Читать книгу Games of the Gods - Екатерина Сергеевна Нугманова - Страница 1
ОглавлениеOh this sick crazy world.
The skies are black and shrouded in darkness. Roads, intersections, old churchyards, abandoned crypts –everything will come alive, filled with life, breathing and whispering. Oh, mortal, be careful, stay away, save your soul, avoid the dead places. There is a Dark Force, there is a house of demons, there is a kingdom of horror and nightmares....
I. Khosroeva
The preface.
It was raining. It hit the roofs of houses and pavilions, enveloping playgrounds. The rain bounced on umbrellas and tables of small cafes. The rain was bobbing merrily, then joyfully jumping, then threateningly thundering.
I watched this picture sitting in the warmth of the house. It was the only way I liked the rain. Rain is heavenly water, it brings deliverance and purification from defilement. Children intuitively feel this, and in summer they joyfully run in the rain up to their ears in mud.
The rain was gathering momentum, becoming fiercer and more aggressive. It was getting dark. It was still raining. The time of darkness has come. Night and total darkness. The darkness was created by the connivance of local officials. They're like local gods here. We want there to be light, and we'll turn on the lighting, but we want there to be a time of darkness. Probably the chief official has depression or PMS again, or some new quirk. In any case, there probably won't be any lights on that night.
I was distracted from my studies. You see, I learn all the time like a bookworm. I read, watch, listen, and need new information constantly. I just can't live without it. Yes, it may sound pathetic, but I really don't see any other meaning to life. After all, knowing is so wonderful, and even more so, applying your knowledge in real life. I need to work on this.
One of my teachers would say pathetically that we need to love the world, love heaven and mother earth. Although the world is imperfect with many flaws, if you change yourself, the world around you will change too. I don't understand that at all. To me, this world is like a university where we are studying temporarily. There are no immortals in this world; everyone is equal before death – young and old, rich or poor, sick or healthy. Our world is great for learning.
I am a third-year student out of six, and I am thoroughly sick of studying at this university. Everything about it has been a disappointment: the office with its walls, the building and furniture of the university, and especially my classmates. Every day, I see the same faces.
At first, you try to make friends, communicate, and show love. However, you may face envy, competition, pain, and disappointment along the way. Your heart slowly turns to stone as you realize that everyone who comes into your life is temporary. Friends may eventually leave or betray you, leaving a painful memory behind. Even if loved ones stay in your life, love may fade and only a habit remains, binding you together. Love can turn into hatred, and an enemy may emerge who knows everything about you. They use this information to hurt you. Parents, if good, may stay with you until they pass away. Toxic parents can also torment you, trying to control you and prove that you belong to them.. You are their child, who was not asked to be born, but a soul that parents welcomed into this world and are obligated to guide and protect while they are alive. In the first scenario, after the death of your parents, you may experience the pain of loss and loneliness. In the second scenario, you may also feel relief and loneliness.
We give birth to children for procreation. Someone gives birth to children as their pension fund, and someone to get a mother's capital. Well, or society dictates its will, and a woman goes and gives birth. Someone gets knocked up from fornication, and someone sincerely falls in love and wants a child from their love object.
Time passes, it runs. Children grow up. The first pimple, the first dates, buying clothes in an adult store, not in a children's store. The child grew up, left the nest. To eventually create your own and become a parent. It is ok. That's how it should be. But you're left alone as a parent.
Everything in this world is temporary and nothing belongs to you as property. Not people, not even your apartment. You will die, and your living space will go to your descendants.
A person, if you think about it, is very lonely in this world. You are the most important thing for yourself.
Every person who comes into your or my life or Uncle Petya's life from the second entrance is a kind of teacher. Even if that person hurt you. Especially if that person was close to you. It can be your parent, relative, girlfriend, or friend, the person you shared a bed with. This pain, disappointment, loss, resentment, hatred are your lessons that life in this university world gives you. Situations with people gently guide a person to self-perfection. Through poverty, pain, and self-denial. You can call it divine pendal, so that you can develop. Through all the negative moments in life, through sorrow, hard work, the soul is armed with experience and strengthened for spiritual development.
Everything is trivial. If your mother-in-law behaved incorrectly, learn from this. When your son gets married, you will know how to behave with his wife. If your parents pushed you all your life, and you have complexes about it, be wise and don't raise your children the way you were raised. I digress.
At first, there were human teachers at my university. Some of them were wrong, like all people. Everyone has the right to make mistakes. Only the gods are not mistaken, but for me personally, God is a concept that represents the thoughts and powers of people who remember him.
The main mistake of all teachers is that they want their students to create their own copies. So that they can think and feel according to their teacher's instructions. The mentor's task is to show the way. And whether the student will follow it is up to the student. The mentor doesn't interfere with the student even if the student turns around and goes back. The teacher only transmits knowledge and doesn't make copies of himself, and especially doesn't turn his students into fans of him.
When I realized that earthly teachers were wrong, I came to the main conclusion that there should be no idols or authorities in the human world for me. When a person becomes the object of people's worship, their ego swells and sooner or later will burst like a balloon. Those who worship their idols give them their energy and time. Human attention is an important resource. They seem to pump the object of their worship with vital energy, which, as a rule, leads to collapse sooner or later. As a person grows spiritually, they should not join in with the crowd at all.
The second important conclusion I made for myself was that only stealth and playing helps to survive in this world. So, the earthly teachers were just a stage for me. Because demand creates supply, we were taught by those who were one step ahead of us in terms of spiritual development, having no body density but having knowledge. People called them gods and they had different names for these creatures in every nation.
Let's say there are two areas of study. I'm a sophomore. I am a worthy student in this field. The curator is my friend, but he is insubordinate to me. Because he is a deity, you are a child to him, and he doesn't have the animal instincts that you do. If you get naked in front of him, at least, he won't lust after you. He will admire you as much as a swan admires a pond. Deities like humans know how to love and can even fall in love with people. This is similar to how a person loves their cat or dog. The patronage of the curator allowed me to meet the dean and the director of my department. They are influential figures in both the human world and the world of non-humans, and their appreciation for me is not free. I do what they ask, and in return, I receive buns in the form of knowledge, power and material goods from them.
The story of 1. The demonologist. Specialist in sub-settlers.
This is how my life has transformed. The realm of demons has become more captivating than the human world. Demons and incubi have become my companions. And among them, Anastasia Petrovna stands out as the most remarkable individual, deserving of our attention.
Imagine a woman in her late forties, a woman of steel, who, judging by her wardrobe, appears to have been frozen in time in the 1920s. Naturally, she smokes, and her menthol cigarette is slender, as is the pipe she carries. Anastasia Petrovna smokes with grace and delight. This esteemed lady and I have agreed to meet in St. Petersburg.
Anastasia Petrovna is a professional demonologist who specializes in people who are possessed by demons. These are people who have demons living inside them. This might sound surprising, but there are many such people in the world. Some individuals of the human race live their lives without even realizing that they have a demon living inside them.
Sometimes, this is a parasitic relationship where the demon feeds off the vital energy of the host, but sometimes the demon can also help its host in various ways. It often happens that the demon helps the person achieve great success in their career and work, while protecting them from harm. These people and the demons who live inside them are called symbionts, or co-inhabitants. They are not fully human, but they look like ordinary people.
The purpose of our meeting with Anastasia was to share experiences. She invited me to a very expensive restaurant, where it is not clear which fork is meat and which is fish. Even though I was wearing decent clothes and had diamonds on my hands and ears, I still didn't feel comfortable. If I hadn't been cold and reserved and looked at people as if they were nothing. They wouldn't even let me in this pretentious place.
Anastasia was already waiting for me, smoking and drinking coffee from a beautiful mug.
"You're late." Sit down. – The phrase was an order that brooked no objections.
I took out my phone and looked at the time.
– No, I'm on time. You're the one who came earlier. I answer coldly, sitting down at her table.
A waiter approached us, as pretentious as the restaurant in which we were sitting.
– Madam, we don't smoke here. He turned hysterically to Anastasia Petrovna.
– And I smoke. Anastasia Petrovna said.
– I have to fine you, we don't.. .– The waiter did not finish.
– I'll pay the fine. And so (she took out $100 from her purse) This is for you, leave us girls alone. Katya, do you want coffee? I nodded. I'll have another cognac, please.– She said importantly with a kind of bantering smile, crossing her legs.
The waiter left, taking the money. He returned two minutes later with a cappuccino and a drink in a rich jug.
After that, we got straight to the point. I shared my experiences with Gods and spirits, and Anastasia told me about her practice of working with the mentally ill. She has a doctorate in psychology and psychotherapy. Well, as she explained. Twenty years of experience in psychiatric hospitals. After working there for many years, she realized that such hospitals do not treat the mentally ill, especially if the patient has a serious illness such as schizophrenia. At least, the treatment that doctors give their patients does not help them. The fact is that psychology is the science of the soul. Modern science does not recognize the soul as such. Only the flesh and blood of our bodies is what our science perceives. But the soul exists and it is very vulnerable.
Anastasia's family had either a sorcerer's great-grandfather or a whisperer's grandmother, but that's not the point. The bottom line is that she had the rights to witchcraft and began to move along this path. Having learned something, she began to apply her knowledge in practice, including to the patients of the psychiatric hospital in which she worked. She fumigated the spaces of the premises with herbs.
Anastasia whispered and conjured. Purifying the auras of her patients, whom she was assigned to as a doctor. Her patient was getting better, but they were not completely cured. One of her patients was schizophrenic. Anastasia called him Cyril. Cyril has a crazy dad. Kirill became Anastasia's guinea pig and the love of her life. It was with the help of this experience gained with Kirill that she became one of the elite, a very rare and highly focused specialist. She told me the principle of the technique. The essence of this technique is that through the eyes you need to enter the head (the mental space of a person) into his thoughts and feelings. Warning that this is a very energy-consuming ritual, and sometimes even dangerous for your consciousness.
– Every person has his own demon Katya. The demons in people can be so powerful that they can even crush you mentally. If you feel in danger, immediately disconnect from the person. – Flicking a cigarette into an ashtray, she instructed me.
– But what type of people besides practitioners and mystics has such a powerful sub-tenant that his power can harm your consciousness too? – I asked.
"The killers. Maniacs. The mercenaries. – That was her answer.
The lecture continued. I learned from Anastasia that souls can also be collected. Only the souls of those people who are dead, and their souls are torn to shreds. It is important to find images of these people, their faces, and necessarily their names.
– The name Katya is not only what you call yourself, it's who you feel like. – Anastasia said, and with that our meeting came to an end.
Yes, she's completely right about that. The most important method of witchcraft is the name. Words rule this world. Only he who knows the true names is omnipotent. Whoever identified himself revealed himself to the enemy and has already been defeated. Therefore, in the West, children are given many names. Therefore, at baptism they are called by the name. All rituals fall on people through the name, too. A person's name is the key to it.
Story 2 .The death of a sorcerer.
I'd rather not go on about my husband's car, but I have to say that it wasn't a pleasant experience. I don't enjoy driving, especially in his car, and we seem to have a difficult relationship. Throughout the journey, I had an uneasy feeling that something unpleasant would happen. And sure enough, that's exactly what happened.
