The Mist and the Lightning. Part 15. Ви Корс

when Kors hastily got up from his chair, walked over to Arel and knelt beside him, Nikto said:

      “Kiss!”

      But neither Kors nor Arel could do this because of their “jewelry”. Kors only rested his spikes on Arel's lip, and Arel couldn’t move his mouth at all. Kors saw now how the round top of the cork rested on his lower teeth and Arel couldn’t properly close his mouth and from this the upper lip is deformed too.

      Realizing that they couldn’t kiss each other, Nikto smiled smugly, and Kors, looking at him, saw with what a mischievous and triumphant shine his eyes burned, like transparent glass.

      “Take off your clothes and go to the bed,” Nikto ordered him.

      Nikto gathered them all in the living room again:

      “I will leave for a while, literally for a couple of days,” he anticipated the question, ready to break from the lips of Lis, having understood everything by the expression on his face. “Relax, don’t be bored. I will come and we will return to the Fort.”

      Lis turned away in frustration.

      And Nikto left them.

      “I can no longer sit here, as in a cage,” said Lis, “it's unbearable!”

      “Well, what can we do?” Remarked Kors. He carefully and with some anxiety watched Lis, trying to determine what he thought about his painted face and the pikes sticking out from under his lips. And waiting for his reaction. Would Lis say some humiliating joke, would he make fun or just rudely insult him? After all, Lis himself was in perfect order. Kors was very offended that the Demon had ennobled Lis’ appearance, and, on the contrary, had lowered his one.

      But Lis it seemed, was not going to do this, as if not noticing neither the changed appearance of Kors, nor the cork in Arel’s protruding lip. Did he care? Or was he used to the Demon’s amusements? In any case, he didn’t bother Kors in any way, with a gloomy look he sat down at the table in his place next to Karina, who was still wearing a cape.

      “I can't stand this inaction any longer,” he said.

      “Alis, you are here not for the first time, tell me, how these holiday at the Demon are conducted? You’ve probably already been to a similar event? Maybe you remember something?” Kors asked cautiously. The thought of what was happening to them on the “holiday”, as Nikto put it, also haunted Kors, and seeing that Lis didn’t not seem to intend to offend him and was behaving adequately, Kors decided to ask.

      “Yes, I’ve been,” answered Lis quite calmly and lit a cigarette as usual.

      “And what happens there?”

      “He erases memory.”

      “It’s a pity,” said Kors, upset.

      “But I remembered a little last time, and I can roughly imagine how everything happens.”

      “How?!”

      “He’s got a big throne room down there, huge. He sits on the throne, next to his unclean bitch. They are like a king with a queen. And the unclean and all sorts of beings from other worlds come to him, bow down. He is not very simple, our Demon, and he is respected. When I first saw this, I was amazed. I was kneeling beside his throne. He simply puts or places his slaves next to him. I'm sure he put us in the same order as the fingers of a fist: me, Karina, you, Arel, and showed everyone.”

      “You're right! I had some similar memories, everything is so… I very vaguely remember… I remember the presence, Karina is near, but I don't remember Arel, although I have to stand between them.”

      “Last time he sat Arel at his feet right next to the throne. And I was on the side of the throne.”

      “What else do you remember?”

      “Nothing good, Kors. Then they have fun in another large room, everything is in carpets and pillows. They are having an orgy. They fuck their slaves and swap them. Or they force slaves to fuck each other for the amusement of others. They could do whatever they wanted with us.”

      “But they could not have done? The demon said that he would not give us to anyone.”

      “Then why did he erase our memory?”

      “He explained, because of creatures too alien for us.”

      “Soothe yourself with this, yes…”

      “I admit that we were on our knees at his throne, and he boasted of us, as he always does, but the fact that he gave us to be torn apart by his spider-like unclean – no!”

      “Kors, don't be a naive idiot, eh?”

      “Alis… but why are you starting again?! Is it possible to talk to you normally for more than five minutes?”

      “If you don't like it, don't talk!”

      “I am tired of your arrogant tone and insults!”

      “I don’t give a fuck what you are tired of.”

      “I don’t intend to endure your rudeness any longer!”

      “Yes, you endured in life, Kors,” the Lis laughed, “he does not intend to endure, look.”

      “Alis… I warn you one last time, change your tone, otherwise I will not answer for myself!”

      Lis put out his cigarette and looked defiantly at Kors with his yellow eyes:

      “And what will you do to me? Well?”

      “The demon only tried in vain, ennobled your disgraceful appearance, inside you remained the same uneducated red-haired half-blood!”

      “And you are still haunted by my appearance. You don't think I notice how with a disgruntled face you always look at me. Are you jealous?”

      “Pf… what am I jealous of? Your peasant roots?”

      “Or do you like me now? Do you want to suck on my peasant root?”

      Kors’ hands involuntarily clenched into fists, but he restrained himself and, turning away with a contemptuous look, went to the exit from the living room.

      “It's all? And where are you going, old fuck?”

      “Well, that's enough for me!” And, before reaching the door, Kors turned sharply and rushed at Lis, who seemed to be just waiting for this. They clashed fiercely, and Kors was no longer the noble black who had been struck by the poke of a half-blood commoner. He was embittered by previous humiliations and now made it clear that he also knew how to defend himself and fight for his place under the sun. He – Vitor Kors – was a true black, despite the nobility and spoiledness from a prosperous, calm life, he was still not a weakling and not a rag about which anyone with brute force would wipe their feet. Throwing away all his good manners and no longer thinking about them, he beat with all his might and was in no way inferior to Lis. They rolled on the floor, grappling like two animals, like two commoners from the filthy pub in the Lower City. Kors was taller and stronger physically, because initially he grew up and lived in more favorable conditions, and Lis was still weakened and didn’t fully recover after being healed. Moreover, Kors rejected all the rules and decency, letting go of his nature, which had long demanded an exit and from the inability to respond to the Demon's humiliation only accumulated, now reaching a boiling point and exploding. Karina realized with horror that her father was killing her Lis, and he couldn’t do anything, obviously underestimating the enemy. But she didn't know how to intervene. Kors threw Lis away so that he crashed into a wall with shelves, knocking them down, and old books and bottles of some kind of potions and dye rained down on him. They smashed against the stone floor with a clang, splattering Lis with specks of paint. A massive brass candlestick was the result of their fight, falling down from above and hitting Lis right on the top of the head, so that Lis lost consciousness.

      Karina, screaming, rushed to her beloved:

      “Father, stop it!” she cried, falling to the floor near her Lis and lifting his head, peering into the whitened face and trying to see through the dense fabric hoe he felt.

      Kors moved away, straightening his hair,