Indextre babilum. Darkness. ghazamati behemavc. Gehenna. lucifara ingritis dnvub stmnoao stbmi et t dughz . Blackness, abyss, death, the unknown. Evil forces prowl. A sense of terror. A curse. rbvnbuamby gk fg rga uidg h hdgadf. "Doom is coming"—thus, translated from the Black language, begins the cursed book "chaos behemo." Many legends circulate about its creation. Some say it has always been, is, and will be. It is everything, the Hegelian Absolute. Others claim it was born from the earth centuries ago. The Sect of the Dead believes that the enlightened Behemo wrote it while under the influence of devilish ecstasy.
All these myths are utter nonsense; none of them contain even half a grain of truth. avmaggrm ekc,miemer behemo lmffnba. "Chaos Behemo," the bible of the Powers of Darkness, was created in the Library of Babel. May this satanic place be cursed forever! How many books containing the recipes of Darkness can be found here on its wretched shelves. Imagine the vast number of books differing from "Chaos Behemo" by a single letter. Only a few of them were consumed by the Flames of Eternity. Woe to us, the unfortunate ones. We will be damned forever! Doom is near, the Blackness draws ever narrower circles over us. Soon there will be no escape. Chaos, Nothingness, and the Unknown…
n xezludgj ui aoiur. A mysterious figure crosses the library threshold. With a determined step, he traverses the rooms lined with shelves. Every now and then, he raises his head, nervously glancing around. Suddenly, he hears a suspicious rustle, and there's no doubt that all his attempts have been in vain—he's still being followed by the hooded man. Trying to escape, he dashes between the shelves. All to no avail. It turns out he's met his match. He turns around, muttering a spell under his breath. The hooded man doesn't even try to protect himself. A beam of Dark Light hits him square in the stomach. A stifled cry of pain. The man falls unconscious. The stranger takes advantage of this in the blink of an eye. Running as fast as he can, he reaches room 666 in the Library of Babel. He quickly places the book hidden under his black cloak on one of the shelves. Having fulfilled his duty, he vanishes into thin air.
2003, the year after the birth of Christ, May 12, Warsaw. Mr. Tomasz Mikus returns home after a hard day's work. He's exhausted. It's hard for a whole day of dealing with students to bring any pleasure. Truly, today's youth have become indifferent to everything. While he labors to explain Homer's masterful hexameter in the most accessible way possible, this rabble is occupied with second breakfasts, the latest issue of "Bravo," or some other entertainment whose intellectual level doesn't exceed the magical number zero. And later, they'll ask if Homer is the one who just left Big Brother's house in some backwater near Warsaw.
Fortunately, the worst is behind him today. It's time for his evening moments of pleasure and relaxation. At 1845 sharp, Mr. Tomasz begins reading one of the great masters of antiquity (in the original, of course). At 1930, there's a break. Professor Mikus prepares a rather modest dinner. He stubbornly maintains that true genius is only a genius on an empty stomach. He enjoys his meal by watching "Wiadomości" (News). Mr. Tomasz is an exceptionally organized and precise man. Immediately after finishing work, he retreats to his office to prepare for the following day's lectures over a cup of coffee. If there's time, he'll browse the newspaper. At precisely 10:15 p.m., he enters the arms of Morpheus. A true humanist must sleep a lot—this is Mr. Tomasz's favorite saying. (And, it must be admitted, there are many of them.)
Reverend Henryk, May 15, 2003, Warsaw
My friend! At the beginning of my letter, I would like to send you my warmest greetings. It gives me immense joy and pleasure to always be able to count on good advice, suggestions, or help from such a wonderful person as you undoubtedly are. It fills my heart to be able to write these compliments to you. This time, however, circumstances have forced me to exchange correspondence with you under rather unpleasant circumstances. Allow me to briefly recount an adventure that befell me recently.
Imagine, two days ago, having finished my lectures a little early, I decided to spend a few moments that were truly heartwarming in the capital's queen—the Library. Needless to say, I spent several hours there. Unfortunately, at 18:45, I had to find myself at Hesti's home. Upon returning, I was overcome with surprise. Walking down the street, I stumbled upon an antique shop whose threshold I had never crossed before. Despite the late hour, I decided to make up for it immediately. I opened the door and was met with a truly impressive sight…
The antique shopkeeper glared at the entering customer.
"Closing in five minutes," he declared decisively.
The guy who arrived looked like a real nutcase. Huge pince-nez, a crooked snout, a dapper tailcoat, and a wide-brimmed hat. The sides were ripped off! The guy must have been a real nutcase.
"Make it quick, sir. I want to go home!" the antiquarian grumbled, and, irritated by the newcomer's tardiness, lit a cigar.
At that moment, Professor Tomasz Mikus couldn't contain himself:
"For God's sake, what are you doing?! You can't smoke here, there are books here!"
The salesman grimaced. He must have come across such a jerk right at the end of the day…
"Dude, you've got it all wrong. I'm the boss here, I want to smoke, so I'll smoke. Simple, right? If you don't like it, get out! I didn't tell anyone to come here.
The intruder was impossible to shake off." Although the antiquarian made it clear that he was definitely uncomfortable with the customer's arrival, Mr. Tomasz patiently browsed the shelves. Every so often, he would remove a book and examine it carefully. This action was a true ritual for him. First, he would gaze at the work with immense respect, then delicately stroke the cover, and then turn the pages over with genuine devotion.
The damned intruder had pulled something out again. What a mess he'd made!
"Excuse me, how much does this great work cost?" he asked, showing off some junk with pages falling out.
"What am I, sir, a railway information desk? The price is stickered on the back, please see. Make up your mind – if you want it, buy it, and goodbye! Sir, I've had a hard day today, I'm tired, a woman is waiting for me!
" The salesman was terribly rude, using disgusting slang, I'd say gutter language. Despite this, I overcame my revulsion and decided to purchase the work that had captivated me immensely. This book was truly extraordinary. Unfortunately, I couldn't read the title, as it had faded with the passage of time. Many of the books in that second-hand bookstore were, to be precise, four hundred and ten pages long. Each page contained forty lines, and each line contained about eighty letters. A remarkable phenomenon, isn't it?
Upon returning home, I immediately decided to indulge in the pleasure of reading. And here, I regret to say, I encountered a problem that has irked me to this day. It will undoubtedly seem completely irrational to you, but I couldn't open the book! As if, on the way home, some unknown factor had caused all the pages to stick together! I tried thousands of methods, but each time I returned with a shield, like Napoleon's troops from Moscow.
I don't know what to do now; my mind is blank, and I feel as helpless as an innocent child. Perhaps this time you'll extend a helping hand, which I can grasp instead of the proverbial razor? Please reply as soon as the divine powers, whose decrees we'll never know, allow you.
With a friendly greeting,
Tomasz Mikus,
the antiquarian, inhaled the smoke. He checked the lock—everything was fine, he finally had some peace and quiet. On his way home, a limousine unexpectedly cut him off. A tall, well-built man, dressed in a black tuxedo, stepped out. The salesman had seen that face before.
"Idiot!" The limousine driver slapped him across the face. "Asshole!" Another powerful blow fell on the poor antiquarian's face. "First, for your behavior towards a customer. You disgrace our clan, you rascal. Who taught you manners, you scum? Shame! Second, for what you just did.
"How so?
" "You're still asking? Oh, you bastard! Well, imagine you just swindled a "chaos behemo" for pennies! You're young, so I'll give you some friendly advice: get the hell out of here, right now! If Behemoth finds out, he'll kill you, even if it's the last thing he does."
The unfortunate antiquarian looked at the thug before him in horror. His face burned terribly from the two blows. He felt like he was about to faint. With his last bit of strength, he turned and ran.
Dear Henryk, May 19, 2003, Warsaw.
Circumstances have brought me back to holding a pen, writing to you. Truly, strange events are taking place in connection with the book I last bought. So far, I'd dare say, they're simply incomprehensible. However, I have great hopes that by using Sherlock Holmes's famous deduction skills, I will also be able to solve this mystery. I still haven't managed to unlock the door to this mysterious work. And, to further arouse my curiosity, yesterday a certain gentleman paid me a visit...
Someone knocked on Mr. Tomasz's door. The professor reluctantly rose from his desk. Although he knew "The Aeneid" almost by heart, reading it still brought him great pleasure. Who dared to distract him from his reading?
He opened the door. A tall man in a black tuxedo stood before him.
"Good evening, Professor. My honor, Lucian Natasz. I have come to see you on a delicate matter.
Please come in and make yourself comfortable. I will make some tea." The stranger gained Mr. Tomasz's trust and even a little sympathy. Once they were seated at the table with the modest refreshments, the unusual visitor began the conversation.
"First of all, I'd like to sincerely apologize for the appalling treatment I gave you five days ago at the antique shop. The seller there is my—he hesitated—let's call it a coworker. I spoke with him about the entire incident. He was truly, truly ashamed. On his behalf, I solemnly beg you, Professor, for forgiveness for all the insults, vulgarities, and insults. God bless me, how awful that must have been!
" "But nothing happened," laughed Mr. Tomasz, who, absorbed in his research on the mysterious book, had long since forgotten about the whole matter. "Anyone can have a bad day."
"Exactly, sir. I sincerely congratulate you on your intuition. In this unexpected way, we've suddenly reached the heart of the matter. You'll forgive me for being so blunt, but due to the antiquarian's indisposition, a fatal mistake was made."
"Namely...
" "Well, I regret to inform you that the book you bought wasn't intended for sale. Therefore, I propose a small arrangement: you return the book, I'll return the money, and we'll forget about the whole matter.
" "I'm sorry, but that's impossible." Mr. Tomasz's short but concise reply was decisive.
"How so?
" "I can't fulfill your request; I won't return this book."
Dissatisfaction appeared on Lucjan Natasz's face.
"But, Professor, I don't think you're serious... This book is essential for certain scientific research.
" "Sir, please take everything I've said so far with the utmost seriousness.
" "Fine. I admire your determination. Round one, Professor, for you. Let's look at this matter from a slightly different perspective." Lucjan pulled a bulging wallet from his pocket. "How much do you want for this unfortunate book?
" "I won't sell it to you," Tomasz Mikus laughed good-naturedly. "Please understand, this book is priceless to me. I've been passionate about the humanities since I was a child. However, in this seemingly vast field, I have no new avenues to explore. I've read every book in this house a dozen times, analyzed sentence structure, literary trends, translations. And suddenly, a new challenge has appeared before me. I must tackle it.
" "While I acknowledge the arguments in your favor, I insist," Natasz's voice grew increasingly determined. "I will pay whatever the professor demands.
" "Once again, and hopefully for the last time, I answer: no."
Lucjan Natasz tried to control himself. He felt his rage rising—at the idiot with the ridiculous glasses sitting across from him, at entrusting inexperienced brats with priceless things, at the fact that he would be the one who would have to explain everything to the Great Behemoth. Finally, he couldn't bear it any longer.
"You filthy bastard, you'll pay for this! Remember, you wanted this!" he roared and left, slamming the door.
... I don't know what to think. Believe me, my friend, I have a veritable Augean Stables in my head. However, when I think of opening the mysterious book, I immediately identify with the unforgettable Sisyphus. I humbly ask you for some advice...
Warmest regards in the name of friendship,
Tomasz Mikus,
Good Henry, May 22, 2003, Warsaw.
I think I've gotten myself into quite a bit of trouble without even realizing it. Rationally and empirically, I've determined that I've undoubtedly been followed for the past few days. Not far from my home, my small homeland where I spent my happy and carefree childhood, a man has moved in who constantly watches me. My sixth sense tells me that even at this very moment, he's perfectly aware of my every move. I don't let the book out of my sight. When I sleep, I put it under my pillow, and when I go to lecture at the university, I take it with me. I feel like a modern-day Faust, though I deeply hope that, unlike my famous predecessor, I have no contact with the powers of hell...
Write something back, I'm ashamed to admit it, but my heart is afraid.
Tomasz Mikus
I was ashamed of my uncontrollable outburst of anger in the professor's apartment. One would definitely expect a certain amount of manners from the Prince of Gehenna, a sign of good breeding. I had recently reprimanded this poor young man for his reprehensible behavior towards a client, and yet I myself had proved no better. "Damn," I thought. "How do I get this accursed book back?" I really didn't want to resort to extremes, but everything pointed to the lack of any other solution. I was aware that such conduct would forever stain the honor of my noble family.
Oh, wretched me! How much effort did the affair of the four hundred and ten hideous pages of "Chaos Behemo" cost me?