The weather turned cloudy and dark quickly. I turned on the radio to distract myself, but after listening for about half an hour, I began to swear profanely at the DJs. I can't help wondering if they're smoking or taking drugs, but that's not my place to judge. In today's world, where everyone seems to be doing something wrong, I'm the only one who stays sober and avoids all harmful substances. That may be why I'm always feeling so sad.
So, let's sum up. The Novgorod region. Spring is a car and I. And I got stuck in the mud. Well, rather, the car got stuck. I'm trying to get out. No way. I'm stuck. The internet is down, the connection is poor. The place where I'm stuck is near the village of Malye Gavnyuki. The name is different, of course, but that's how I'll refer to it.
Night had fallen, and I decided to leave my car and walk to the village. I wasn't scared, but I was furious. I was hungry, and the desire to eat was overwhelming. It was a strong, almost uncontrollable urge. I gathered my things and headed towards the only house with lights on.
The village of Malye Gavnyuki was abandoned like many other Russian villages. In the distance, I saw an old, leaning church and a cemetery. From a distance, it was clear that the cemetery was in disrepair. The moonlight illuminated the scene, making it eerily beautiful. The fog added to the atmosphere, and the crows' cawing in the churchyard completed the picture.
It was like a scene from a horror movie, but there was no need for special effects. The atmosphere was enough to create a sense of dread and unease. However, despite the eerie surroundings, my hunger was still the main focus. I continued walking towards the house, determined to find food.
I was tired, angry, and hungry, but I guess I wasn't scared. As I moved towards the house with the light on, it felt like it was guiding me, focusing my attention on my goal.
At some point, walking to the house became very difficult. My path was through knee-high grass and waist-high shrubs, and it seemed like an unknown force was trying to pull me down. It felt like a sticky web was flying into my face, but I wiped it away with a handkerchief and kept going. Invisible bonds seemed to be holding me back, but finally, I understood what was happening. These creatures are called shaitans, or lesser demons.
I concentrated and said to myself, "I forbid you, it is my will to leave you behind."
Then I move freely, reaching the cabin. His life and time were not spared. The house was old, dilapidated and dirty, with a rickety porch. But it is clear that people live in this house.
I'm knocking. An old man opens the door for me, with an old wrinkled face and evil unpleasant eyes. I would call those eyes young with a devilish twinkle.
– Hello. Let the owner in for the night. The car is broken, the connection is not working. I'm tired, hungry, and I think I have a cold. – Sneezing at the same time, I said.
– Well, come in, if you've come. – Said the grandfather.
When I entered this strange old man's house, I felt dizzy. I just crossed the threshold of the house and it was like I was hit in the back of the head with a mace. I even swayed a little.
– The girl is strong. It's a pity that she's not a man, it would be better if she were. – the old man grumbled.
I felt sick. It was like my body's battery had run out and I was completely drained. "Don't shout, go lie down and sleep. There was metal in the old man's voice. He gave an order that could not be questioned. Besides, I did not have the strength to argue.
Now, I understand that a force led me to the old man. I do not know what his powers are for. I know that my car didn't stall by accident half a kilometer from his house. This isn't a coincidence. The old man is a sorcerer, and very skilled. If it weren't for the protection the curator gave me, he would have broken my will and I would be at his mercy. Even though I didn't bow, I still owe him. I have nowhere to go. I feel sick and cold, and I don't have any cash on me. Everything is on my card. I don't even wear gold right now. I only have a silver ring and three cubic zirconia earrings in my ears. Yes, I am a fool. But if I'm here, that's what my supervisor needs. There are no accidents in my life, and this is probably another quest he has for me.
I sat down where the elderly man indicated. I began searching through the bag that was attached to Ingaverin's belt. I found it, placed it in my mouth, and swallowed it.
"What is your name?"-the wizard asked, sitting at the table and smoking.
"Whatever you want to call it,"– I replied.
"Brown eyes,"– suggested the owner of the house.
"That will do,"-I agreed.
"Where were you heading?"– The sorcerer continued the questioning.
"To Veliky Novgorod," – I answered.
"There is nothing great about Novgorod. It is a place of ruins and poverty, with numerous churches. Its greatness lies in the past. Are you ready to eat?" the old man inquired.
"Yes,"– I replied.
That's how our friendship with the sorcerer began. I stayed with him for a while. I wrote a message to my husband that I was alive and well, and I was stuck in the village, it is unclear for how long. The next day, the first thing I did was contact the car evacuation agency, but it took me a while to reach an agreement with them. After long conversations, the agency and I agreed that they would arrive in three days, picking me up and evacuating my car at the same time. After settling all the issues related to money and calling my husband back, I started cleaning the wizard's house. Thus, having decided to thank the host for the hospitable reception. There was a lot of work. The house was dirty, the linen hadn't been washed, the floors hadn't been washed, and the carpets hadn't been knocked out. Of course, there was nothing to wash things with, but I was lucky, I found an upholstery cleaner in the car. I washed and cleaned everything with it. However, my husband will have to buy this expensive product again. My grandfather wasn't at home while I was doing the housework. He went into the forest. Saying at the same time that we will have something to eat for dinner. By lunchtime, I fucked up, no, not in the literal sense of the word. The wizard's house was shiny and fragrant, and now my energy was everywhere. After cleaning, I smeared my hands with cream and passed out. I woke up in the evening. From what was sizzling on the stove.
"Are you awake?" -Sit down to eat, you've earned it. – the old man told me.
We ate. For dinner there were mushrooms, potatoes with onions and garlic. In short, it will go hungry.
Suddenly, the old man started coughing. The sorcerer spat out blood. It hit me right away.
"You're dying." – I said affirmatively.
He looked at me so angrily. I was even scared. But the old man pulled himself together and restrained himself.
– Not yet. But soon. The sorcerer replied coldly.
We continued the conversation. The old man asked more about me than he told about himself. I told him that I had been married for a long time and that I had a child. That I miss my son and really want to go home. She said that in 3 days a tow truck would come for me and my car.
– In three days you will not leave me. – The old man told me.
I didn't really like this phrase, so I decided to have a discussion with the owner of my temporary accommodation.
"Listen, I have a husband and a young child. They will be lost in this world without me if I leave. Please, let me go,"– I asked, feeling sorry for myself.
He replied, "No, only in a week. Then you can come back."
Surprisingly, he was right. Three days later, the company that I had hired to help me get out of Malye Gavniuki village called and said that, due to technical issues, they would only be able to arrange transportation for me in six days.
I tried to reach my husband, but it was difficult. When I finally got through, I told him about the delay. After making sure everything was okay with him and our son, I ended the call.
So I stayed with the sorcerer for six days. My life with him was quite tolerable. The only problem was flooding the bathhouse and washing with household soap. I was afraid of going bald, but then I thought of asking the owner for chamomile and nettle. By making a decoction and rinsing my hair with it, I saved it.
"How do you even live here alone?" I asked the old man. "Aren't you bored and lonely?" I continued. "You don't have TV, a mobile or landline, and of course, the Internet."
He answered me ominously, "I don't need a phone. There's no one to call and no one who calls me. Everyone who talked to me and loved me is in their grave, waiting for me to return".
We spent six days talking. I cleaned and cooked. The peasant came twice with food for the old man and me on a gazelle. It was noteworthy that the sorcerer never paid. I asked about it. The owner of the house answered: "He owes me a lot". I saved his son from death. I performed a miracle. He returned from war alive without a scratch.
The wizard did not have access to the internet or television. However, he did have a large bookcase, dating back to the Soviet era. Among the books, there were also works on the subject of a man making a pact with the devil. Within a week, I had read "The Tribulation of Satan".
The owner of the house had been away for an extended period, leaving for three or four hours at a time. Towards the end of my stay, the old man's condition deteriorated, and he eventually fell ill. By the sixth day, he had fallen ill and could not rise from his bed. The wizard was fading like a candle, his vital energy draining away. He forbade me under strict orders not to even mention doctors or hospitals. I agreed only to administer the painkillers I had brought with me.
I beheld his demise. I felt no pity for him, nor did I feel remorse. Living among the people and in the realm of night has imbued me with a sense of cruelty and cynicism. Yet I also respect the right to one's own choices. I had no doubt that, had the sorcerer desired, he could have healed himself. But he chose to depart. Death does not exist for children alone. It is mortals who fear it, fearing the unknown. Death is but a transitory phase, akin to the shedding of a snake's old skin.
On the sixth day, the elderly man abruptly requested that I sing for him. I was taken aback. Setting down my book, I inquired:
–"For you?"
Upon receiving a nod in affirmation, I acquiesced.
– Pay the Witcher in silver coins, in silver coins, whoo, pay the Witcher, it shall all be counted, I sang with a discordant voice.
And then the old man was struck by the candour. It was akin to a confession. The wizard divulged everything about himself in a concise manner, revealing the very essence of his practice. He engaged in witchcraft, aimed at causing harm and casting curses. He received various commissions. However, most of those who sought his services requested retribution. They sought to exact punishment on their wrongdoers.
After all, injustice has always been prevalent. Someone has been robbed of their possessions. Someone's life has been destroyed by gossip and defamation. And someone's child has been subjected to rape and left for dead. And a woman's daughter has been tormented by her mother-in-law to the point of suicide. Rarely could one expect a just decision from the human court. For corruption, bribery, and nepotism have always existed. Thus, people turned to the wizard. Driven by despair in their grief, they knew that the wizard would not turn them away.
"I've always done evil in this world. He stood for a force that does evil but does good, brown-eyed. – Said the sorcerer. I wore an inverted cross and represented the Dark and Evil One in this world. I served him faithfully and faithfully. He sent you to me. I'm glad. I didn't want to die in the mud and alone.
The old man looked into my eyes and spoke in a charming voice.
– As there is the power of creation, which creates and will create everything in this world, so there is the power of destruction. The power of destruction is needed in order to destroy the old in order to build a new one in this place. Darkness and Light are the two wings that carry our world into eternity. Darkness is not evil. The sprout reaches out to the Light, but it gets its life in the Dark. So it is with the child, in the mother's womb. It's dark in the womb. And during childbirth, a newborn sees Light for the first time. Mother darkness. The damp grave earth is also dark. We begin and end our journey in Darkness. – The old man shared his wisdom.
Clearing his throat, the sorcerer continued:
– This world needs us, we are the destroyers. I've always destroyed, no matter what or who. You're not, you're the judge. It is in your power to have mercy and punish, brown-eyed.
You know what the funniest thing is? No matter how hard he tried to destroy paganism and witchcraft on this earth, he failed. I didn't tell you. I used to be a priest. It was a long time ago. Even in his youth. I studied the Bible, read all the volumes, the entire Gospel, and I prayed to the Lord God. I tried to understand. But you know, brown-eyed, those who seek God sooner or later come to the Devil.
The sorcerer fell asleep, not for long. When he woke up, I served him a decoction in a mug for coughing to ease his suffering. After drinking it, the sorcerer confessed to me that if he were younger, he would have done many interesting things to me. Which men usually do to women. I grinned at that. The old man told me that there is no need to laugh at old age, that it is very insulting.
– In any case, I am glad that I received such a gift before my death. – He said, looking at me tenderly at the same time.
It was an amazing contrast for me. At first, the sorcerer looked appraisingly at how a master evaluates another master. Then he was openly angry, and now, before his death, gently.
I actually left him after 7 days. Not to his house, but behind the coffin for the remains of the sorcerer. The funeral cost me pretty cheap. The same peasant on the gazelle who brought us groceries helped me bury the sorcerer.
We buried the old man according to all the rules, putting his ritual knife in the coffin, and we put a silver coin in his hand. (The silver coin was kept in my purse as a talisman to attract money.) It is needed as payment to be melted down across the river of the dead.
It wasn't until I got home that my nervous tension was released. It's amazing that in just seven days you can get so attached to a person. I cried all evening, crying for my friend.
That night I had a dream, in the dream the sorcerer was a young man, I recognized him only by his eyes. We were standing on the drawbridge. He's on one side of the bridge, and I'm on the other. Dawn was blooming on my side, but on his side there was fog and grave cold.
"I came to say goodbye and say thank you,"– the sorcerer said to me, making a half bow.
– And the power and the demons, what were you supposed to give me? You didn't touch me before you died, did you? – I asked.
– I kissed you while you were sleeping, back on the first day of your arrival. – The dead spirit replied.
–So that's why…
– Yes.
He looked over my shoulder.
– Go, meet the dawn of a new era, together with other people. See you in the Underworld. For now, goodbye. – The spirit told me and disappeared into the fog.
And I went towards the dawn.....
History 3. The Church demon.
I couldn't sleep last night. It was midnight, one, two. I couldn't get the conversation with the demon out of my head. The thing is, I was at church today. I needed to buy candlesticks for thin wax candles. The church smelled of rotten flesh and incense. The unpleasant smell and vile feeling of death did not leave me when I was in church. I experienced similar unpleasant sensations when I picked up Mansour's book. I had a momentary vision of cadaverous worms falling out of the book.
I noticed that there were people in the church. There was an evil grandmother selling candles behind the counter and the priest himself was busy in the back room. I asked you not to condemn the priest because he is a sinner and as a true Christian he has sinned and repented, sinned and again repented.
The parishioners themselves are strictly divided into two types. The first type consists mainly of practitioners who have come to harm their enemies or those of their clients, or, perhaps, on the contrary, they have come to heal themselves or their clients. The second type includes people who have come for atonement of their sins. They attend confession and all services, and priests will absolve them of all their sins.
My young neighbor, Ninochka, was among the parishioners. Her mom calls her Nina. She is seven years younger than me and looks like a typical fashionable provincial with extended nails, false hair, and eyelashes. Nina complements her look with a push-up bra. She studies to become a lawyer by correspondence and her favorite sin is lust. She loves having sex very much with different men and I wouldn't be surprised if she had sexual experiences with girls too. Nina's favorite breakfast is dick and her pink dream is to get the cock of a newfangled rapper or to participate in an orgy with that rapper.
– The headlight is great, and the face is lovely. It's so beautiful. They're like an angel and a devil. I want both of them. When I'm old, I'll remember that I had a relationship with that person. And it won't be so painful to look at myself in the mirror, – she confessed to me.
Since Ninochka pretends to believe in God, she goes to church regularly. And the priest, who indulges in alcoholic cahors, listens to all of Nina's stories about her relationships in confession and forgives her for her sins. I wouldn't be surprised if the priest started drinking because of her stories.
If you ask Nina about marriage, she might say something like this:
– Same thing every day? No, that's not for me.
Of course, her favorite song is:
"I'll never be a feminist because I have breasts…"
The fact that her breasts are fake, of course, we won't mention.
Apart from the people in the church, there were, let's say, non-people. The imp was brazenly sitting with his ass on the icon and wagging his tail. His tail looked like a black arrow.
"What are you doing here?" Isn't this the house of the One God?– I asked, totally freaking out.
"Hee-hee, what god? God is not here. Just me."– The imp replied, wagging his tail at me.
Since I didn't want to draw attention to myself, the demon and I continued our conversation in the churchyard. I sat down on a bench and poured the imp vodka from a flask. Although I don't drink, I usually always have a treat for the demon with me. Demons, like humans, love attention to themselves. They're more talkative if you treat them.
We talked to the demon about various things. The imp told me about Abara. There is a legend that a demon was guilty in front of my dean. Fearing punishment, he rushed to bow to the One god, swearing allegiance to him. The one god accepted the demon, entrusting him with work in his temples. Now every church has a demon Abara. Abara is responsible for the shady dealings in the churches. We chatted some more, and somehow we started talking about money.
– Katya, do you like money? – let's ask the devil Abara cunningly.
– Yes, I do. And so much so that she is ready to kiss the penis as a symbol of fertility and paw the eggs of the golden calf. – I replied, laughing.
Abara and I laughed. Abara told me that Christianity is not about money. That in the Christian religion, only the clergy are more or less rich. With that, he disappeared, hiccupping from the vodka a couple of times.
My notes on incubi and succubi.
So, what do we know about succubi and incubi? We look at Google and it says: "These are two images of seducer demons. An incubus is a male image seducing women, and a succubus is a female image seduced by a man. Their goal is to have intercourse with their victims. No, coitus is not their goal. In fact, they feed on people's sexual energy, something like an energy exchange. You may have a dream of the best sex of your life, where all your fantasies will come true, even the ones you are ashamed of. And the incubus or succubus will be your energy."
In the West, incubi and succubi are often referred to as sex demons. This is a common misconception. While it is true that sex demons can fall in love, they do so more frequently with virgins.
It is difficult to say exactly how sex demons interacted with monks in medieval monasteries. However, it is known that there were intense passions and desires within these communities. It was not considered a sin for monks to engage in sexual activity, nor for them to masturbate.
The strong sexual energy of the unsatisfied monks attracted succubi, who were attracted to this energy. However, if a person often dreams of having sex with a demon, they risk being consumed by the demon and taken to the lower world, as the demon may love them.
A naked woman with loose hair on red bed linen is an invitation for an incubus. They fulfill the most intimate erotic fantasies. In your dream, they can create any shape of a penis, even a meter long, if you like it. For a man, a woman will have at least three breasts. Whatever your lust desires.
If the girls' best friends are diamonds, then the witches' faithful companions are incubi. I once asked why incubi love witches so much. They answered me:
–They're special.
But if the incubus chooses between a virgin or a witch, then his choice will be a virgin.
– An unpolluted flower. -The incubus told me about the virgins.
The fact is that virginity is very rare nowadays. The age of vulgarity and outright debauchery, where honor is worthless and girls give themselves for an iPhone has done its job. Dirt and filth are now considered the norm.
They are afraid of him because he is horned, or my notes about the film Atrium.
I was tormented by one question about the afterlife. All people say that after death, a person will go to a better world. What's beyond eternal rest?
But what if this is a misconception? I can't believe it's so good and rosy in the world of the dead. That there are a hundred virgins waiting for men, and for women, ponies are sitting on clouds and shitting rainbows. If there is such a madhouse in the human world, then why would it be better in the world of the dead?
Not knowing what exactly was going on in the afterlife scared me. According to old stories and legends, I knew that first comes the world of the dead, and then the descent to the Lower World. But I didn't know how Hell works or how everything works there.
It helped me figure this out – "he who carries the fire of knowledge between his horns, thickens and dissolves, and gives knowledge." He led me to a very creepy and at the same time curious movie, Atrium. A dangerous movie. He's not for ordinary people, and the knowledge in this movie has killed more than one person. And all because of the merchants and their thirst for profit. Those who wanted to make money by showing the Atrium cinema and those who wanted to have fun by watching this movie were very severely punished. The lives of these people became food for the dark deities.
The fact is that the film involves the summoning of the Duke of Hell, Astaroth. He is a progressive and advocates the development of science and art. In the Middle Ages, a group of magicians somehow summoned Astaroth. Imagine the picture. The magicians summon him and demand to obey. A creature that is hundreds of years old, which has seen the fall, and the development of more than one civilization requires submission. Astaroth punished them for showing disrespect to his person, and those magicians decided to kill themselves.
In addition to summoning Astoria, the film tells about the levels of Hell. Yes, Dante was right, Hell is really divided into levels. Only he described what would happen to sinners, ordinary Christian slaves. And what awaits everyone else?
The main conclusion I made after watching the movie is that the world of the dead is the first level of Hell. So the expression that we will all meet in Hell has a true meaning.
A note on the nature of Good and Evil.
When the upper class disintegrates, it falls and becomes inferior, and when the lower class educates itself and strives for perfection, it rises and becomes superior. This is the law of evolution.
Maria Corelli. The Tribulation of Satan
My son, at the age of eight, inquired about the concepts of Good and Evil, a question that is not uncommon but is more difficult to answer than inquiries about the origin of life. He also sought to understand what magic is, distinguishing between white and black magic. I responded in a manner similar to this:
Magic is an ancient, profound, and perilous art. It is a discipline that elucidates and explicates all phenomena in the world. There is no issue that cannot be resolved through a magical act (ritual). There is no clear distinction between white and black magic; it is simply power, how it is wielded is up to the individual's discretion. One can use a knife to cut vegetables, or they can use it to harm another person.
To elucidate the dichotomy of good and evil, I resorted to an analogy. A fox pursues a hare. The fox has ravenous offspring, while the hare seeks to survive. Who is in the right? My son argued that the fox's children are hungry. In nature, there are predators that feed on other creatures. It is a natural law. The moral of the story is that whichever side you choose, you will be in the right. You could divert the fox, allowing the hare to escape, or you could let nature take its course. The fox will capture and devour the hare, nourishing its young.
In life, it is analogous. The person who is right for you is the one whose viewpoint, perspective, or worldview you align with. Everything falls within your sphere of influence.
Of course, it is convenient to think in terms of patterns and shortcuts, and to conform to the opinions of the majority. However, in doing so, the uniqueness of one's individuality is sacrificed. The individual becomes a part of the gray mass, a member of the crowd, as unremarkable as a simple pencil, capable only of thinking in the direction dictated by their leader. Even if this leader is like a Pied Piper, leading others to foolishness and death, the followers will still follow.
Vision of the future.
The biggest mistake in life is being someone you are not.
Portrait of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.
– How strange it is that ordinary things sometimes inspire us. For example, someone's work or a dramatic story – I once shared my thoughts with my supervisor.
My companion and I were on the veranda one beautiful summer day. The sun was shining brightly, birds were singing and little fairies were fluttering around on the meadow flowers. They were tiny, about half the size of my little finger, and my supervisor loved them very much. He often took them in his hand and admired them. Their hair was golden and their eyes shone like the sky sparkled in the morning sun.
– You know, it's quite possible that someone will tell my story like that one day. Someday, someone will be so interested in me as a writer and as the heroine of a mystical story," -I continued thinking aloud.
–It's possible, even probable, -the Curator replied to me.
The picture changed. Completely transforming the place we were in. This suggests that one picture has been replaced by another. Now we found ourselves in the Curator's Black Castle, for him it was a place and a home and an office and a throne room and even his prison. In the place where we were, there was a desk, which was littered with thousands of folders. The throne is majestic in black, lacquered. Behind the throne was a window that showed a bloody sky. Two comfortable armchairs located opposite each other next to the fireplace. We sat down in them. There was a green flame dancing in the fireplace, and it was warm. There was also a table nearby, on which a decanter with an empty glass stood alone.
– Do you like the atmosphere in my gloomy castle?
– It's creepy, but it's passable, – I replied.
– I don't know how to answer your question. Answering all of your questions is like cutting off the fifth leg of a chair. The design of such a special high-chair may not be able to withstand it, "my interlocutor said, pouring some wine for himself.
–I can give you your case. The book of your life. It describes your whole life. When you were born and when you will die, where and how you lived, what deeds you did, in how many lives of people and non-people you marked. In short, everything. It contains everything you really want to know, – the Curator continued the conversation.
He got up from his chair, went to his desk, and picked up one of the folders. He came back, standing behind the chair he was sitting in. Leaning his body on his back.
While the Curator went to get the folder, I noticed that his clothes, embroidered with flowers and gold threads, had been replaced by a black floor-length robe. And his hair is sun-colored, jet-black, and waist-length. Only his pallor remained unchanged. The eyes of the owner of the Black Castle became black like his castle, without whites and round like a fish's. The change in his image didn't scare me at all. When dealing with demons, you get used to almost everything, and the fear completely atrophies.
I stood up and took the folder from the Curator's hands. Standing next to him, I felt like a midget next to a giant. My interlocutor was so great. I took the folder and examined it carefully. The folder was not a folder, but a black-bound book. And just as I was about to open it, my companion's stern voice immediately sounded:
– Stop. I have to warn you. All those who read their Book of Life were very disappointed, and did not want to live later. Don't read it. It's not worth it. It is better to live life without knowing your future. Knowing the future has not brought happiness to anyone yet.
–I'll take a look.I'm not going to read everything,– I replied.
When I opened the book, I saw something that, for every person, is usually very scary to see.
Ekaterina date of birth September 27, 1993
date of death (date and month blurred) 2055
The curator put his hand gently on my shoulder.
–It's not that bad, is it? You have a lot of time to live a decent life. You will survive pandemics, political regime changes, see a new era, and become one of the survivors of the harvest. A lot can be done over the years.
For example, to raise offspring with dignity. Become an outstanding writer, travel, see the world. To make capital.
–Yes, of course you're right,– I said, coming out of my stupor, boldly looking at my patron.
The supervisor hurried me on. Saying that I would watch faster while I still can.
I opened the book closer to the middle. There were no letters, lines, or sentences in the book. Instead, there were pictures, like video clips. It was like a vision.
And that's what I saw. I was standing in a room with a table next to me and on the table were my statues of Michael and Gabriel, the Archangels. A handsome young man burst into the room I was describing. He had grey eyes, a slender build and shoulder-length black hair. We argued and swore. At some point, he broke down and slapped me in the face. I fell. Then I leaned on the table and slowly stood up. Coldly, without crying, whining or tantrums, I rose slowly. Proudly, looking at the guy, I straightened up. He changed his face. Tears were in his eyes. The brunette fell to his knees in front of me and pressed his face against my stomach. There was something very intimate and desperate about that gesture. I tried to push him away by his shoulders, but he held on tightly.
– That's enough – the Curator's order sounded.
Once again, I just have a folder in my hands, which my interlocutor immediately took away. We sat down opposite each other again.
–I didn't understand anything,– I confessed.
The curator took a sip from his glass. What I thought was wine turned out to be blood. The curator drank blood like people drink wine. After drinking it in one gulp, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked at me very sternly.
Your visions cannot be interpreted literally. In your day, people were not particularly wise. Each succeeding generation of humans is less intelligent than the previous one, which is why you cannot see things so clearly. Blood is not simply water, and genes play a significant role. Your mind cannot fully comprehend what is written in the Book of Life, as the operating system is incapable of processing such a vast amount of information. This is what you perceive as it is. However, when the moment arrives, you will comprehend what you have seen, and then you will truly begin to live this experience. Thus concludes the Owner of the Castle's explanation.
The Bassoon is the demon of the winds.
Coffee with snow. Story 1.
It was a cold, cloudy afternoon on November 12th. Sleet fell on the rare passers-by, covering them with drizzle. I was standing at a catering cafe where they made fast food to take away. Due to the fact that almost everything in my city was closed due to the pandemic, the fast food cafe remained the only one in the city that served high-quality coffee.
So, I had a cappuccino with my new friend. He was a young man in his thirties, wearing a brown coat with bangs over his eyes and thick glasses. We were standing outside a cafe, where I was drinking coffee and he was smoking a cigarette. We talked about the meaning of life while we were there.
– Tell me, my friend Fagot, what the hell is going on right now? -The more I study and get to know the reality around us, the more I don't understand. I said to the Bassoon.
He was standing sideways to me and smoking. Carefully looking at the passers-by passing by us.
– Something's going on. Everything is somehow wrong, unfair. Something is going wrong and no one feels it.– I shared my feelings.
– Oh, they don't need to understand or feel anything. Most people have higher education instead of a head and heart, while another part of society has no soul at all, it has been exchanged for material values, drunk into alcoholic oblivion, sold or simply pawned by some demonic Force. Humans, like biological machines, simply walk and feed their master with their own vital energy. They're like bots in a computer video game. You should treat this world more simply. Imagine that you are in the latest video toy like Skyrim or the Witcher. You must admit that in such games, most of the characters will just be a beautiful background or addition to the game. Others will give you some kind of quest that will bring you money and experience when you complete it. You can build or buy houses, transport, get married, start a family, have sexual intercourse, raise children, improve your talents and abilities, earn money, and so on. It's just like in the game. Treat life the same way.– Finished the Bassoon.
– The fact is, dear Bassoon , that any game can be replayed if you don't like something about your gameplay or you simply die in the game. In my life, there is no second chance to complete the game. I have no right to make mistakes, and the consequences of my mistakes can be very serious.
– I answered the bassoon's instructions sadly.
– Don't worry, you're a human being and all people have the right to make mistakes. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here in this world. – Finished the Bassoon.
The Bassoon deftly jumped like a parkourer onto the roof of a stone house, waved at me and disappeared.
