Phew… we survived. — a brand-new screamer decided to burst in and pay us a visit.
The ceiling of this tent-city shuddered, as if blasted by every wind in the world at once. What was the name of that hound of the winds in mythology? Boreas, I think. Well, looks like he'd dragged his entire entourage in here — and probably paid someone overtime.
The roof began to sink lower, crushed by the merciless elements, and then we heard a dull, massively powerful impact somewhere near the circus. A serious bang. I flew off the box, and the last thing I managed to see was:
A breach.
The tent tore open in one spot, forming a huge hole that instantly stretched along the line of a gigantic foot, which slammed down exactly where the dead beetles had been lying — and crushed them with a horrifying crack.
— HOLY FUCK! — I screamed and crawled under the saving box. Though how exactly was it supposed to save me?! This wasn't even the proverbial straw. This was worse.
Ada clutched her head and shook so violently that her seat was rattling beneath her. The screams inside were piercing, and I fully understood and accepted every single sound — because I wanted to scream just as loudly.
How much courage did I have left? A fraction? That single fraction was all I had to use in order to carefully peek out.
The leg was still there. Colossal, wildly hairy, and bear-like — if not for the perfectly human foot. It stood motionless.
Some enthusiast showed up, cheerfully announcing to everyone in Masri (Ada automatically translated, as she always did):
— I'm gonna go take a selfie with it.
Maybe the giant foot was frightened by the horrifying prospect of going viral. Or maybe it had other reasons.
Either way, it dissipated in a burst of theatrical smoke, and in its place appeared that same master of ceremonies in the lilac robe. He stood there, silently staring into the hall. Meanwhile, I climbed back onto the box and tried to settle on it.
The audience area emptied out. People turned on their flashlights and ran off as far as possible. What remained were either the bravest — or the brainless and completely unhinged.
I didn't count my team among either.
Rather… among the most interested.
And the one presiding over this infernal chapiteau declared expressively:
— A new stage of this deadly dance now begins. I need two participants from the audience, who will do the unthinkable. You! — he pointed at a scrawny man with a painfully gaunt face. — And you! — now his finger shifted to Odile.
— Stand up and accept your fate. Follow me, if you wish to take part in something that will never again fall to your modest lot.
The skinny man stood up and walked on stiff legs — apparently guided by fear and a total lack of understanding of what was happening. He was clearly hypnotized by the unfolding phantasmagoria. He trembled so hard that every tooth could be heard as his jaw clattered.
Our operator — who, by the way, had completely forgotten his desire to film the performance (and flushed a ton of top-tier content down the drain, the bastard!) — slowly rose and followed him.
His eyes were half-open, but there wasn't a single emotion in them.
Empty.
Cold.
— Odi, don't. — Ada threw out desperately. — Stay with us. Let him pick someone else.
— This is my fate. — he shook his head and went on.
And what was that supposed to mean? What kind of "fate"? He's an independent person with his own will — not some character with a prewritten behavior model and scripted lines. Oh, that damn mystery of his! Sometimes it was… very much not to our benefit.
The master of ceremonies climbed onto the stage first, and the two participants stood beside him and the guards. The guards, either while everyone's attention was diverted, or once again straight out of thin air (no — I'll have to dissect all these tricks later, piece by piece!), took masks into their hands.
The same kind that adorned their own faces.
They almost forced these items into the skinny man's hands and Odile's, urging them to put them on. The first nearly fainted, but complied — or rather, obeyed. Odi, on the other hand, instantly pulled it over his head and began to look even more imposing than usual.
You could put it this way:
"He radiated fear."
Though fear, supposedly, isn't exactly compatible with radiation and shouldn't be able to emit anything.
When the procedure was complete, the master spoke again:
— At this very moment, you will pass through total renewal. You — — his finger returned to Odile — — will become the executioner who will end the existence of his victim, and she will rise again as if nothing ever happened.
The skinny man collapsed straight into the operator's arms. To support him, I shouted:
— Easy, man, it's just a show. Come on, let's have some fun for once. Look how hard the troupe is trying for us.
— Thank you… — the master of ceremonies even hesitated in the middle of his pompous monologue, and I gave him a thumbs-up. After all, it's exactly from these enthusiasts that we'll swipe a couple of tricks and add them to our own arsenal — so I was thanking them in advance.
My shout seemed to rally the remaining audience — people whooped and clapped. The skinny man even managed a weak smile. Ada, however, commented reproachfully:
— Why are you getting involved in these stupid games?
— Why not? It's interesting. — I answered sincerely.
The brutes with the axes vanished into the darkness. One of them paused to hand his heavy weapon to Odile, who — clumsily, but without much strain — took it. I even felt a twinge of envy. I never considered myself particularly athletic.
The master pointed to the spot where the skinny poor bastard was supposed to lie down, and he obeyed — reluctantly, but obediently. I switched back into heckler mode, cupping my hands around my mouth: