desperation of a doomed beast, trying to impose their vision of battle, but they can not. They can not approach. They can't utilize numerical and qualitative advantages. They crumble against the synergy of exotic properties of shamanic calls. Stepan did not immediately come up with this tactic and realized it, no, at first he had chosen it for a long time, using both the knowledge of his css and the experience of a combat shaman, creating effective bundles that would give much more than just individual units. And now he saw their combined effectiveness firsthand, smiling wanly at each small victory that brought the rger one a little closer.

  As if to counterbance the crushing success of the lower ranks, one of Stepan's strongest summons met with decent resistance. Smoky Lizard attacked the hovering whisker balls swiftly and tactically, trying to use the advantage in the presence of spiritual reflection of real weapons and his own maneuverability, which he hoped to outmaneuver the slow and sluggish opponent. It did not work. He turned out to be clumsy, but not slow, or rather even his surprisingly swift whisker balls, which indeed turned out to be real tentacles, albeit thin, but no less dangerous and poisonous-procmatory than those of a couple of jellyfish covering Stepan's expedition. The bdes of the paired yatagans could barely cut such hairs, but there were plenty of them, enough to cover vulnerable balls and attack back. At the same time, the lizard's protective haze held the blows of the maneuvering and constantly bent entities badly. The whiskers stung, poisoned, cursed, and slowed the lizard, forcing it to use the power of its totems to remove effects and heal instead of replenishing its rapidly dwindling power reserves.

  The Lizard tried to get closer, but it didn't work very well. He had to jump back from new tentacle strikes now and then, and the mustachioed Balls were suspiciously indifferent to the possibility of getting closer as if they weren't even afraid of him. Of course, it could have been paranoia, but it might not have been. The enemies had managed to surprise him several times during today's battle. Constantly maniputing his charges, the shaman took another free moment to activate another line of defense. Now of an offensive nature. The totems pulsed, all together and separately, and then gave out a powerful cone of spiritual attack, primitive but extremely intense, which he directed not at the most dangerous Creep Bear, which would not have scratched at such a pitch, and not even at the mustachioed enemy, which so far confidently dominated. He did not even touch the almost dead Guide and the Sucker, no.

  The totem strike was directed towards the opponent of the Milk buffer, and it wasn't just done that way. This group of not-weak, but not-too-strong spirits were the only remaining serious pyers who could not only be pissed off but also knocked out by such a blow - strong and primitive, just like they are. And Stepan had succeeded, most of the retinue that had been covering them had been crushed or simply blown back into the maze, which was still functioning, albeit broken. The guides were crushed and stunned, deprived of maneuvering and fighting spirit, and the Stepan's weak spirits, who had fought earlier, immediately pounced on them. Yes, they still had opponents, but those were openly cmped, closed, blocked, and in every possible way did not let them cluster, knocking them out not in battle, but in some kind of safari. The coordinated teams of mutually matched entities, under the buff of the Jolly Milker, behaved quite uncharacteristically for spirits in general.

  All kinds of spiritual entities, in the vast majority of cases, at the level of instinctive, do not succeed in attacking stronger and more powerful spirits than themselves, and if they do, then only from under the stick and with a dramatic loss of effectiveness. This is the main reason why rare and powerful contracts with powerful entities rule in the world of shamanic battles and not a mass of simpler contracts. You can not just collect a hundred thousand five hundred small spirits and set them on the three top shamans, it will not help, just as a shoal of trout will not destroy a single shark. There are exceptions. There are ways. However, you need to be a very cool shaman or use some unique and often specific techniques. Like now, when one of the fundamental principles of spiritual battles was temporarily and partially suppressed for a short moment of "home protection". And weaker spirits pounced on stronger ones with the fury of ants, on whose anthill someone's drunk and naked pissed ass sat down.

  Stepan's summons was not a specific pack or swarm of parasites. Though, there were some representatives of simir archetypes among them. United by the will of the Milker, who was defenseless in direct combat, they managed it. Not perfectly, the tormented guides and the remnants of their retinue still reaped a considerable harvest, but solidly well. Most of the victims were from the simplest possible summons, various elementals, and leeches, not distinguished by any exotic properties. Well, if the higher efficiency and ability to fight weren't considered exotic, Stepan could easily gather and enlist many more such summons, as many as he wanted, as long as he had the opportunity, as long as he managed to survive the current night.

  Fortune once again turned to Stepan's face, and not the ass, when the Milker, who had received permission to act at his own risk, as he considered the most optimal. It was impossible to control everything alone. He invested the rest of the reserve not in a new mass reinforcement, but in a point, on one single spirit. All this time, screaming panic images, which are analogous to the spiritual swearing of eight floors at least, the Three Boars were actively communicating with the Milker about something. And so, he took and invested all the rest of his strength in helping them, going backward, under the totems, only to avoid being hit by the already exhausted. And all his power flowed into the already badly battered war pig, which had no living spot on it. And not on her alone, because the wounds, as well as the very first, on them, were divided. If not for this effect, the bear would have already finished the battle and went straight to the totems, there would have been no one to stop him, unless Stepan personally decided to detonate the entire structure of the totem gde in a purely etheric explosion.

  The blessing of the Hearth Spirit had mended the wounds and infused the spiritual image of the animal spirit with new strength, even making it appear to grow wider and taller, a little more menacing. And then the initiative of the Milk Spirit became clear. This healing was repeated twice more, for each of the three boars, and each time more and more wounds were healed, and now, all three of them, though not completely healthy, were again very capable of fighting. The boars had grown not even to boars, but to full-fledged HOGS, which, however, did not help much. The nightmare of the inevitability of the alpha predator pressed on them and continued to humiliate and dominate them, stepping on them, occasionally teleporting, appearing where it should not have been to strike them in the side. Actually, he tried to hit him in the back, but the Three Piggies fighting back to back did not allow such a fatal accident, nor did they allow any of their own to be raked into their arms, otherwise they would have been all tied together.

  And again Fortuna spins the underground millionaire at the interrogation at the tax office, again showing Stepan her plump and juicy ass, but not to fuck, no. Disaster strikes suddenly, showing that the remaining spirits are not morons either, and they realize they need to win quickly before Stepan can create another totem-based attack, or else they'll be next. They apply their trumps simultaneously and both trumps immediately pass with critical success, too suddenly they were put on the table, and just when all the free spirits on the rollback, fueled by totems, which give all their power to them. There's no way to change the setting quickly, either, and you need to react right fucking now.

  Gritting his teeth, Stepan tries to minimize his losses, but to no avail. The move is already made and finished, even before the young man could begin his countermeasures, and he wasted time trying. Sucker abruptly finishes off his food sve for good, showing for the first time why he has so many dried and drunk scraps of spirit flesh around him, and why he still has his threads in them. All this time it had seemed to the shaman as if it were just another yer of defense, which was indirectly confirmed by the way the creature covered itself with such yers from Donut's bites. Now Stepan was shown a very unusual manifestation of spiritual necromancy. The sucker gave some of its drink back into the scraps of its victims, temporarily making these spiritual bodies its own, merging them into one amorphous ghostly necro-body with a dead guide at its center, and throwing the lump itself at Donut, who had no time to react.

  Here, too, there was an unpleasant surprise. Although the threads could not get a foothold inside the guardian, subjugating his will and pulling him to their side, because it was impossible due to the nature of the toothy spirit. However, they still managed to drain his power and deprive him of mobility. No one, neither Stepan, Donut, nor the multitude of spirits watching the events noticed these threads of vampirism until they appeared. In the same second, he easily tears and chews them, but the lump of spiritual fragments soaked with aspects of withering and death, which turned into a huge amoeba-predator, covers Donut. That is, it covers the whole.

  This shit can't exist for long. It unlives and exists only as long as it is fed by the Sucker and his will. Now the ghostly mass is crushing the cute and kawaii Langolier, doesn't let him defend himself, and the skinny abomination is slowly and unconcealedly unwinding its threads to the full. A few small spirits, who came closer, suddenly stopped feeling obedient to Stepan, froze, and leisurely swam up to the Sucker, which is not just a Sucker, but SUCKER! More and more threads were entering the body of the amoeba, which the creature was pulling to the swallowed victim, obviously wishing to gain access to the power over the clearing and its creator through him, who was bound to this pce and Stepan himself. Indeed the weakest of the dangerous four turned out to be the most skillful and dangerous. He could be considered not even just a spirit, but actually an analog of a real magician, possessing a whole pleiad of complementary various abilities.

  As if one failure wasn't enough, there was a second one. At the same time with the Donut's failure, the Smoke Lizard was also caught, also very unpleasantly and also with a high chance of dying. The hitherto practically motionless Mustache covering itself with its tentacles, but not moving its scrotal base, showed that it was not slower than its opponent rushing towards it at the next approach. The more maneuverable lizard was unable to deflect or avoid the blow because the tentacles struck all at once. The defender summoned by Stepan had severed many of them doing more damage than the rest of the battle. However, he was swept away by the enemy's spiritual body and squeezed between the enormous balls.

  Stepan was having a fit of hysterical hirity, because it looked just as ridiculous as you'd think, but it was also fucking terrifying. The maw hidden between the two sagging balls nearly chewed the lizard's head off, and he barely had time to block it with his yatagans. But only he was shackled, deprived of mobility, while the remaining tentacles began to tear away the remnants of the protective haze, tormenting the almost defenseless spirit flesh, and the spirit itself slowly moved towards the derelict body of the shaman and the panic-stricken master hovering over it, dragging the agonizing lizard behind him. And there was obviously reason to panic. Any of the two lost fights of his main defenders threatened him worse than just death, and he would have time to help, and in the totems of power for help, there would be only one of them, not two!

  No, there can be no two opinions: this is not an accidental success, both creatures coordinated deliberately, just as realizing the truth with the impossibility of helping feed both spirits. They deliberately and very successfully put the shaman a death fork, forcing him to choose between two evils, and the lesser of the two has not appeared among them. Both options threaten a fate worse than death very soon. Stepan's life did not prepare him for such a thing, just as the whole Witcher trilogy did not...

  It's even a little funny, but the only defenders who were successfully holding on were the three Boars. Reinforced by the Milker they take a big beating from the Bear annoyed at his ability to finish them off. Yes, they got kicks, but they endured it confidently, with pathos, and even, one might say, with dignity! And they continued to hold on, to fight, and did not demand help right now at this very second. Stepan again disperses his consciousness, thinking over all the possible options in a few seconds, and then makes a decision, which may very well cost the life of not him, but the whole vilge and the surrounding area. An untested methodology, which may not work at all, may work wrong or even worse, but he just did not see any other options. As the great master of taming sorceresses said: "You should not choose between two evils at all" - and the young man does not choose either, or he chooses both.

  A moment of concentration and into Donut, constrained by the constantly gnawed and still too slowly tormented amorphous spiritual necro-mass, goes... the blessing of systemic characteristics. All that remains is to pray to the Admins and St. Randomius that the stats fall out enough and where they need to go. Still, Donut's basic characteristics are not so strong, he is weak, but he gains his terrifying power by multiplying those characteristics when working "by specialization", and therefore, the received increase will be multiplied, which should be effective, much more effective than if one blesses a lizard or a trio of Boars, which are slowly being reduced to mere boars, covered again with numerous wounds under the blows of a bewildered bear, which still can't chop a snack for itself.

  At the same time, Stepan's main focus was on totems. He used the blessing of the meta-skill and forgot about it, but here he tried his best, working up to the bottom and emptying his reserve, which was almost full and not wasted. A new order and from the totems a direct and thin ray hits the Lizard, completely removing the effects of poison, completely restoring strength, and also the spirits of the weapon aspect made the reflection of his yatagans much more dangerous, albeit for a few seconds only. Together with the cursing spirits, they adjusted the new power of the bdes strictly against the Flying Scrotum, and there was enough time for adjustment. The creatures, both Sucker and Moustache, were really smart, and they had coordinated their ace attacks so confidently for a reason. They realized the shaman could pull off one defender who got into trouble, but not two at once. Indeed, the guys were smart enough to analyze the mechanics of the totem system. Why not, for that matter? Just because they're spirits doesn't make them stupid, they just think in different categories, but they do.

  So, Mr. Wiskers Balls jerked forward quite reasonably and deliberately, not trying to close the lizard from the feeding beam, but pulling it closer to the shaman's body, attacking it with a couple of tentacles. Smart move. And he lost because the creature had a chance to kill the lizard before the reinforcements kicked in. Break through the third of the barriers, the most powerful and protected? In vain. This barrier was as strong and saturated with power as the second one, but it covered a very small space, which made it more concentrated, therefore it withstood the blow with honor. No one present, not even the nightmare bear, had the strength to penetrate it on a single attempt, and the swordfish, as the only spirit capable of doing so, had already been successfully devoured. The enemy rushes forward, he realizes that he has been hit, but he is sincerely confident that salvation is very near, as is the dainty essence of the shaman who has fallen for their ruse. After all, it is only skinny to finish with Donut, to subdue the whole clearing or even the shaman, as the victory will belong to the two of them, well, and the bear, which will still take everything he wants to take.

  It didn't work.

  Fortune, such a fidgety girl, again turned her face to the isekai and even kissed him, albeit on the cheek, not in the mouth with tongue. The colpse of the enemy's pns also came at the same time: Donut suddenly exploded with power, breaking through the wall of necro-spirits in one bite, biting off a clump of lovingly prepared threads, and even the hands of a skinny humanoid with his bottomless maw of absolute destruction, which seems to have taken a new level of coolness. The Sucker even managed to send into the surrounding reality the thick images of bewilderment, which could be transted on earth as a spiritual analog of the famous "NANI?". Donut did not utter any less famous phrase from this exchange of legendary lines, he just rushed forward, biting off half of Sucker's body in the second go, and started to rattle the rest as if it were a dog's favorite toy.

  The lizard, absolutely energized, and backed by the Milkman's crumbs of power, swung its bdes sharply apart, tearing open the jaws of the hovering balls as if they were two cellophane bags of rot and pus. Wiskers could have prevented it, but he was in a stupor when he saw the death of his ally, and he threw all his remaining strength into attacking the shaman, his body and spirit now almost merged, so close were they in a coordinate sense. And lost, having failed to break the protective barrier around Stepan. The creature took much longer to die than the skinny one; the lizard, exhausted and saturated with borrowed power at the same time, went into a kind of battle frenzy, working its bdes as if it had decided to whip eggs, and, it must be said, it did it well, though Stepan would not have dared to order such cuisine. Well, he wasn't Gordon Ramsay, he wouldn't yell for not following the recipe, but it would have been better if the process of whipping yolks hadn't been so close to the shaman's body because the entire third barrier was spttered with toxic residue. Apparently, the reserves of spiritual poison were stored in the analogs of poisonous gnds right inside the huge balls.

  The series of big and small victories was completed by the war pigs, who cynically and sneakily waited for the moment their opponent would fail in the attack especially hard, and then attacked themselves, probably for the first time since the beginning of the battle. The alpha spiritual predator, to his credit, didn't pay much attention to the fact that his support group was stupidly dismantled, he was immersed in the process of cutting down the resisting prey. If Stepan hadn't been so tired and morally exhausted, he would have patted himself on the head at that moment for the fact that he had successfully matched his opponent with the most invincible of the enemies that had come to visit him - the Lizard and Donut and even both of them together would have lost to this creature almost instantly, while the three boars successfully held out until the help arrived. And even managed to attack at the very end. Successfully. Well, how successfully? It wasn't much use, but it seemed to be a matter of pride for them, or why the hell were they being beaten here?

  They didn't even try to squeeze through the armor on the torso of the bear, and they couldn't. The creature really fought skillfully, and if they tried to get closer, they would immediately find themselves in a strong, but not friendly, embrace, and then that was it. The pigs struck at the paw that was stretched out in attack. One of the three deliberately set himself up, and the remaining pair struck towards each other literally cmping the spiritual reflection of the paw in pincers and severely traumatizing its image, depriving the enemy of weapons. Clever, clever, nothing to say. In this battle, Stepan had not once seen a manifestation of intelligence among the spirits, as a selection of all intelligence gathered. There was no way they could harm the Creepbear. And now the dark essence, dark to the st hair, had lost the ability to attack normally, even though it remained as dangerous. After the beating he had already suffered at the hands of a trio of chained spirits, the beast's diminished capabilities were no longer scary.

  Then everything was predictably predetermined: the little things were calmly killing the remaining little things, the boars were circling around the raging bear, resembling not boars but some kind of wolves, and the bear was fiercely and purposefully striving to crush them under himself, at least one of them. If he could, he would have had all three of them, as wounds are transferable. However the boars knew of this weaknessю They did not fall for provocation, preferring to retreat, to get hit in the spiritual body, or to miss an opportunity than to let themselves be trapped. The beast would score on the boars and rush to attack the totems. The shields wouldn't have held him back for long, but the trio held him too tightly, and the alpha predator's pride also pyed a part. Maybe it wasn't pride, maybe it was an inhibit, stemming from the nature of his power, that he couldn't show his back to his prey until he'd defeated it or made it flee, and the boars were certainly not going to flee.

  Stepan took his time giving commands to the spirits, waited for Donut to recover, gave a boost to Milker, and the Lizard also replenished his reserves. But, most importantly, the young man managed to transfer the remaining power of the totems, which had not even used up half of their resources yet - the fight was brutal and violent, but fast - to a kind of spiritual siphon. In essence, just another trick used by any sane and normally trained shaman to subdue excessively dangerous and insolent spirits, but now, under the cover of all their calls, having time to prepare, this trick was able to be used as a full combat weapon. What's the trick here? Yes, it's that the bear creeper, despite all its overwhelming power, far exceeding its formal rank and strength, despite its outrageous survivability, defensiveness, and near-cheat attack abilities... it's pulling raw ether into itself at an insane rate.

  Yes, this spirit has a rge reserve, as for the rank, but it turns out to be frankly insufficient, criminally insufficient, when it comes to a really serious fight. Another thing is that the experience of such fights in the creature, which is accustomed to act according to the method of one very famous cake, that is, "Came. Saw. Fuck", was much less than one would expect.

  SpoilerCaesar sad. Caesar is known for his phrase "come, saw, conquered.

  [colpse]Where would the experience of full-fledged battles come from if most of those battles ended with him finishing off his prey with the first attack? Yes, the bear has a replenishment to match the reserve, it literally eats the surrounding power, and if the shaman had been foolish enough to set a crowd of controlled little things against it, they would have been devoured and torn apart by the mere presence of the bear, which dried them up just by the fact of being near it. But where there is strength, there is also weakness. The creature's crazy replenishment is not from a good life, but because he is unable to maintain combat mode with the usual reserve of internal forces. True, he usually doesn't need it, because, as it's been said many times, most of his enemies simply and uncomplicatedly die from one, the very first blow. But the three boars ignored this one-hit wonder, forcing them to fight to exhaustion.

  The beast, embodied in the spiritual state of collective fear, more than succeeded in this depletion. Three formally equal spirits, united in a common network of damage distribution and tripling of blessings, were still losing, losing more strength than the beast alone. They would have lost if not for the help of the shaman and the Milker. But once the totems kicked in, without weakening the bear or trying to drink its power, no. They simply took that power from the surrounding area of subtle spheres, as well as blocking the individual channel to their deeper yers as the st of the worthy opponents became abruptly sad.

  No, he did not surrender at once. He went on the defensive and tried to retreat, exuding miasmas of fierce beastly anger and not beastly hatred, too reasonable hatred. He still retreated from the trio without finishing them off. They didn't pursue him because they were barely alive. He fended off the Lizard's attack, nearly ripping off his hands with his bdes, forcing him to go on the defensive. He kicked Donut with his other working paw like a ball, and it went flying like a penalty kick, even though it had bitten a chunk of ghostly flesh before it did so. He ripped to shreds the cloud of milky vapor that tried to slow him down, seemingly oblivious to the obstacle. He ignored the dozen lightning bolts, air bdes, and fming kisses that manifested even in reality, only slightly shedding his protective aura around his main body. And he almost managed to trick Stepan, feigning retreat to tear into the battle, to almost manage to reach the shaman himself! Even the third barrier, which until now had held all random attacks, sagged under his anger and hatred, but that was the end of it all. The Milk Spirit struck again. He wasn't affecting the Bear, but the Donut who returned to the game. The Donut was mad. He didn't like the role of the ball, Stepan didn't even understand why, because its flight looked really funny.

  The Langolier had received the blessing and reinforcement swelled and grew like the three boars before. He also became noticeably rger after the systemic blessing, although Stepan could not immediately tell what attributes he had been raised by this effect and in what quantities. Once again, the defender opened his mouth in his ultimatum skill and rushed into the attack without thinking about defense. The Creep Bear brat mirrored the attack, using his ultimatum strike utilizing the rest of his reserves. The same strike that failed to kill a trio of boars. If the spherical defender hadn't gone through the system gift and hadn't been reinforced by the Milkmer, he would have lost. Fortunately, history was not subjunctive.

  One paw strike, which managed to knock out some of the teeth and damage the inner wall of the mouth before it was ground into nothing, and then not even a slowing spirit covered the torso of the bear. Scraps and shreds flew from the Creep Bear. In a split second it was all over, and Stepan, without even allowing himself to rejoice, began issuing commands and supervising the sweep of the clearing and the surrounding area. The st thing he wanted was to miss a couple of creatures and then blush when those entities killed one of the vilgers. To Stepan's great fortune, the locking barrier that turned the entire location with totems into a Petri dish was not damaged. The spontaneous pack of evil spirits that followed the fleeing shaman didn't even try to sneak away, and when they could have tried, they simply didn't have time. The trap closed by the shaman's will was doomed to become their grave, and they were doomed to occupy that grave.

  The trifles tried to hide or flee, but the shaman and his retinue who had a keen sense of the entire territory under their control, found the hiding ones without the slightest difficulty and then destroyed them all with fun and cheerfulness. The spirits liked such a "battle" much better than a tense grip with mortal risk, where they could be killed. Even the Lizard stayed te, though his contract was only for one fight and could be considered exhausted. Whether he just liked to fight so much or he appreciated the opportunity to feed on totems, replenishing his strength for nothing, or something else, Stepan did not ask. He was busy scanning the territory more deeply. After all, he had escaped from that deep asshole, where there could be something, though not strong, or inconspicuous and skillfully hiding. He found a couple of more or less serious entities with aspects of stealth and invisibility, almost managing to close themselves in their astral folds. The creatures were not evil, but certainly very, very frightened at the prospect of being prey to predators.

  Taking into account the fact that these mutts had chased after the young man either out of pack instinct or under the influence of their stronger brethren, as well as their non-participation in the battle, Stepan decided to make a contract with the boys, and so cheaply that it was even embarrassing. But it would be wrong to increase the rate of payment, to promise them something more substantial than not to kill them right now - neither his retinue nor the captives themselves would understand such a thing. So he had two spirits at full command, who could be quite good spies or even assassins. Well, added to the cohort of relevant specialists, being not even the strongest and most valuable. But it was free, almost free, and therefore pleasant.

  He spent the next hour and a half cleaning the numerous pot traps. He checked the other traps, especially the snares type, too, but it was the pots that he was primarily concerned with, yes. In theory, he could try to wait for the trapped creatures to eat each other and get either a sacrificial offering from the remains of the trapped creatures or a spirit-eating mutant that couldn't be taken as a servant but could be used as a bomb or shackled by force. In theory. In practice no pot was designed to hold so many trapped spirits, threatening to burst at any moment and release the maddened and angry mob outside.

  That's why he roamed from point to point with his entourage, broke these pots in a controlled manner, and then let a quick and sudden attack tear apart the escaped and stunned captives. For most of his contracts it was not even a job, but a particurly hearty meal, especially for the pack of fighting jackals, which survived the whole mess and reduced the number of the pack by a third, but did not seem to be upset at all, so much so that they have eaten up and even became a little more skillful and stronger. That's rare. In general, spirits don't get pumped up from killing their kind, they're not gamers after all (although the spirit of gaming embodies the very idea of gaming and pumping could exist. But such an exotic Stepan did not even imagine how to call and was not sure if it was even possible), their development comes from the time of existence, following their aspects and strengthening the connection with the spheres, as well as correctly selected offerings. Apparently, the massacre had resonated with their nature, so the creatures had grown in power, and now they looked so content that Stepan envied them.

  The boy did not take Donut with him. He continued to stay near the spiritless body, fulfilling his main role and task. The young man was a little uncomfortable with the fact that the transformed and already not weak and strange representative of the inhabitants of the higher spheres could go cuckoo. However, it seemed that he had not changed in any way, only that he really became stronger. The shaman did not forget to put additional guards near the body and also clenched his teeth, expecting that the payment to Donut would increase a lot because he had every reason to increase this payment. He really became stronger and cooler, thanks to the system and those admins who stand behind it, not letting the arbitrary Autogoddess ruin the System with her perverted jokes.

  Stepan didn't have a cuckoo clock, only a system chronometer. He finished his checks and swept exactly at midnight, literally second to second. This was no accident, of course. He had conducted a kind of search-type chant to finally check the process of mopping up, having scanned the pce of events exactly at midnight, with exactly one, but powerful and penetrating pulse. Only after finding nothing, the guy began to release calls, with whom he paid at once, with whom he agreed on installments, to whom he promised an additional bonus. It was especially fun with boars, which had survived their suicide mission, and now the offerings for them would have to be purchased through the store additionally.

  The morning had not yet come when he turned this page, and he stood over his motionless and barely perceptible breathing body, slowly and leisurely beginning to merge with it again. No trouble, no heaviness. At least everything went according to pn here, the infused potions and continuously working spirits of life-support-health did not let the body "wither" or simply get sick. The connection took pce with the utmost care not to be foolishly crippled at the very st moment, but it went exactly as it was pnned, although Stepan had been waiting until the st moment for some kind of a particurly harsh trick from the universe, like a senior spirit that the shaman had seen there at the bottom.

  Oh, I'm going to have some unpleasant experiences. Thinks the shaman as he finishes returning to his fleshy shell. But good ones too, because if the System doesn't give me at least a couple levels for this carnage, I'm going to be a vegan. For a week. Maybe a week and a half. Till I get my body back on track.

  The consummation of the fusion of two entities of one whole.

  Synchronization of the spiritual and physical body.

  Linking of auric nodes in the correct and aligned order.

  And afterward, everything was flooded with a warm and soft light. It was not blinding, but rather caressing and welcoming the one who had come home after a long journey.

  * * *

  The first thing Stepan did when he opened his watery eyes, staring up into the dark sky and squinting at the glow of power radiating from the totems and the signs carved into them, was to vomit up the wood-colored foam that took up most of the volume of his turbo-emptying stomach. After all, the alchemy he had used had to be excreted this way, opening up the possibility of gaining calories again. Later, by the morning of the third day, he'd still have a fascinating hour in the trine, but it should be a little more bearable. Also, as soon as he concentrated his will a little, it became immediately clear that this, as well as all the past and some of the future tortures reted to controlled coma and further separation of body and spirit, had not been in vain.

  Suppressing the desire to start unpacking the gifts from the system right now, which were definitely more than after any other adventure in his performance, the shaman began to take care of himself, because no one would take care of this good guy but him. With a willful effort, having channeled some of the power from the totems, he vaporized the rest of the potion that came out of his throat, got to his feet, and immediately pulled out two gss and one porcein vials from a pocket on his belt, which he drank in a gulp, one after another, in strict order according to the recommendations of his knowledge and the tips of the system store. He felt better, his dizziness subsided, as well as the noise in his ears, and even his arms and legs, which had become stiff despite all the measures taken, began to move and feel again. He didn't like the st of it, though, because it stabbed so hard he felt needles in every cell of his body, but, thank the spirits, the torture didn't st long, about ten, maybe fifteen minutes.

  After about another hour, the young man no longer resembled a handsome pale corpse. His coordination returned to normal, and his gait stopped wobbling like that of a sailor returned from a round-the-world trip and gone on a binge. Then there was no less boring routine of checking for curses, pathologies, and accidental distortions in the aura, provoked by the wrong "plug-in", but here everything was not satisfactory even, but good. Whether it was the increased resistance of subtle bodies before the swim, or being a system pyer in general. His magical gift again showed incredible adaptability and ability to adjust to the stimuting factors. All shamans have it, but Stepan especially. He had noted this characteristic in himself many times, even from his first days in the new world, even though the help did not inform him about it directly, only by hints.

  Despite his desperate desire to get back to the house and lie down on a normal bed, to drink the potion and fill his stomach, which was grumbling more and more insistently, with normal food, he had to stay in the clearing until dawn. He checked totems, fixing broken elements, examining burned-out lines of defense, and realizing that even his paranoia wasn't nearly enough, and therefore needed to be doubled, if not tripled next time. All of that took time. By the time he let himself exhale, dressed, and waddled toward the vilge leaving his footprints in the snow, morning had already set in. His eyes were a little watery after a long stay in the closed and idle state, bright light cut them unpleasantly, but even that passed. Well, or Stepan's emotions made him cry, he wouldn't have been surprised either. After all, the young man had been an ordinary Earthman not long ago, not a true Chosen One. Having gotten into such a mess, he was catching a natural withdrawal. Fortitude of spirit is fortitude of spirit, but such an ass would make even a hardened veteran of special forces of the General Directorate of Intelligence, who as a child had used a cartridge from a rge-caliber sniper rifle instead of a pacifier, hysterical.

  It was Stepan who still did quite well, as he convinced himself. And if someone tried to prove him otherwise, he'd punch them in the teeth. If he was really angry, he would use his third hand to knock out not the jaw, but the brains and aura.

  It was not darkness and desotion that greeted him in the house. After all, Meld didn't need to come in every morning after being warned to go to the forest. But the same Meld, smiling happily and contentedly. As soon as he noticed Stepan, he almost started jumping up and down from his emotions. Oh, wait, that's exactly what he did, you little asshole. Meld was not a northerner, but his words made his ears itch no less than if they had yelled FUS-RO-DAH in his face. At least from that, it's roughly clear how to defend oneself in general, instead of all this.

  "...and then tonight it was shining over the forest. I thought, well, I think, we must go, and Kirik in the morning was like, yes, today the honorable magician will return. And I was like, as soon as I heard, I think, like, yes, we must...." To extract what was said from the words of the boy, who seemed to have forgotten everything that Stepan had tried to put into his head about the correct construction of speech, was a task with an asterisk, but he managed.

  According to the state of the boy's emotions, the night was indeed illuminated provoked by the reality-affecting attacks of summoned and enemy spirits, as well as activated totems, and the raised locking barriers could also light up a bit. No, no Aurora Borealis in the sky, and thank the admins, or it would have been hard to expin. Just a few fshes and lightning striking vertically upwards. It was good the main battle took pce at sunset and the fshes were not visible against the sun background. The sounds and etheric cries were cut off by the external barrier. If not for the coincidence of circumstances, the st fsh could be missed, because it was night and everyone was asleep, but not everyone slept that night. Stepan wanted to hold Meld by the throat, shutting him up at the same time. The guy already had not a stick in the ass but a spear or at least a rapier, and now he was forced to do nothing. Anyway, this night he and some of the vilge kids decided to "talk to the spirits of the high spheres". Or, to put it more simply, they decided to fortune-tell by the methods of vilge superstition.

  Here, by the way, is a characteristic detail: the boy knew that this was not real divination, knew that it could work only by accident or by very strict observance of the ritual. He knew, but instead of telling the others about it, he made a clever appearance and gave out a brilliant improvisation. Mol, he, using the knowledge gained from the wise visiting Mr. Magician, which even teaches him something there, will create a proper ritual of divination with elements of an appeal to the spirits of the coming in the practical form! He, the little bastard, even pronounced it without stuttering and in academic terms, which, in the realities of the vilge, could be considered for magical charms of calling evil demons. It's incomprehensible and very sinister. And it would be all right if he just lied to them, but no - he managed to choose the moment of midnight, to correctly arrange herbs (a common but competent collection, avaible in every hut, but correctly selected, as Stepan taught) on the sides of the world, along the circle dug out with an iron dagger (one of the participants stole the dagger from his parents), and even the etheric rose of currents was followed! Well, yes, on a hillside, in clean clothes, around a fire, having warmed up the ground, having taken off their shoes and even drunk wine and bread, having also stolen reagents from their parents' houses.

  It's a good thing he had the sense not to pour blood from a vein right on the line of the rituals. He had the foresight not to burn the bread crumbs in the fire with just a drop of wine. If they had, it might have been possible that those whose answers and wisdom they sought would have come to their call. Especially, with the madness going on so close by in the forest clearing. And yes, it's not hard to realize that when they started asking questions, the answer was the same lightning and greenish fshes that marked the final scanning ritual of Stepan's search. Emotions flowed over the edge, and Meld's authority among kids and teenagers (and adults, too, it seems) rose to an unattainable height for his peers and some recognition for men.

  The uncle from the nearest house woke up and came running to the noise thinking thieves had decided to steal his cattle. First, he yelled at the kids, and then, noticing that the lights in the woods had almost disappeared, because the active phase of the ritual was quickly over. He got a little frightened and called Kirik. Sleepy and scratching his ass, the headman, wearing only socks, bast shoes, and with an axe in his hand, asked about what had happened, expined to the kids that they hadn't become magicians, and told Meld to wait for the return of the respected Pann tomorrow. He was right, and Stepan was lucky that he was asking more questions to the man than the kids. The man had seen only the crumbs of the night light show, so the headman was not more armed than usual.

  But such a night!

  Such an adventure!

  And the way his sweet Lma looked at Meld!

  And he was so badass!

  "Meld, by the spirits, shut up and be quiet, please." There was something in the words of the shaman, who managed to insert these words between the stream of remarks so the boy complied with the request and immediately fell silent. "Bring the breakfast, hero of the nocturnal calls, and stop bragging. Or your story will turn a couple of fshes into the fiery heavens opened up with a huge scarlet eye in the center. If you boast, at least know the measure, because at some point they will stop believing and start beating you."

  The slightly blushing boy only said something like "I'll be right there, Mr. Pann" and started off as if he identified himself as a racing car in his heart. The boy brought breakfast and lunch very quickly, together with Kirik, who also brought a bottle of wine, holding it with such a conspiratorial look that it became clear at once that he would not go without interrogation. Probably Stepan's prophetic abilities, which had been dormant until that moment, fred up, because they really began to question him: unobtrusively, good-naturedly, and with all the respect, but Kirik really wanted to know about what had happened, and the young man understood him completely. But in general, of course, if you remove the sarcasm, it was not so difficult to make such a prediction. Or he would have to write down a bunch of his fellow students or just students of the same university, who were panic-strickenly predicting: "Oh my God, I'm sure I won't pass the exam with Yanin!" as prophets. This is also a full-fledged prophecy, and it always comes true.

  Stepan began creatively and beautifully feeding a bullshit vilger, clearly realizing that one should oversee his speech with such a man. He might not say it out loud, but he would catch inconsistencies. Here he began to humor, py with words, and in every possible way try to belittle his achievements, in which for so long he had achieved a lot of skill, if not mastery, at least proficiency. Yes, there was a case. He went away for a week because it was necessary to communicate with spirits where there were no people and only the forest. Any shamans will tell you this is one of the obligatory conditions of normal calls. Yes, there was a little light, it was a good time to perform the ritual, even Meld had learned about the benefits of midnight, and the light itself was just the small spirits of power fed up and frolicking. Any vilge witch will show you such a trick because it's the basics of working with spirits. The only thing was that there were a few more spirits this time, but Stepan had spent a lot of time preparing his shamanism.

  No, don't exaggerate. It may have gotten light for a while, but it was certainly not as the kids describe it to you, or they'd think of a heavenly host descending. No, there is no danger in the forest, if you don't count wolves and other beasts. He was watched for such things with all his eyes, or his grandfather would have hit him with a shovel right from the dead for such irresponsibility. No, no, no help is needed, of course, he had to fast, but his health is in good order, but don't offer him wine, one cup is enough for him, or he'll really get sick. No, how could he refuse the honorable Kirik to see what was wrong with his wife's sister, who had become ill three days ago and now y on the stove almost without getting up, and if it was bad at all, he could go at least now. Oh, it's not bad, she's just weak and her legs won't hold her, but she's almost all right, isn't she? Well, tomorrow, then. He's as tired as a working horse today.

  That's how he unobtrusively lowered the level of coolness he showed time after time. If it hadn't been for him, no one would have noticed! The vilgers do not take night walks at all unless there is a holiday. On a dark and cold winter night, everyone sleeps and dreams. All except the small, insolent Meld, who was a delightful combination of sharp wit and the ability to pretend to be a complete idiot, and who not only did not sleep alone but dragged all the kids along with him. No one would have believed one boy, and now he has to make it up and sweat, looking pale. Although, okay, he looks pale just from fatigue and a long pseudo-coma. As if he would not have to turn to the knowledge-gifts of the Autogoddess, arranging correction of memories for the kids, so that they would eventually believe that they had imagined everything.

  Kirik left, seemingly calmed down. Though Stepan thought he didn't fully believe him. It was more likely that the shaman's occupation was not so safe, at least for the shaman himself, than that Pann was lying about something. Finishing the rest of the roast goose, the boy exhaled tiredly and checked his house, ensuring no one had broken in and stolen anything of value. Although, to break in you'd have to be a master thief, and there was nothing to do in this vilge and his temporary home, unless you knew about the super stockings from the MILF Mistress under the bed. And thank the admins, nobody knows about them. Except for Stepan.

  The shaman went out on the porch, looked at the morning sun, and dismissed Meld, who had come to clean up after the feast. He y down on the bed, closed his eyes, and began... No, not sleep, sleep was gone, even the mental fatigue was gone, banished by the drugs that had begun to work and the cheerful conversation with the headman. He began to sort out what the System had given him for his deeds, checking his level first. The level didn't let him down, it even "pleased" him with the number eighteen, even though there were only a couple of unstrenuous training sessions with standard calls left in the experience bar before the nineteenth level. One incomplete level at the start of the adventure, and one level almost gained. It seemed both a good reward, but not enough, considering the miniature apocalypse he had recently experienced. The experience had been too terrifying and adrenaline-fueled for him. He knew that each next level required more and more effort to obtain, but he realized that it was definitely not that much and he had to take the twentieth minimum. Help immediately reassured him that such a rge amount of experience with a retively small increase in levels, was offset by other rewards. Some kind of mechanics that prevented a quick rush up the levels or something? He didn't want to think about it, but he'd have to, just ter, when he'd learned and experienced everything that had been dumped on him. At the same time, he would see how the System was going to compensate him for the missing levels.

  But the Autogoddess certainly didn't let him down, giving him two free talent points at once, carefully distributed as she wished. It wasn't hard to guess that Stepan wasn't very happy with her decision. The aura began to tickle with feathers, so much so the young man never afraid of tickling, could barely contain his convulsions and reflexive ughter. The second part of the sensations, as if honey diluted with wine and spices were poured over the tickled body, helped him to cope with it. He could almost feel this viscous mass and its odor, feel it with his aura, not with his body, and the roof was blown off from this sensory shaft more than from ck of sleep before the exam. Having analyzed what he had received Stepan came to an undeniable conclusion:

  Well, it looks like I have a new nominee for the most useless gift of the Autogoddess since my appearance in the new world, and the gap from the second pce is not small. These thoughts he thought without anger and anger, sincerely rejoicing at least in the fact that the gifts of the benefactress are useless, but at least not harmful and do not interfere with normal life.

  So this property, first obtained in the basic version, and then improved, was of homeopathic benefit, but within the usual paradigm of the Autogoddess, it worked just fine. The property resembled the Mark of Roots very much, being its full analog, only for a different direction, and yet it was even present in the list of avaible talents. Stepan wouldn't even think of choosing it under normal circumstances, but no one had set any conditions for him, neither normal nor abnormal. This gift was called "the goodness of the creators of passions and weavers of feelings", after the promotion, because of which the sensations were so intense, because the double reinforcement sprouted at once, and began to be called "the recognition of the creators of passions and weavers of feelings".

  It wasn't hard to understand what types of interactions this property opened up, what spirits it allowed him to summon, what contracts to study, and what knowledge it gave him access to. Yes, all kinds of bewitches, sensualists, brainwashing specialists, all of them began to feel a really serious affection for Stepan, and to a degree noticeably greater than that given by the Mark of Roots in retion to dark naturalists. Add to this the fact that the improved Mark of the Spheres and Recognition did not interfere with each other and did not even sum up, but almost multiplied, and it becomes even sadder. Charms, as the highest branch of advanced knowledge, - the calls and dialog are still a mandatory basis of the css, they can not be counted, - this damn mark is the most powerful of the properties, which does not belong to the two properties of the elite, received for the tenth level ... somehow it's all sad. Once again, he's not a martial charmer, but an almost pure brainiac who's discovered a bit of martial skills to fend off grateful customers.

  The received property did not add much knowledge, only techniques of new property use with already discovered knowledge, and understanding that most of the charms from his knowledge reserves he could summon much faster and as simplified as possible, almost kicking the door open, figuratively speaking. They will come, fulfill it, and will be grateful, the damn freaks. In theory, if all precautions were taken, he could even summon a senior spirit, even if not a gift-level contract, but a one-time contract. A spirit not on the level of the Sleepwalker, which is still from a higher stratum, but not the lowest among his kind. There are suitable entities in his knowledge, there are, it's just that earlier their summoning would have required no less preparation than for the whole adventure of leaving the body, but now, he can simplify the task.

  It seemed like a good time to fulfill a long-held dream and talk to the contract spirits, the connection to which Great Milf had given him, to try to beg them for help outside of the contracts... but no, it didn't work that way. The very nature of the Mark and its vibe, its seal on Stepan's spiritual body, was that he was more likely to persuade a more useful spirit to work as a charmer if he was capable of such a thing than the other way around. As already mentioned - a nominee for the first pce on the list of uselessness, the use of which is truly minimal. General strengthening of the aura and increased authority among the spirits, the ability to manipute his spirit more skillfully and withstand more calls.... not bad for a two-point talent. Another legacy worthy of another dynasty of shamans, but it was a shame to boast of such a thing, or even scary, because the owner of such marks could be asked to eat iron politely, just as a precaution, and Stepan would not even condemn such cautious people. He would fight back as hard as he could, but would not condemn. Well, at least such marks, if they are not deliberately funted, are a hell of a lot to notice without very specific skills or full examination, not to mention how easy it is to hide them under the Shroud.

  Closing his eyes and processing the new sensations, the shaman admitted to himself that he was ready to continue, and the System, obligingly catching his readiness, mercilessly gave him a new portion of honestly deserved rewards. And now they were no longer gifts of the Autogoddess, but gifts he had personally earned from the system, even if they were received extremely easily, quickly, and without any effort. He felt a little ashamed, although, in fact, no, of course not: after all, he had not asked for any of these things. But he couldn't lie that he would easily give up the system and the gift either, it was too brazen a lie. From the system maybe, especially with Autogoddess's jokes, but not from the gift, no. He was too used to seeing and knowing more, to looking and speaking, to calling and ordering, to become an ungifted commoner again.

  Received: "basics of spiritual wandering", "advanced basics of spiritual wandering", "advanced methods of spiritual wandering"; meaningfully increased affinity with the higher spheres; significantly improved understanding of the nature of the higher spheres; additional talent branches unlocked.

  The acquired talents are added to the overall Pyer status.

  Stepan still had time to utter a meaningful "Wow!", and then a real wave of knowledge came over him, almost burying him under the information wave. He had never gone through a triple increase of knowledge before unless you counted the moment of choosing a css, but then he didn't have a lot of already existing lines in his Status. And even one knowledge now was barely less of a burden than the seven he'd received on the very first day and night. He even thought, with a slight grudge, that the system had broken its setting, preventing the user's brains from being baked by over-intensive pumping, but he calmed down quickly enough. Despite the threefold increase in one system message, the load turned out to be much more tolerable than expected, though not weak anywhere.

  It was the fact that the open branch of development, which was impossible not to develop after such a journey, had a slightly different direction, which affected all the other knowledge, but first of all, developed itself. The ability to control one's movement and being in a spiritual state, already present due to the transformation passed on the tenth, allowed something simir, but now... heaven and earth. The ability to move, to maneuver in the streams of ether, to navigate in this strange non-space, to find the way and familiar pces, to look for ndmarks and create milestones, to use ascents, descents, and transitions, to recognize various dangers and methods of their circumvention. It was possible to enumerate really a lot of weighty factors and just an unimaginable bunch of all sorts of useful little things. Of course, now Stepan was sure that if he got into a simir situation again, he would be able to escape so as not to lead a tail of evil spirits. To be even more precise, he would not have gotten into such a situation at all, even at the stage of acquaintance with a crazy psychotic shamaness - he would have simply managed not to fall into someone else's totem pocket, would have inspected it from the outside of the colpsing barrier shell and left-swam away on his own.

  In terms of synergy this triple knowledge affected all directions, even some of the properties were affected, modified, and intertwined. Calls became easy and many of them received an additional variant of carrying out outside the body, combat, healing, curse, and spell contracts also went through this improvement, plus a certain number of rituals of invocation and calls were added, which in general can be carried out only in a spiritual form. Spiritual dialog has grown very seriously, even without any additional knowledge, so, by itself - after all, communication in the form of pure spirit is on a qualitatively different level, not only exceeding the standard procmation in a native meat jacket but also simply opening those approaches that are otherwise inaccessible, no matter how you spin. It's as if you've spent your whole life communicating with a foreigner via voice chat using a voice synthesizer, and here you finally have live communication. A very clear analogy, and, as in the real world, a real foreign nguage from a native speaker is somehow not very simir to the one learned from books and rare professional recordings.

  The Marks of Spheres, Roots, and even fucking Passion have also become more actively felt, their weight at the moment of being in spiritual form can be emphasized, increased, requests can be reduced and attitude can be improved. Or, if everything is bad, at least reduce aggression and get permission to leave, even if not for free. And you can hide, muffle, hide these marks, but he can do exactly the same thing with the Shroud.... combining that knowledge with the Shroud opens up different approaches to maniputing false auras. The possibilities for bargaining and making deals have increased significantly, opening up new horizons and arguments, albeit at considerable risk. All the same reason as with the dialog: in this state, he can do what does not come out in a normal state, expin and prove to the uncooperative spirits those truths that they simply will not understand otherwise, and another's cunning to notice and catch much easier. In working with totems it was possible to customize and process them from the side of the spirit world, not from the side of the Reality - the very thing he had already done sometimes, but only marginally touching. The very thing that Angry Tit (he remembered her name, of course, just by meditating on it, but that didn't mean that Singha, Maega's daughter, was no longer Angry Tit to him) had done and impressed him with, the very thing that she was head and shoulders above him in. Not the fact that he directly overtook the nervous fool, but at least compared or came close to comparing. Only practice will tell more accurately, with practice showing and proving the correctness or incorrectness of a self-assertive statement.

  The synergy with hermit knowledge suddenly appeared, in the sense of learning how to reinsure and protect one's body with a minimum of resources. I was especially pleased with the methods of not so much protecting the body from an infestation or just a hungry random spirit, but hiding the body so that it would not be noticed, and would not pay attention, even if they were very close. The methods are interesting, first of all, because they are adjusted to the life of a hermit who cannot afford huge reserves of resources and support coven, having to hide where another shaman would put a hard and powerful barrier. Both approaches can be combined, though not without rough edges from both directions. If the synergy with the hermit block was unexpectedly pleasant, then the wildest mutual reinforcement in conjunction with remote control was very much expected. The connection was unavoidable, literally obvious it seemed. Yes, now he, having left his body and using his spirit as a resonator, could send his servants, observing and even attack at very solid distances. Maybe even all the way to Fantrel, taking revenge on one enterprising artifact necromancer for his insistent invitation to visit.

  Or, given the weakening power of the blow with distance and the need to summon a really powerful spirit, if it is necessary to penetrate not someone there, but a skillful magician, obviously dressed in his products, at least to blow his brains with porn banners and dickpics. Well, what specialization, such and such ways of revenge, nothing to be done. Clenching his lips into a thin stripe and gring angrily, Stepan resolutely postponed his revenge for the time when he could kill the bastard who tried to utilize him as the material for his work and take revenge in a normal way. Of course, the option of instilling a love for a dead cattle for at least a week is certainly conceptual and even quite cruel, but it's still a mess. Stepan does not care about the colorfulness of revenge, but it is necessary to make this revenge pleasant for himself, and not all this.

  It didn't take long for the rest of the interconnections to settle in. The sun had no time to sink lower to the earth, only slightly past noon. Either he was becoming more susceptible to such comings and goings, or one of the two, but it was still good. Only he thought this thought, only rexed a little, as the system counted it as readiness for a new portion of rewards, which caused Stepan a truly heretical thought that maybe he had enough already. But he brutally killed and dismembered this thought even before he could finish it. One would not be kicked out of the Honorary Gamers Club for such an act, not even with kicks, no. For such sacrilege, the entire club itself will come to visit to brutally torture the heretic! Given the number of all sorts of powerful morons without measure, which in the isekai literature with elements of LitRPG present, then fuck such conflicts. If to speak normally and without sarcasm, Stepan simply reminded himself of the price of the received pluses and immediately decided that he deserved them all and let the System add more on top.

  Received: "basic skills of spiritual conflict outside the physical body", "advanced basic skills of spiritual conflict outside the physical body"; improved understanding of the nature of the higher spheres; increased aura and spirit resistance to damage and hostile influences; increased likelihood of talents falling from the branches of Spirit Warrior, Phantom Chimera, Body Stealer, and Soul Stealer.

  The acquired talents are added to the overall Pyer status.

  This time the skill turned out to be dual, but much more intense, in fact being a kind of full-fledged combat school, perfectly superimposed on the mastery of a martial call, only with the fvor of confrontation outside the body, against evil spirits or shamans. Attacking, defending, disguising, chasing, or breaking away from such, fighting in a group and against a group, under the cover of pre-arranged guards or with the necessity to summon these guards right at the moment of battle. Synergy, oddly enough, turned out to be much less, although it was present in all directions. New types of dialog built on the martial manipution of one's own spirit body, as if gritting one's teeth in threat, which for many predatory and especially bestial spirit realms was a compelling approach to the extreme. New types of calls, aggressive and demanding, if the spirit was uncultured or was initially going to bend him to obedience by kicking him in the ass. Charms, which can be imposed personally, directly affecting the spirit of the victim, without calling someone else, by the way, working very well in conjunction with territorial magic. Specific battle totems and pseudo-totems that could be dragged along on a spiritual journey, like his recent belt and bracelets, and he could make these battle jewelry much better.

  Even the same trick with the acceleration of consciousness, which he used in spirit form, belonged to this talent. And yes, Stepan could indeed use this type of trick in a limited and weakened way even in a mortal body, but only carefully and without overloading, or you could burn your brains and aura. But this approach can be used simultaneously with the more usual methods of acceleration, such as settling in the body of battle spirits, which is very good for the final speed of perception and, accordingly, the reaction. In battle, the ability to strike faster than the enemy often trumps a sophisticated tactical approach and skillful combat techniques. And despite Stepan's reluctance to fight and risk in direct combat, he still rejoiced at the opportunity to become stronger, more survivable, and deadlier. He had recently had a vivid proof of how much the universe didn't give a shit about his unwillingness to fight and pacifism.

  Not much, but only on the background of threefold improvement a few hours earlier, and in fact he had been pumped into his brain at least five or seven years of life and training with the best teachers, without weekends and vacations, under the best stimunts and with the opportunity to recover from the profile healers. This only counts the battle skill itself, not the cascade of synergy. Is it any wonder that by the time he digested this block, the alchemical vigor had eroded from his body, and the sun had slipped into the sunset, leaving behind only a small edge? His stomach was once again calling for food hedonism and more. He had to get up, do my hygiene, eat a hasty snack, and pour a liter of cool concoction down my parched throat before lying down again and beginning to digest what I had received, the final part of it.

  Final and unexpected, revealing new System mechanics.

  The one the System was going to use to compensate for missing levels.

  A significant deed has been done!

  For helping your sister by gift and chosen path, for saving her life and soul, for surviving the battle against an enemy superior in number and power, a reward corresponding to the worthy deed is given!

  Received: one unit of characteristics in the Source attribute, one unit of characteristics in the Power attribute, one random minor knowledge of advanced or elite type; one item from the elite system purchase list (choice is avaible at will for three weeks, in case of no choice, the st of the choices avaible during this period will be automatically granted).

  Additional rewards from Liarat si Merrinal, Lady of Gifts and Giver of Gifts, loyal servant of Innes Inney: one point to the Сontrol attribute; a full branch of random css knowledge up to the characteristic development limit; a modifier to the status line in the "Special" section; a random material gift associated with a completed challenge.

  If the trancelike young man's eyes had been open, he'd have bulged more than they did in the anime, but luckily for his eyes, they were closed. And then it was too te to open them because the aura began to internalize three - fucking three, the whole three - free units of characteristics. The shaman was ready to forgive the Angry Tit for such an offering, let her live, he would even remember her not every five minutes. And the System, which did not give him levels, he was also ready to forgive - it was for the benefit of the isekai, who received rewards for many levels, but in fact, did not rise, than will save the rate of pumping, while keeping the bonuses received for his adventure, which nguage will not turn to call a great deed, so it all came out stupidly.

  He would not agree to go through such madness again for any price, of course, it was too much of a risk, if not for himself - he still had the option of simply detonating totems in a critical situation, driving away the enemy and letting them fool around in the real world - then for the whole world around him. But now it's clear how the real chosen heroes of all sorts of Autogoddesses achieve frenzied power in a couple of months. A dozen such adventures and you can already consider yourself a magister, even without taking into account the promotions for level and freely obtained talents, which can be easily acquired after the adventure, because with new powers and pumping much faster.

  The aura simultaneously swelled with the reserve and the basis of its replenishment plunged into boiling water and ice water at the same time as the power grew, pulsed under the touch of many invisible threads that moved inside the nodes and veins, improving control. However, such sensations were not so hard to endure, receiving each of the elite properties on the tenth was no less intense. In general, no one heard any compints about life, fate, the Autogoddess, and her sense of humor, even if we take into account only the thoughts of the isekai. The shaman came to his senses in the dark, the setting sun was no longer shining with a single ray, and his body was covered with sticky and disgusting sweat. He had to get up again to take care of his hygiene, using the water from the barrel without even heating it.

  The increased attributes were felt more than clearly. He, even in such small things, saw the simplification of the flow of power to the totem heater, the increase in efficiency from the energy from the reserve fed to the spirits, and the volume of the reserve, which has also increased, significantly. In the conditions of such a system, when each of the units means more and more, not to feel the difference is unrealistic. Unless you are dead drunk, stunned, asleep, and (or) stoned, or even all of them together, only then the smart System will probably just wait for the user to wake up and become comparatively sober.

  Another moment, and now he sat down on the floor in a meditation pose, unable to lie still any longer and afraid of falling asleep in the process of assimiting knowledge. Minor knowledge beckoned to him, especially if it was elite or advanced: the opportunity to receive a full-fledged summoning of an elder spirit, only with a combat bias, and to receive it from the System, not Milfgoddess, it beckoned like a beacon in the night. Well, or like a light for a naive moth, but, as they say, you have to be fmes, not moths, so Stepan was. Usually, it was expressed by the fact that his ass was on fire.

  Received: "Defense by distortion of the anteroom of the Spheres".

  The acquired talent is added to the overall Pyer status.

  And it was not a summon, thank the System, at least not something in the spirit of the Autogoddess. A brief moment of disappointment was diluted by thoughtfulness, which became stronger the more vividly the boy absorbed the knowledge he had received. Minor knowledge, in essence, a single effect of the gift on Reality, only studied as if he had trained it not a year, not two, but twenty-two or at least twelve. Every day, several hours, no less, generously spending the reserve and feeding off of hoards or totems. So mastered was the effect that it could be performed even if he woke up at night, awakened by a kick in the ass and a factory siren under his ear.

  It wasn't an opportunity to summon an analog of the Sleepwalker, a properly obedient one, not an opportunity to shove a hungry spirit into someone's heart with a finger move, it wasn't an attack at all, which could be understood simply from the name. But as a protective barrier worthy of not just an adept of shamanism, but even a strong master, or even a weak magister, this technique worked perfectly. However, judging by the knowledge embedded in the brain's subcortex, this effect ate up the reserve at such a rate that, not corresponding to the rank of a full-fledged senior shaman, it must be used very limited and with wisdom. Even for basic use, you need a well-developed Source and a very well-developed Spirit and Sensitivity. Otherwise, it's easier to cripple yourself than to cast it. Stepan could use this trick at the very edge of the window of opportunity before he was rewarded with the characteristics, and then, afterward, also at the edge, but without the risk of colpsing with aura injuries at the first failure.

  Defense.

  Yes, defense.

  The essence of the technique was to use his spirit, relying on the property of spiritual transformation, skills of territorial influence, as well as an advanced base of spiritual operation - which, after the pluses to the characteristics can now be raised to the third rank, which he would definitely do as soon as he slightly recovered from the stress received and assimition of gifts - being a really advanced skill, which is not ashamed to boast to the real masters. Well, that would be if he was dumb enough to brag about his skills to anyone.

  The trick hides in the necessity to adjust your spirit, operating it in the same way as you operate a spiritual hand, to spsh it over the surrounding space, and so as not to release the very spirit from the body, releasing only its will, the pressure on Reality. Then the surrounding space, already filled with will and magic released from the reserve becomes even more subject to the methods of controlling the territory, becoming malleable to the influences of the shaman. And at the end, at the final stage, the shaman closes this influence, likens matter to ether, and reality to high spheres, distorting the very reality around him: you can tightly fit armor on a couple of centimeters from the body, you can cover the space of a whole room at once. And in this range you can completely forget about physical and a considerable part of magical attacks, because the distorted and controlled territory will make you miss even at point-bnk range, will deflect the blows, negate them, redirect them, and with a particurly creative approach and effort will return them to the sender.

  It is possible to resist this defense. But without specific knowledge of a comparable level, without striking at the very basis of control over the space, which had become for a moment a pre-door to the higher spheres, it would only remain to burn the way with force, to put so much power into some fire stream or shaft that any distortion would simply push through and tear it apart. But the costs will be in Stepan's favor, the ratio will be simply robbery. The defense itself, although it will require from him now at least a third of the increased reserve for unfolding even in the basic form, is maintained very cheaply. Well, if you don't move and stand still. You can drag the foredeck area behind you, but it's difficult and requires focus, concentration, and new spending. Judging by the remarks of the reference, not every master will be able to understand what exactly this defense does, if they do, not everyone will be able to counter it with something other than pure combat power. Standard methods, such as switching to multiple weak attacks, alternating damage types, or trying to hide some spells in the shadows of others, will have minimal effectiveness.