I chose a particularly lousy day to carry out the operation. It had been drizzling since morning, the wind was blowing like a fiery fiend, and a storm was inevitably approaching. Despite the spring season, the street was already dark. When Tomasz Mikus left the university, I followed him. The professor proved to be more cunning than I initially thought. He always kept the book with him; he knew perfectly well that it was something of immense value. No wonder he couldn't open it. Only the Initiates possessed this skill. No one else had the right to soil the Dark Pages of "Chaos Behemo" with their greasy fingers.
The decisive moment was approaching. I watched the professor with a touch of anxiety. Would he take the bait?... It couldn't have been otherwise. Staring at the "HUGE SALE!!! Books at promotional prices" poster, he turned onto a side street. At that moment, thunder boomed, lightning split the sky, and a downpour began. "It's now or never," I thought, following the figure crouched in the rain.
Tomasz Mikus looked around. He was quite irritated. While the hopeless weather didn't bother him, the inability to find the sale site was driving him to a state of considerable impatience. Suddenly, a familiar man in a tuxedo blocked his path.
"Good evening, Professor. I'm sorry we're meeting under less pleasant circumstances this time. Believe me, I'd much rather be enjoying tea in your cozy apartment right now. Unfortunately, one thing is troubling me...
" "Really?" This is extremely interesting!" Mr. Tomasz tried to appear calm, though in reality, his heart had never been beating so hard.
"Please don't make a fool of yourself and give me the book back immediately!
" "And what if I don't?"
Lucjan Natasz remained silent, standing motionless, his gaze fixed on the professor. Then an ironic smile flitted across the Prince of Gehenna's face and he pulled a revolver from his jacket pocket.
"Will that be enough of an answer for you?" he spoke. "Please give me the book back immediately, or I'll riddle you, Professor, like Swiss cheese." He raised his voice.
"NO! You won't get the book back!" A figure emerged from the darkness, the presence of which had been troubling Mr. Tomasz for some time. "You won't get it back," she repeated in a strong voice.
"Fucking hell!" Lucjan Natasz shouted furiously.
Henryk didn't hesitate for a moment.
"My respect, Professor. A great job on your part!" he greeted. Then he turned to the gentleman in the tuxedo:
"Hello, Mephisto, aka the Prince of Gehenna! By the way, that's a terribly crappy nickname of yours. Personally, I find it rather amusing than frightening," he allowed himself a touch of irony. "And we meet again. I've missed you. Lately, I've been following in your footsteps, but somehow I haven't had the chance to exchange a few words. I hope we can rectify that today.
" "Exorcist, you're getting in my way again! That's too much, you'll regret it today.
" "Mephisto, I don't recognize you... I've always appreciated your, truly exceptional, manners and self-control. Although I admit, you recognized me perfectly." Henryk removed his hood.
"Henryk, it's you... I knew you wouldn't abandon your friend!" Mr. Tomasz exclaimed.
"Yes, Professor, it's me. However, the incarnation in which you know me is only one of many," he smiled wickedly. "Now, please give me the book and get out of here. You've suffered enough because of those cursed Records of Evil. As soon as I deal with that wretched rogue, I'll find a moment to explain everything to you."
Henryk quickly seized the book. The professor retreated, cautiously not looking back. It was high time, because Mephisto charged at Henryk with a vengeance. A fiery whip appeared in his hand. His opponent drew his hidden sword from its sheath. Right next to them, lightning struck a tree, but they, blinded by the fight, barely noticed. Henryk unleashed spell after spell, but unfortunately, all of them fell on deaf ears. If Mephisto wasn't blocking them with magic, he was using his monstrous whip. The Warsaw street vanished. It was Mephisto who had transported the fight to another dimension. Now it was just him, his enemy, and the tree, burning from a lightning strike. Henry charged at his opponent with all his might. However, Mephisto perfectly dodged and directed the Gehenna Spell directly at his head. Terrible pain shot through Henry's body. From that moment on, he could only defend himself. Barely able to stand, he fended off the whip's blows. Finally, with the last of his strength, he ran to the burning tree. Mephisto rushed after him.
"Fool, don't do this! Not this! Fucking no!" he screamed.
Too late. The "chaos behemo" was engulfed in flames.
Blinded by rage, Mephisto lunged to pull the book from the fire. Henry wouldn't allow it. More pages burned as he fended off the blows...
THE END
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