Uriel" "The Next Day"

 

It's 9:00 PM. The day is drawing to a close, and I'm still wondering if I should leave the house today. After a few minutes of consideration, I decide that hunger won't let me live, and my home supplies were exhausted the night before. Decision: I'll grab something to eat.

I lay there for a while longer, then got out of bed and threw the empty soda container off my lap. I did it with too much force, and the skull hit the wall with a clatter, shattering into dozens of tiny pieces, releasing cerebrospinal fluid and the brain itself. I looked at the dry corpse with reproach, as if it were its fault for messing up my wall and brand-new carpet. I was too tired to clean it up at the moment, so I decided that "a body won't run away," and then I began to prepare to leave.

I dressed as usual: black jeans, a loose red shirt, and my favorite coat, a gorgeous ruby ​​red with matching stones sewn into the cuffs and collar. You have to have some style, right?

I close the door behind me and leave the house (if you can even call the shack I live in that).

On my way into town, a drunk accosted me, saying, "Give me $5 for a glass of bread." I gave him a pitying look and gently kicked him out – he ended up in a trash can across the street. I know, I know, "Masquerade" forbids such flaunting of power, but I'd be taking a bigger risk if this bum had followed me for the next few blocks.

Continuing my walk, I came across an electronics store. In the window were several televisions, from which the lead singer of a very well-known band, "Slipknot," was shouting (it was hardly even possible to say he was singing). I don't know what song he was "singing," but I actually liked the last words of the chorus: "I bander over where you can't see. Inside my shell I wait and bleed." That's right, that word reminded me to "throw something on the grill."

Two blocks away, I "stumbled" upon a rather "charming" pub with the odd name "Slash." Well, a name is a name, and I went in.

First impression: a cool vibe! Techno music was blaring from four large speakers positioned in the corners. If I'm not mistaken, it was "Bloodbath" - Public Domain. Beautiful swords hung on the wall. I'd always dreamed of having one! Maybe I could talk the owner into buying one?

I also noticed that despite the wonderful atmosphere, the pub wasn't crowded. There were no more than six people sitting at the tables.

I approached the bar slowly, so as not to arouse anyone's suspicions.

The bartender was a broad-shouldered black man, about two meters tall. But no worries, it's just a regular pub.

- One "Bloody Mary."

The bartender looked at me as if I'd killed his father with a pancake, but poured me a drink without any problems. When he turned to me, I noticed one odd thing about his appearance: he was wearing some kind of modern armor.

After the third drink, "seasoned" with my emergency reserves, I asked the bartender,

"Excuse me (it's important to be polite), could I

speak to the owner of this establishment?

" "I'm the owner. What's the matter? The drinks weren't good (at which point he started reaching into his pocket)?

" "No, no, no," I tried to defuse the situation

. "The drinks were delicious; I've never had such a good

Bloody Mary (0Rh-). I wanted to ask about those

beautiful swords hanging on the wall. I've always wanted

one. I practiced Kendo for a while

(about 50 years, maybe more).

"Ooh. So, are you a swordsman? Finally, someone with

similar interests to me... Nice to meet you, I'm

Blade. The owner of the pub, but I think I've already said that. " "

Yes ." But let's get back to the previous topic. Could you

sell me…

- Call me Blade…

- Okay… Blade. So, could you? Ops. Sorry,

I didn't introduce myself. I'm Uriel. I had

a strange

father… er… parents, so they gave me that name.

-This is where the Brüderschaft comes in

. -So you'd like to buy one of my swords, eh? They're

true works of art, forged by a certain very

old master swordsmith, and unfortunately, they're not

for sale. But since you say you're a good

swordsman, I'll make an exception especially for you…

-Really? Thanks! How much do you want?

-No, no. Nothing like that…

At that moment, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the company in the pub had perked up a bit and were starting to listen in

on our conversation. A lewd grin spread across Blade's face

. It could be described as a sly

smugness, induced by who knows what.

-Huh? Could you elaborate?

-I'll give you the sword you want. Almost for free…

-Almost? What's the catch?

"You have to win it in a fight with me."

The guests slowly began to hide under the tables, not

coming out because they didn't want to miss the show,

which, as I later learned, took place here

on average every two weeks when someone took a liking to

the swords. This time, however, was going to be different...

I walked over to the special racks with swords and reached for the first one from the top...

The scabbard was adorned with gold thread and sewn-in gemstones. I hefted the scimitar in my hand. The blade was embossed in a long-forgotten language—the inscription (supposedly magical) read, "To the ruin of the sons of bitches." However, I decided the hilt was too narrow and set it aside. I ignored the second sword. I'd never liked huge, heavy two-handed swords. I looked at the third with great respect. A beautiful, almost perfect katana. The clean, unadorned blade beckoned me to touch it. But I knew I might lose my fingers. The hilt was wrapped in a material as delicate as silk, yet it didn't slip at all when held. I'd never seen anything like it! The whole thing was astonishingly light! The sword, scabbard and sash weighed as little as a feather! I took the last one.

"Excellent choice!

" Blade roared, grabbing my arm.

"Let's begin!

Let's throw down a veil of pity here. I wouldn't recommend such scenes to anyone for bedtime viewing. It was like a mini-Armageddon.

After about three hours of non-stop fighting, we decided we each had our strengths and weaknesses.

So we agreed to fight again next year to sharpen our skills.

As I was leaving the pub, all I heard was the crack of bones breaking. The body hanging from the fan fell to the floor, and blood dripped from the table, in time with the distant music. (Almost all the pub's patrons were slaughtered during our very interesting duel. One of the patrons, being too curious, leaned out from under the table and "lost his head" to us – this reminded me that I had to clean something up when I got back.)

Suddenly, I realized someone was watching me. A beautiful girl standing on the corner was practically beckoning me to feast on her.

I hid the body behind a basket. Not far from home, I encountered another hooker (a profession very common among the women who lived in "my" neighborhood). So I took home a "little something to go."

This day brought me many surprises—a new friend, a new weapon, new experiences. But who knows? What will the next day bring?