  You should be much more careful with fellow shamans. If they could not strike, they could send special spirits. Among them might be one who would pass through the barrier or try to dive under it, passing through those very spheres and coming, figuratively speaking, from the rear. However, all this can also be prevented. Embedded knowledge, although it concerned only one technique, but this technique was given everything, including ways to counteract those who will counteract the user. This is before Stepan's new skill should not force a new skill so in front of territorial mages of all stripes. A cssic witch of comparable level is quite capable of understanding the nature of the trick, and then trying to destabilize it. This, too, he will be able to resist, but the fight will be equal, not with Stepan's superiority. Still, the point of the distortion of the anteroom of the spheres is that typical wild witchcraft has turned out to be performed in shamanistic style, but there is still too much in common in these approaches.

  Of the cssic high schools of magic, those whose spells work without a pronounced means of dealing damage will have some chance. Mental attacks or curses are also blocked by preternatural, but not as well. Elemental wizards can try, say, to siphon oxygen out of the air or scorch the same oxygen with fire, from which Stepan will have to find a way to save his breath. Try to sting with pure heat or frost. More likely no than yes, the shield will stop that too, but then the consumption will also increase. Of course, there were gaps in Stepan's knowledge, but he knew a lot about how and with what he could be beaten by gifted of different schools, so he had a chance to adapt to almost everything if there was no cardinal difference in power between him and his opponent. Well, or in the number of opponents.

  Apparently, gaining a minor knowledge was also a respectable way to pump up, especially if it would throw you not in a forest lodge in a remote corner, but right on the battlefield so that there was death, corpses, enemies, blood, and so on, survive or die. A dozen of such tricks are in reserve and you can quite confidently go into a duel against even stronger opponents, defeating them simply due to the quality of the learned techniques and tricks. Yes, it will be necessary to pump the rest of the knowledge, just to give the basis for a really serious minor knowledge, but potentially such a way is possible. It would be impossible to call such an arsenal poor because Stepan clearly understood how flexible the defensive tool he had received was. You can defend yourself, cover an ally, ram the zone of control of someone else's barrier, pushing through the defense. With a dozen tricks of comparable scale and power, some narrowness of the arsenal and ck of general erudition would no longer be your problem.

  The little knowledge was quite expectedly assimited much faster than usual, hardly even half an hour had passed, and that was only because the shaman had a very detailed understanding of the new instrument. No, he did not think of fighting duels with masters of magic, nor did he even think of signing up for medieval warfare. Only recently he was not going to do anything like that either, and everything ended up in a quarrel with a hereditary shamaness, a battle with her, getting to the deep yers of high spheres, escaping from there with a tail of evil creatures and a natural fight with the same creatures. And after all, he had gone out for a safe walk, having foreseen, it seemed, everything at all, including even his idiocy... except the idiocy of others. And that's why it's better not to vow that you won't use a free trick because you don't live in the world of pink ponies. This is not a hentai manga about elf queens being raped by goblins, but a damn fantasy with extremely dark overtones.

  Once Stepan analyzed the new knowledge and suppressed his desire to try it out immediately, he inhaled deeply, took up his meditation posture again, and prepared to receive a very rge flow of knowledge from the Autogoddess. Somehow he did not even doubt that she would give something akin to her previous gifts, and it would be good if there were at least some benefit to be derived from the gift. And, being ready, collected, and humble in anticipation of the inevitable, he did not even blink when the System gave him another message. Habit, after all, is a great power!

  Received: "basic techniques of shamanism-based suggestive influences", "advanced basic techniques of shamanism-based suggestive influences", "advanced techniques of shamanism-based suggestive influences", "advanced developed techniques of shamanism-based suggestive influences", "advanced developed techniques of shamanism-based suggestive influences"; the knitting of perfectly ordinary gss beads; the Mark of Destiny, expressed by the will of Liarat si Merrinal, the Lady of Gifts and the Giver of Gifts, the faithful servant of Innes Inney.

  The acquired gifts are added to the overall Pyer status.

  It can't even be described with the word "overwhelmed" because it was more like "buried", damn! The block of knowledge was complete, advanced to the point of understanding, incredibly synergistic with shamanism, perfectly supported by the Passion Mark he had recently received for his levels, and also touching on many of his other talents. It was only the tter, that reconciled him a bit with reality because the repertoire erroneously of the Autogoddess, who had chosen the wrong Stepan as her Chosen One was unchangingly stable. Well, it remained only to meditate, assimite new knowledge, and wave goodbye to his dreams of changing his specialization from a brainiac to something more decent. No, the next levels of his most developed skill area are already predetermined, much to his disappointment! It would be better to give him an extra point in spirit or just two points in control, but no, no, it's necessary to keep pushing Stepan in the direction he doesn't need to go.

  The essence of suggestive influence through shamanism is very close to the influence of charms because spells can even be considered a part of this knowledge, as well as vice versa. In fact, many of the tricks belonged to a mixture of spells and suggestions. In fact, if the spell works with the sphere of sensual and passionate, with impulses and desires, attachments and their distortion, then the suggestion is more like cssical mentalism, except that performed through shamanism. It works with thoughts and thinking, patterns and concepts, memory and perception. It is possible to change consciousness through charms, that it is possible to charm through suggestion, but if these two directions are combined... well, now, even without possessing the necessary characteristics, he can not just be called a master of brainwashing and creating sex sves. No, now he is. So he can give a couple of lessons to even very experienced colleagues developing in this direction. Yes, and they will invite him to visit, right on the work desk and in a fixed form.

  It was a little bit reconciling with the grim reality that even this knowledge could be useful: healing from mental traumas and mental dysfunctions, getting rid of phobias and bad habits, restoring the brains of those who had been in the hands of Stepan's "colleagues" in the direction of development, after all! If he becomes engaged in the tter, he would like to believe Autogoddess might get hiccups. And the other directions were quite intertwined with these four free talent points. There are more powerful calls from the category of mental blows, even pure mental puppeteers, which will make the whole squad kill each other appear in the list of calls. There's also the ability to py with the territory, creating zones of stupefaction, confusing travelers, only on a whole new level, not as he arranged near the clearing. There is also the ability to engage in even more effective spiritual dialog, making it easier to induce spirits to a treaty and lower their requests.

  The rest of the skills, however, complemented the newly acquired one, opening up a thousand and one ways to ensure a bowl of rice and a cat-wife without any party. At least specialized totems for the right spirits, combined with territorial influences. Such methods allowed you to make a room with a soft bed and thick walls, where you put a prisoner who hated you, and in 24 hours you let out a perfect maid with a nice smile and a submissive look. Or you can not even have a prisoner, but just a dy who does not suspect the depth of hospitality, so it is even easier. And one should not stop on one gender because any obstacles do not hinder real professionalism. Something told the young man that the orders for handsome boys to the "respected colleagues" receive less than for beautiful girls, but not by orders of magnitude.

  Healing influences carry second and third bottoms, making the patient very grateful to the doctor or to the person on whom the doctor will fixate. Ultra-long-range targeting, when it is possible to ensure a happy marriage without entering the town of newlyweds. Ultra-powerful strikes on libido and pleasure centers, right in the battle turning the enemy into drooling vegetables or absolutely submissive meat puppets. The examples are countless, as well as ways to creatively apply them to reality. But somehow such a life Stepan is not enticing, to put it mildly. Suddenly, through the trance and immersion in himself. He almost ughed, opening his eyes and ughing hoarsely at his thoughts:

  So the prophecy of Rodisv Gastoldovich Yanin Lucifer's Terrible Dream has come true for the second time in a row: I'm really forced to work anything but according to my diploma! He chuckled, even sobbing from the surging emotions. Though, of course, I've seen such a diploma, magical and not earthly, in the same coffin as Yanin, only I've seen Fear of Satan much deeper, of course.

  Having dispersed the fog in front of his eyes and feeling as if he had been working as a punching bag or a makiwara all night, Stepan wiped away involuntary tears of no less involuntary mirth and received the st message from the System for today. Honestly, he had never been so happy that he was no longer being showered with gifts.... and he's never been so gifted. No matter how good it would be from such a development he would avoid all adventures even more so that he would not find himself in such a situation. It only seems funny, but this is how you can really "be crushed by the gifts". Poor heroes of his (not) favorite RealRPG, which pump themselves stats by the hundreds, one chapter of the adventures of which consists of numbers for three quarters! How fucked up they must be if Stepan was so worn by just such a small thing?

  Special: Mark of Destinies expressed by the will of Liarat si Merrinal, Lady of Gifts and Giver of Gifts, faithful servant of Innes Inney. By granting salvation and forgiveness to Singha, daughter of Maega you have accomplished an act of deed. As a reward for this deed, Liarat si Merrinal, Lady of Gifts and the Giver of Gifts, loyal servant of Innes Inney gives you partial power over the fates of the daughter and her mother.

  Henceforth, any influence charming, lecherous, and passionate in your performance will have many times greater chance of success if it is directed towards Singha, daughter of Maega, and Maega, daughter of Maedra.

  Stepan could already consider himself very strong by the standards of the world as a gifted, he could do a lot of things, had the potential to learn much more, was advancing quickly, and was already capable of pying the role of a senior shaman (even if not in what he wanted to specialize in). But from the realization of the st message, as well as the communication with the help, he finally realized that he didn't know shit, didn't know how to do it, and didn't understand. He already understood within the magical erudition that comes with each new talent, about what the local gods were. Knew what they could and could do, how far superior they were to a mere and uncomplicated mortal, even if he, mortal this one, was a very powerful gifted. And just as surely knew that there was this gift - it could not even be repeated by them.

  In its essence, it seemed to be nothing, a typical Autogoddess, her other inventions were much more complicated, but it was the understanding of the beyond from the point of view of the avaible knowledge. That was what was confusing and even frightening. In the end, he could always bewitch both Evil Tit and her mother - he hoped it wasn't some ugly old woman - using not even the coolest of charms. It's just the way things are, even a primitive method would work. They'd forget to update their defenses, the exposure would catch them at the moment of greatest weakness and vulnerability, and territorial control would fail, or something. Stepan would have two twenties on his dice time after time. A waving dwarf in full armor will take flight, to quote the cssics. If he sets out to brainwash this couple, he will be spared incredible luck, and a couple of victims will be catastrophically unlucky.

  SpoilerT.N. The story of the dwarf. There's a group of adventurers walking along. A dwarf trips and falls into an abyss. What are you doing, Game Master asks. I start waving my arms quickly. 20. A group of adventurers watches with surprised eyes as a waving dwarf flies out of the abyss.

  [colpse]Of course, Stepan wasn't going to take revenge on this family. He didn't want it. He didn't want to go along with the Milf Lady, and he was just a little scared. There was no way that something would go wrong and two such dies would want his blood at once, and his father was probably no less dangerous. Ruin someone else's family happiness just to see how it will work in general ... well, that. But if the conflict started because of someone else's stupidity, then it would be a very pleasant arrangement for him and equally unpleasant for the evil shamanesses, or Her-Naher, or whatever they call themselves in general. Well, okay, he actually remembered the term, he's just making fun of himself.

  When Stepan got up from the floor, washed again, and went out onto the porch, refreshed by the stream of very cold air, he even caught himself thinking that he had at least five and a half hours before dawn to get some sleep. The remnants of his alchemy-induced vigor had expired half a day ago, so the thought of a bed to sleep on instead of meditating on made the shaman drool. The only thing that stopped him was a sense of perfectionism and a desire to finish it all at once, without putting it off. Procrastination is a gamer's worst enemy because while you are idling, the rest of your enemies are working out or at least getting some sleep.

  The artifact avaible in the elite segment of the store did not please ршь at all. It belonged to the section "gifts from a Milf", representing a magic wand with the length of an elbow, in the form of exactly what you can think of in the first pce if we are talking about Autogoddess. It was a really tough thing. It has a bunch of built-in charms, which alone could safely work on other people's brains not much worse than Stepan could right now. And it was also a really cool storage device, a conductor for charms - as, more cssical - and also it could cause any woman who advised the standards of "at least cute", a cascading orgasm and complete loss of will at a single touch and for a period of twenty-four hours. Obviously, the evaluation of the "cuteness" characteristic is not conducted by Stepan, but by the mental impression of the artifact's creator, through the prism of which the evaluation will take pce, using the owner's aura. Well, if there was a creator at all, and the Dildo of Absolute Dominance was created out of nothing by the will of the goddess alone, who could knit a scarf from Norn's cloth for fun.

