HP: Spirit Talker

I came to hard and painful consciousness — a mixture of a high fever and a prolonged fever — my head was foggy, heavy, painful, my whole body felt dizzy, shaking, covered with sticky sweat, I was breathing heavily, panting, with almost no thoughts.

I lifted my head with a painful effort, which made red circles appear in front of my eyes, and I almost lost consciousness again. But I couldn't help it, because all the time someone was shouting near me, not in the same face, and it was like hammers hitting my head. It also turned out that I was sitting on my knees. That's weird.

As long as I've lived in Europe, I've never embraced the Japanese art of sitting on my knees, so why on earth would I feel any discomfort? It's as if my body is comfortable! Where did I take such a walk that I don't even remember sitting on my knees? Or is it my dear and beloved anime girl doing something strange again? I wonder what she's up to this time?

Her last performance as a ninja was very good, but the wig itched like hell. No, something's wrong. I try to turn around and sit down like before, and then it turns out that my hands are tied behind my back with something, and it's definitely not handcuffs — I've already tried them on. What's going on?

My blurred vision clears, my head calms down a bit, and I guide my eyes carefully, examining where I'm staying. A spacious room, even a small hall with about forty meters in squares, if I'm not mistaken. It's all Japanese style — I can definitely tell — My Pretty made sure I didn't embarrass her in front of her anime friends. A bunch of old men with haughty, arrogant faces, six strong guys, two of them holding the hands and shoulders of a pretty woman with unusual eyes.

Hmm. Where the hell am I going? The fact that I understand their language doesn't surprise me... somehow. And also the feelings and sensations are strange... clearer, sharper... and everything seems familiar, especially these old mummies... and a woman with an expression of grief on her face... eyes red with tears. It's a very strange feeling. Oh, I'm feeling a little better. What's that grandfather ranting about?

— Fools! I see and know everything in my country! I am the head of the Great Miyazaki Clan, Miyazaki Ichiro! It's not up to you filthy creatures to thwart my great plans! Did you think you could trick me and the elders? — I've only seen such pathos in anime and Chinese action movies from the days of Jackie Chan's youth! — It's not for you or your bastard to think of escaping! Every breath you take is at Miyazaki's mercy! Your fate is to lick the feet of your benefactors! This is your gratitude?! — Grandpa sputtered, struck a pompous pose, and shouted, while the other fossils nodded wisely.

— Tonight, you have forfeited the last drop of our kindness! From now on, you, creature, — the grandfather pointed a hooked yellow finger at the woman. — will take your rightful place as a mindless incubator. You will have to pay for our kindness, and you will pay with interest! And your degenerate, though he bears the blood of the Great Clan, will see worthy bearers of the Great Blood descend to your level and bless you, creature, with his children! Let him rejoice that his mother will serve a great purpose! — It was as if something in my head began to stir, and my body tensed, my fists clenched.

— And you, scum, — the old man was already looking at me, and he looked really disgusting, distorted with grimaces and foam in the corners of his mouth. Is he crazy? — You will tear veins, spill blood and sweat liters to be honored just to talk to your masters! You will see your future wife only on auspicious days, the rest of the time she will entertain our warriors, — the grandfather grinned, quite disgusted. — You also need rest, body and soul. Do you understand, slave?

— The grandfather has really lost his way, maybe I should smash his face to make him think? — You're going to make some vows now, scum, just like your pig mother, and we're going to start what we should have done a long time ago.

After these words, a sense of danger crept up from somewhere inside and began to insist: Chief, it's worse than it looks! Something must be done! And fast! Trusting my intuition, I looked around and tried to move my hands, which, according to my senses, were bound by something massive and heavy. With what?

— You're wasting your breath. — When I heard a nasty, rattling voice of a grandmother, I looked up at her. — These shackles can only be removed by another mage, you can't get out! — The wide grin of that nasty old woman in a pink kimono somehow brought back the image of her standing there, only with an incomprehensible face, covered from head to toe in feathery Air Force.

Then the general attention was drawn to the staging of the nineties of my homeland, where the bandit forces to bend and accept his terms. Stupid, insolent attack, with promises of soldering iron, iron and boiler. It would even be funny if it wasn't so real.

Turns out it's pretty creepy, morally tough, watching scum beat someone up in front of you and there's nothing you can do about it. I tried to get up, but immediately two young men pinned me down, not preventing me from watching what was going on.

The woman had already been punched several times in the face, breaking her lips and leaving abrasions, but she stubbornly refused to say the oath. Somewhere I also realized that if you say it, you will do something irreparable. There would be no going back. This strange realization made goose bumps run up and down my skin, and my hair stood on end wherever it was.

The woman had been beaten for half an hour, thoroughly, with knowledge of the material, so she was not maimed, but she was in great pain. She was choking, coughing, crying, but not cursing.

An amazing woman! I admire her! Even the water torture, when the victim is tied to a bench, a bag is put over his head, and water is poured over his face, did not work properly: the woman was suffocating, but she stood her ground! Who is she? Such willpower! I've never met anyone like her! But the patience of the torturers had run out.

— Are you still insisting? — Grandfather smiled fondly as he looked into the woman's confident eyes. — In that case, we will use more effective methods. Especially since you don't need your arms and legs anymore.

The grandfather nodded to one of the young men, and he drew a katana from the scabbard at his belt, swung it, and with a finely honed — the executioner could tell — motion, brought the sword down on the woman's ankle. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her shattered lips together. I watched the scene with shocked eyes and saw the manic gleam in the old men's eyes.

 One woman was even licking her lips! Disgusting! But then something happened that no one expected: a translucent gray cocoon appeared around the woman. When the sword collided with it, it instantly turned into a series of splinters that impulsively shot back at the executioner like a shot from a double-barreled gun.

The warrior was thrown back against the wall. His face was a mess, and his entire chest was stained with dark blood. He gasped and whimpered for a while, but quickly fell silent, twitching a few times.

There was a thick silence in the room, and the woman grinned with a bloody face — her tormentor had died as he deserved! There was another hysterical wail from one of the mummies: another "barrel on legs" screamed, clutching the right side of her head, blood pouring through her fingers into her kimono.

The grandmother screamed, sobbed, shouted, in short, completely distracted attention from the murdered executioner, and we were given a break. As it turned out, she had been hit by splinters: one cut her collar a few centimeters from the arteries, and the second tore off two-thirds of her ear.

The healer who had been summoned immediately gave his verdict: the ear could not be repaired, for the shard had been imbued with magic and had left a strong imprint on the wound, and magical wounds were notoriously difficult to heal. They stopped the bleeding, gave her some powders, bandaged her, and offered to let her rest from the strain.

But she refused, and the healer was escorted out, while she stayed behind to see the end of the cursed Hoshino with her own eyes, as she put it. The words made me flinch again, growling unhappily — an odd but accurate comparison — as if there was a strange animal part of me that reacted to everything in its own way. It's good that this part is very subordinate and I don't have to control it. It's strange again — so easily and casually I perceive absolutely wild and strange things. What's going on here? I have the feeling that I've forgotten something, and I'm about to catch the forgotten thought by the tail....

Like it ? +100 Chapters on Patreon！
www.patreon.com/molakar