Future. Robots. Transference of consciousness. Story 2.
The alarm clock is ringing on Android. It's an unpleasant sound. We need to get up and take the child to school. Damn, I want to sleep. Stop. Something is wrong. I am not in my apartment, nor am I in my bed or wearing my clothes. Mom! What on earth is going on? A Bassoon magically appears in front of me. He is smiling strangely. When a demon smiles like that, even if he is as sweet and friendly as a Bassoon, it is obviously not good.
– Welcome back.– Bassoon greeted me.
–What the hell is going on? Where am I? What I'm wearing is some strange clothes.– I asked, desperately looking at the clothes on me with disgust.
– Just don't yell and don't freak out. You're in the future. Take a look around. You'll see for yourself now.– The Bassoon answered me.
Okay, I think to myself, let's treat everything like a funny dream. It's not real. I look around. I feel like I'm wearing virtual reality glasses. There's a lot of light where I am. Very modern and fashionable design, like they do in expensive mansions these days. I don't like this place; it's uncomfortable here. But there's a cool touch-controlled coffee maker in the kitchen. I press the cappuccino button. Well, it seems to me that the picture on the button is like a cappucino cup, so I press it. The coffee maker starts working immediately. While the coffee is brewing, I go into the bathroom and look in the mirror. I'm scared; it isn't me in the mirror.
Who is this woman? Whose are these hands? I am afraid. It cannot be.
I returned to the kitchen, where Fagot was already waiting for me. He was attacking my coffee with all his might. I handed the freshly brewed coffee to the demon, pressing the button myself, ordering the machine to make more. We sat facing each other at the kitchen table, trembling in anticipation of an interesting conversation with the demon.
– So, let's start with simple and understandable things. You have made the transition from shifting consciousness during sleep. Because the body you are in now is a soulless biorobot, you have quickly taken control of its body. Your personality has simply crushed the biorobots' programming personality. The wind demon started to explain.
–What about my body?– I asked quickly.
– You're sleeping soundly in your own time, tired from the delights of motherhood, my interlocutor answered sarcastically.
Yes, the delights of being a mother. He was talking about how my precious child drove me crazy yesterday when I couldn't put him to bed again.
– I volunteered to help you and accompany you during this time, so that you could easily make the return trip after the trip, and feel as if nothing had happened in your body. Fagot continued his explanation.
– But how is this possible? According to rumors, only puppeteers have such techniques. It is said that many members of the higher occult community are almost immortal because their souls are transferred from their old, decrepit bodies to new young bodies. Previously, they simply abducted weak-minded workers or stupid fashion models for this ritual. Now there are rumors about cloning people, and clones are being used for the ritual, which is top secret. Few people have knowledge and abilities of the soul like that. It's an entire ritual process. How did I accidentally manage to do it? I asked Bassoon, emotionally, in shock, leaning towards him.
–Accidents are no accidents, my dear," I said. "You're here because we need to make a peep. Do you enjoy peering? Here we are, but this won't last long. Let us hasten. I require some cigarettes or something to recharge myself. Can you locate something similar for me, so we may proceed? – The Bassoon has instructed me to do so.
I finished my coffee in a single gulp and hastened to search the apartment room by room for the item he requested. However, I did not find any cigarettes, although I did discover an object resembling a device suitable for a wind demon. It was a hybrid of a vape and a hookah, enhanced with spice. In my opinion, there was nicotine present in this device, although it could also be some sort of synthetic substance. In the absence of any other option, I presented the device to the Bassoon."
Fagot lit a cigarette.
– We're going to go outside and work with the woman whose body you occupy. We don't have more than an hour for this. So, pull yourself together. – My guide outlined the plan of action.
Said, done.
We went outside. It was hard to tell whether it was spring or summer in the morning. The first thing I noticed on the street were holographic images of different sizes. They were everywhere and there was a lot of light and noise from them. There were a lot of shrubs and trees decorating the street we walked along. Instead of Android phones and iPhones that we all use now, there were small hologram projectors equipped with artificial intelligence.
There was something strange about the rare people we met on the street. I didn't understand what it was, so I asked the Bassoon about it.
– Switch to inner vision, see the world of energy, not physical shells. – The demon suggested it to me.
That's what I did. The world appeared to me in a matrix dimension.
Blackness is negative thoughts, low-frequency entities, as well as spirits of diseases and troubles. All living things were green, bright and juicy in color. The souls of people, birds, animals, and plants were bright blue. Plants had small souls, animals had bigger ones, and humans had the biggest ones. There was no longer a slave network in the sky. Energy circulation between living beings had a golden hue. Biorobots were fewer than humans with souls. Non-living beings were without souls and their bodies were artificial. They possessed consciousness, memory, and intelligence, but did not emit energy. They were robots, mostly looking like people.
There were other machines, but they looked like the robots I was used to, similar to the ones I saw in 2021, but they were very primitive compared to humanoid robots. There were a lot of them.
Cars were different as transportation, and people used public transport more, especially trains and buses. I really liked them, they are as fast as blood in human vessels.
People were like people. Except that many have been improved with artificial organs or body parts and limbs. For those who wore artificial arms, a holographic projector was built directly into the artificial arm.
The office that we visited with Fagot was not much different from the warehouses of Viberis or Ozon. The only difference was that it was served not by humans, but by robots, and humans were already responsible for robots and their work. Further, confusion began to arise in the office when one of their robots became stuck. Some robots, in order to save the company money where the woman I was working for, not only transported cargo and distributed it to points, but also guarded the office and warehouse. In other words, their program was not just a simple worker but also a security guard. Perhaps the worker's workload simply overwhelmed the security program, causing a system overload, and the robots experienced a glitch. This often resulted in people suffering and even dying.