  Obviously, Stepan was too shy to choose this weapon of moral and mental suppression. It was not cool enough for him, he would like something simpler, for a not-so-sophisticated monsignor. Nothing, there is hope that the next product from the special section will be more useful, not so fvored with the fvor of his, sorry admin, patroness. So, having made this decision, Stepan, no longer hoping for anything, looked at his st award: "a knitting of absolutely ordinary gss beadsЭ. He looked, looked, scratched the back of his head, and began to mentally count to a hundred, then back again, inhale after inhale, exhale after exhale, to calm himself down.

  SpoilerT.N. A hungry Soviet tourist is walking around Paris and accidentally walks into a brothel."Monsignor desires a girl.""No.""Monsignor wants a boy.""No.""What does the monsignor want?""Monsignor want a chicken.""Monsignor has a knack for perversion."

  [colpse]Yes, they were gss beads, the most ordinary, understandable, simple, and cheap, with no magical properties whatsoever. But the help asserted as if the very two victims of Autogoddess arbitrariness, which shamanizing mother and daughter, - somehow he was lucky on such couples, right even funny a little, but also sad, - at one look at these beads will want to do anything at all. They will want to do anything at one sight of these beads, even sell themselves into sexual svery, and kill their husband and father, so that he would not interfere with their new happiness. Complete disconnection of any logic, with no less complete preservation of all thinking functions and magical power. They will consider it a complete and absolute norm that they are ready for the sake of this gift for everything, for everything at all, but first of all for the vulgar.

  The help also pointed out that in this world, among the Confederacy of Free Cities, the very image of a beautiful and stupid steppe girl, who speaks poor Confederate nguage and is ready to give herself to a pale-faced foreign Hanur for a bunch of gss beads, is considered a kind of offensive racial stereotype. Considering the fact that both victims of these beads are skilled gifted, obviously rich, intelligent, and badass..... If the young man looked at this message not with his inner eye, but through the screen of his favorite PC, then the fat would have dripped from the monitor. As myrrh-flooding icons, so would his old computer. In fact, this part of the system help - which turned out to be the first information about the world that came to him from the System - was the only thing that could be useful in such a gift. If something happened, he would know how to insult his new acquaintance in a more subtle way... If she thought he'd sacrificed his life to save hers, then let her think he was dead.

  SpoilerT.N. "the fat would have dripped from the monitor" - that idiom means very obvious trolling.

  [colpse]Although, of course, it was tempting. It was an opportunity to get access not only to the body of the degenerate girl who had almost ruined him but also to the knowledge of her family, and contracts with spirits. Legalization, after all! Morality is morality, but to refuse such a chance is just stupid, it's like finding a suitcase with money and keeping it under the bed for the rest of your life without even trying to use it. Surprisingly simir to all the gifts from the Autogoddess and their interaction with Stepan. In short, the young mind could not withstand the temptation. His patience cracked. His composure burst. He got up, shook himself off, dressed, threw his shirt over his torso, and, ignoring all the other clothes, went out into the night darkness, having pnted a spirit in his eyes for night vision.

  "I wanted to sleep alone, but no, I couldn't wait to check everything out!" He grumbled, going for a light and then not-so-light run, ignoring the cold and warming himself with his gift and the spirits circling nearby that warmed the air. "Running now, like the man in the commercial, except my shirt is not dry! I'll do it again! What the hell! Why does it have to be like this, huh? Am I the redhead and the baldest guy in the world or what? I'm sick and tired of these jokes, I can't take it anymore!"

  SpoilerT. N. It was once a very popur meme. Deodorant commercial. The girl asks the guy what he was doing He says he was running. She's surprised his shirt is dry and starts to suspect cheating. He expins about the deodorant. People started twisting things in different ways for fun. For example. Where you've been. I was running. And why is your shirt dry? I was running in a different shirt.

  [colpse]There he was in the forest, near a clearing, but he didn't reach it, he needed the pce he had marked earlier - a broken tree, of which only a tall stump covered with moss and mushrooms remained. There, in a small hollow, in which the ice-crusted water had collected, he put the fucking in all senses beads. He took three steps back, not averting his gaze, as if making up his mind, and then he made a barely audible but bone-chilling sound, like a hissing and scraping, coming not even from his throat but from his very gut. That sound alone would give untrained man weeks and years of nightmarish dreams in which he would see what the furious shaman was now calling.

  The contract long ago concluded, but not settled in totems, and on the battle with the enemy crowd he did not call this guy. The power of this essence is revealed only when pnted in the body and aura of the shaman, with a controlled and properly conducted merger. In the rest of the time this spirit is of little use, or even harmful, so the shaman does not hurry to add it to his retinue. The skin turns gray, somewhat grainy, the face stretches out, the mouth opens wider and wider, and Stepan, as if watching himself from the outside, sees a picture somewhat simir to the terrible Bilbo from Jackson's first Lord of the Rings movie. And then the mouth opens even wider, beyond any naturalness, and Stepan, along with the one who now shares his body, exhales softly and gently.

  A stream of something invisible struck the tree stump, causing it to age rapidly, rotting and drying out before his eyes, turning to weightless dust and crumbs. By the time the exhation was over, the appearance was back to normal. The spirit had gone to the pce where it had originally been summoned from, Stepan, who had spent half of his reserve and had passed the nineteenth level - thank the admins, the Autogoddess did not give him anything - could admire the pce where the beads of fate had been lying before. Those beads, which had unlimited power over two women he didn't know at all, were now in the same condition as the upper yers of the stump - turned to ashes. Nodding to his thoughts and roughly calcuting the time left for sleep, the young man turned and ran back on his tracks, while the spirit pnted in his legs and arms helped him not to break limbs or lose his eyes in such a forest run.

  He had about four and a bit hours to sleep.

  But his sleep was surprisingly calm, sweet and peaceful.

  Even without the usual and rather intrusive surrealist dreams.

  THE STATUS OF STEPAN "NORMAL" AS OF THE END OF CHAPTER TWELFTH

  Name: Stepan

  Level: 19

  Css: Shaman

  Characteristics: (free: 0)

  Talents (free): 2

  Constitution: 2

  Sensitivity: 7

  Power: 6

  Control: 3

  Source: 5

  Spirit: 8

  Resistance: 1

  Knowledge acquired: speaking and writing: Free Cities, academic Neirat, Isnd Kingdom; advanced developed call practice; advanced fundamentals of spiritual dialog; wilderness hermit; advanced basics of working with healing spirits; advanced basics of casting shamanic charms (GIFT); advanced basic techniques of dream-inducing and dream correction (GIFT); the advanced basic practice of combat calls; advanced basic techniques of interaction with magical sources; advanced basic techniques of countering curses: basic fundamentals of fast call; the advanced basic practice of spiritual operation; the mastery of a martial shaman; basics of spiritual haggling and contract agreements with otherworldly entities; the advanced basic practice of remote control of spiritual entities; basic methods of teaching magical sciences; basic methods of tantric practices; basic methods of territorial influences; basics of work with totems; basic techniques of building defensive formations; advanced techniques of spiritual wandering; advanced basic skills of spiritual conflict outside the physical body; advanced developed techniques of suggestive influences based on shamanism (GIFT)

  Minor knowledge: contract with an elder spirit: Sleepwalker (GIFT); contract with the elder spirits: The Shroud of Touch and the Creator of Decisions (GIFT); a contract with a strong spirit: The Eater of Diseases; defense by distortion of the anteroom of the spheres;

  Obtained properties: blessings of health and long life; toughness of spirit; resilience of subtle bodies; small mark of spiritual spheres: spiritual shroud of higher auric concealment (GIFT); flexible transformation of the spiritual body; marking of fallen leaves and bck roots; a tantric spiritual hearth; recognition of creators of passions and weavers of feelings (GIFT)

  System modifiers: peaceful development III; issuance of system assignments III; lecherous development II (GIFT); access to system purchases III; small system endowment of characteristics; temporal awareness II

  Special: Blessing of Liarat si Merrinal, Lady of Gifts and Giver of Gifts, loyal servant of Innes Inney: likely to grant additional talents as you level up; grant specific system quests with increased rewards; mark of destinies: Singha, daughter of Maega, and Maega, daughter of Maedra; hidden effects

  * * *

  Also, here's another little drop of lore about the world for you:

  This time I'll talk about ranking the strength of spirits and shamans, to avoid confusion, because at the moment I've trapped myself in the fact that "Senior Shaman" is an analog of a Master of Magic in terms of aura saturation, and "Senior Spirit" - can be an analog of a Magister of the same magic in terms of the same aura saturation. So, first of all, the fact that a Senior has the same strength as a Magister doesn't mean that he is necessarily equal to a Magister in combat or profile specialty. After all. mages will be stronger than spirits in Reality (and vice versa) unless they are very strong within their rank and have a very distinguished set of abilities. The Creepbear from chapter twelve is just one of them, but finding such a powerful entity and then negotiating with it, summoning it, and channeling it properly will be a challenge for anyone but a system user. And for him too. The Sleepwalker, again, is very strong in his specialty and is comparable to a Magister, but he is also closer to the exception than the rule.

  Now about the ranks of entities: negligible - lowly - weak/small - strong - senior - high - great - god-like. This is approximately the gradation, which I have tried, to the best of my ability, to describe in more detail.

  Negligible: that's why it is called such because it is literally a negligible creature, which simply cannot be of any use in any form. It's actual spiritual pnkton, if not something unicellur. They are constantly born and die, serving as food for each other and spirits of higher ranks. They have no self-consciousness and even send extremely primitive images, the level of "I know two or three words". Shamans are practically not summoned by virtue of uselessness, exceptions are only various accumutors, and totem traps, where such pnkton are thrown in huge volumes and then milked for free energy. There are no special abilities, talents, prospects, or usefulness. They are only suitable for novice shamans to practice their calls and dialog on: due to the absence of even the rudiments of reason or normal instincts, these creatures are very easily controlled by any shamans or just gifted with the right skills, not distinguishing the images sent to them from their own, so you can direct their movement or make them freeze without any difficulty. Stepan called them only a few times, behind the scenes, for a trial, and at the very beginning, and did not contact them further.

  Lower: Not much more useful than the ones described in the previous paragraph, but such entities have not only the spheres but also their own aspects. Such an invocation can already fulfill some role, help to light a fire, blow a breeze, or something like that. They have no special abilities and exotic properties with very few exceptions, they are easy to summon and already have some kind of instincts so that they can be contracted and given tasks. Nevertheless, most of their use is limited to "I can attack, I can give power charged with aspects and sphere, I can do nothing", so you can't get much variety out of them. As an example, the very first spirit summoned by a humble fellow isekai, which Stepan used to light a fire was a low spirit.

  Weak/small: in essence, they are often even less saturated with power than the previous point, but from the lower ones they are distinguished not only by a more developed average self-consciousness, but also by the ability to manage their power more effectively, to use it not only by pure emission a "lightning-fsh-fme-gust-breeze", but also to dose, direct, feed, independently work on the specified goal and so on. Also, it is from this rank begin to appear spirits with exotic properties, capable, due to their aspect nature, to create something that is not the usual magical blow. So, for example, the three ughing spirits mentioned in the first chapters, who are able to create horror-style soundtracks, albeit with only three ughter recordings, are precisely small spirits. Lunar and Archer, the stone cube, and practically all of Stepan's combat retinue, which dealt with the enemy's minutiae in the st chapter, were small/weak spirits. And, as already mentioned, Stepan recruits in his ranks only the most unusual, possessing the most useful properties from which they come out so deadly. Any normal shaman-adept would chew off his arm for such an entourage, even if only for the small ones. The same Lunnar, for example, is very useful for a whole bunch of rituals, and many people want to summon it, but they don't know how. Such a bastard won't go for a regur call, except for an accidental summoning.

  Strong: the first boundary for demonstrating the coolness of a shaman, after summoning and signing a contract with the first of them, even if a newcomer in his league, you can safely call yourself not an apprentice-adept, but a full-fledged shaman, and closer to the border with the master-senior than with the apprentice. You can even earlier if you pick the right retinue of small spirits, but it is the first strong spirit that serves as a kind of ID-indicator. You'll still be yourself without an ID, but you'd better get one so you can introduce yourself and show it to passing patrols. Strong spirits have an energy saturation comparable to at least a strong, ha-ha, pun intended, apprentice and up to a full-fledged master. Strong spirits almost always have a mind, albeit alien, and if they do not have one, then there are very well-honed instincts that repce their mind in critical situations. There are different abilities, aspects, directions, and a whole range of exotic properties, so there are many to choose from, but their prices and demands are mostly such that without a System Store you'll have a hard time concluding such contracts. Creepbear - the limit of caped minimaxing for the same rank, right at point-bnk range. But also just outstanding strength or properties representatives of this level, like Milkman, Fugitive, Donut, Three Pigs, or Lizard - this is already a solid level of master summoning and, often, with someone below the rank of senior shaman they will not talk. The hero pulls out because he has a lot of increasing authority of the call properties, very detailed knowledge, and access to the store, and he, especially after this chapter, is close to mastery, literally already stepped into the master with one foot.

  Senior/Elder: a reliable contract with such a spirit may well be considered the backbone and strength of an entire shamanic dynasty. Only a full-fledged master shaman can summon such a spirit, no less, as well as make a contract with him. Not without exceptions, a well-prepared Stepan, who has purchased offerings and with paranoid preparation can try and succeed, but will not. There are excessive risks. Strong dynasties can use already existing contracts, like the one that protected the life and soul of Angty Tit by the old blood contract, but even with such a contract it will be possible to summon him only under the terms of the contract. In order to make new ones or modify old ones, one must have some weight, not only blood, but also one's own power, otherwise the spirits either won't want to talk or simply won't be able to understand what they are trying to convey. With very few exceptions, they are very intelligent, albeit alien, individuals, even if it is painful to understand their images-messages. Most often it is so, and therefore without a very developed Spiritual Dialog, he will understand the shaman with great difficulty. Even if he appears at the call his answer can take away the shaman's marbles and cause a stroke. Simultaneously. Individuals who can understand people a little better and are used to the images sent by them after many years of cooperation are valued just incredibly. Energetically saturated no weaker than a powerful master and up to a full-fledged magister, even above average. Examples of such are both the Sleepwalker, demonstrating a very strong aspect-exotic with a focus on power over minds, and the protector Singha's protector, who is just about an ordinary elder, just nurtured on the offerings of entire generations and generations of a powerful shamanic family, hardly from the rank of small spirit. He has no special exotic properties but is quite the elder and interacts very well with the bloodied bloodline. Roughly speaking, he understands the members of this family much better than the rest of the material meat bags, which is why he is valued.

  High: It's a task for another coven to make a deal with such an entity, or simply convince it to show up when called. They are almost always intelligent, almost always smarter than those who try to summon them, and almost always deadly to those who do summon them. They can be quite simple and straightforward, capable only of attacking with pure power, but there are plenty of exotics with unrealistically cool properties among them. Some of the higher exotics can do things that not even every god would do, simply due to their aspect ratio and their general nature. But even the "ordinary" High will have a few cunning and unusual tricks, which will help in a difficult moment surprising full-fledged mages. Extremely diverse use of their powers, they can very incendiary nonsense, proving that even if such a spirit can only know how to light and control fire, it will be enough for him. Extremely difficult to communicate and control. It is very difficult to conclude permanent contracts. It is easier to shit themselves with exertion or horror, which also quite often happens with tried and failed shamans. Energy saturation is not inferior to the strongest of Magisters or full-fledged Archimagisters. To call such a shit, at least to try, can only be the same High Shaman, the analog of a strong magister of cssical high magic, and even he better to prepare for a long time, to buy the rarest offerings, to use the help of his apprentices, and even then, at the very end, to think again and so change his mind to call. From the examples shown, the only one suitable for this rank was Old Root, for whom the hero twice fed corpses, but even he is closer to the bottom of the status of the highest spirit than to the top. And save the Autogoddess of the hero from trying to call this something to contract for the next twenty levels at least. Well, if he doesn't start acting weird again, like in the st chapter pumping faster than estimated.

  Great: the right to call in a hard moment such something may well serve as an analog of lying in the warehouses of nuclear weapons. To conclude such a contract is not that even a whole coven of Senior Shamans together with the top five, and if it can, they must perform a hecatomb. And if not a hecatomb, for offerings they will spend so much that it would be easier to actually sacrifice some town with the entire popution. They are summoned reluctantly, hard, even just to get to the real world is costly for them, and all these costs they will require from shamans to pay off, but if they come, they are worth an army or even two. Only Archmagisters or circles of Magisters will be able to oppose them, but even then it's not a fact. The exotics, or sub-spirituals, are intelligent, ancient, and fearsome. Even if they are not intelligent their instincts are so honed that they will allow the spirit to behave smarter than the intelligent. They are exotics with a lot of abilities that cannot be understood within the framework of normal magic. Energy power is not inferior to strong archmagisters and up to full-fledged archmages. The only thing that will save from their anger is the ability of mages of the material world to feel more confident in Reality, banal holding out until the spirit does not spend the forces, deciding that further battle will cost him more than victory, but the army and retinue by that time there will be no army and retinue, or there will be only horns and legs. Well, and also saves the fact that such entities in the real world do not need anything in particur.

  God-like: it is clear from the name what these guys are, but a lot is unknown about them, except for the very fact of their existence, and it is very scary for any normal being to find out. Not for themselves, but for the surrounding ndscape and continental climate. There are no proven instances of such crap being summoned into the real world in the entire historical record - and here we're sliding smoothly into the "ask the Almighty Brinar about it" section - which is probably, and good for the world and the summoners. They can do a lot of things, think vaguely, are not interested in reality, live on the deepest yers of the higher spheres, do not pn to ascend from there, and those who come down to them are not pitied (or pitied, but not in the status that those who come to them would like). It is generally accepted that the concept of the totem-patron of the beastmen tribes has its roots in the divine spirits of the animal sphere, representing the patron of a particur not tribe, but of the whole species. Hardly such a creature will intercede for every offended catgirl, but, good gentlemen, why would you offend catgirls at all?

  * * *

  AnnouncementAuthor's Note:Well, I've finished this and I don't even know what to say anymore. Yeah, yeah, let's get your jokes about Avada and his little chapters back in here. :(

  109 fucking pages of Ficbook. I've seen that in the grave. Of course, about 10,000 characters are taken up by a small piece of lore, but me and Stepan suffered the rest of it. That's not how it was supposed to be, not at all, not at all. The original pn was to end the chapter at the exit from the body and return back. In the process, while still writing the very beginning of the chapter, the first meeting with a canon character from Brinar fell out. But there was supposed to be exactly a meeting there, just spotting each other and talking and then separating, that's at most. More likely Stepan wouldn't have talked, having quickly said goodbye. And there's a critical one, and then a four - almost. double anticrit to make a first impression. And so, instead of a normal or not-so-normal conversation between two shamans turned out to be a complete failure of diplomacy. No, it wasn't. It was a diplomatic failure!!! A fucking unnecessary fight, in which the dice seem to go normally, but Singha's erudition failed (or almost did, she knew the danger of what she was doing, but due to tension, anger, fear, and disbelief in her weakness she didn't remember what she knew). The already ugly confrontation suddenly turns into a FALL TO THE DEEPEST SHIT, in which, if the MC hadn't managed to jump out of the vortex in time with that evil girl on his shoulder, everything would have ended for both of them.

  Singha herself isn't even as stupid as Stepan thought she was in this chapter, no. She just happened to be completely unprepared for the situation. Her only major mistake is the broken pocket and the failure created, otherwise, even her first reaction is understandable. It's as if the hero was found next to the corpse of a stabbed man with a bloody knife in his hands and all in blood - what else is there to think about? And then everything went into a spiral.

  Well, and unprepared for the situation. The hero didn't turn off his paranoia, he was preparing for the trip as if he wasn't going to walk around the spheres under guard but was going into a deadly battle. He had reinforced the beacon clearing in every way he could, so he could sense it, and Singha, who had just decided to work on her projects while her mother and father were at a dinner party or something (or even at the gathering near the camp described in Brinar's interlude, if the dates coincided), could no longer feel her body at that depth. She didn't expect such a trick and it seemed to her that her reinsurance was enough, and then it turned out that it only seemed, and the main spirit-defender was cynically knocked out of the deck of trumps by the hero and his jellyfish. There is no one to save, to save herself will not work, so she despaired. The hero, showing moral qualities at the usual level, could not leave her to her death, especially since he sensed his clearing and bracelets were not discharged. He believed that he got out. He believed that he had prepared.

  Well, he made quite an impression. But now he will be considered a dead man who sacrificed himself. And Angry Tits' mother (and father) will dig into their past, looking for whom they could help so much and do such a favor that for the sake of their daughter (hearing her mother's name) the very cool Hao-Seran (it's like Hao-Seahar, only a man and not so powerful yet) voluntarily gave up his salvation and stayed to die. Eventually, she'll seriously want to return the favor and at the very least take care of such a hero's heirs. Well, good luck to her, let her seek it out.

  Going back to Stepan's point about being well paranoid and ready for anything: the guy is making the same mistake that Singh made earlier. He too believed he was ready for anything. And when throwing the dice, he was faced with very strong opponents, and then he had to add a senior spirit to them, but, thank tits, the only senior who was interested in him didn't chase after him. Creepbear came out 100 and 87 in strength, a natural Minimax, only bear. And, doubly amusingly, it was the only opponent, whose fight went according to pn due to a successful counterpick. All the other fights have been pretty much a cakewalk. Yes, even the death of Swordfish, because he had a serious chance to touch Stepan's body, and even to inhabit it. There are eleven randomization dice of difference between Donut's interception and the fish's jerk (71 and 82). Had it not been for the properties of the Donut, which make it an ideal protector of the shaman's body, if the fish had tried to hit Stepan's spiritual body instead of the meat, the fight would have been over quickly and badly.

  In addition, a few hundred from Sucker can be taken as fun dice. He had the lowest level of pure power, but in the skill and cunning of using his abilities, as well as in the number of these abilities (100 pure and 47 for skill, 84 with bonuses for cunning, 5 out of 7 in the number of exotic tricks) was comparable to bears. He and the Scrotum Destroyer also roll out a communication trick, driving the hero into a zugzwang. Almost, if it wasn't for giving stats to Donut (6 out of 10 fell out, part in Resistance, part in Power, and a little in Control). Of Stepan's fighters, the Milkman had the best crits. He can be considered the MVP of the whole fight right after Trio (but those were not dice in the plus, but their inconvenience for the Bear), and the Smoke Lizard had the lowest. In justification of the tter, he got an enemy that looked stupid (I had this image-concept since Lust and Magic), but was much stronger in stats and skills.

  That's it.

  And yes, the deed reward given out at the end is a standard mechanic of the System. If MC had run away from the trouble through the butterfly, he would have gotten four or even five levels. He showed himself well. But the deed was and the whole thing was transformed into a stat reward, and gave almost no levels. It's not hard to see how this approach is beneficial for the hero - low levels are easier to pump, especially if a lot of bonus talents.

  P.S. By the way, there is a high probability that Singha will manage to intercept the Fugitive's contract afterward since she was "introduced" to him, and she will be very happy with this trophy. But she would also be sad - the st greeting from the good stranger who had saved her from her stupidity and indiscretion. How Stepan will be happy about this interception of the contract, I think, no need to voice. :)