Happy Life
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This is roughly what Genza looked like at the end of the battle, tearing rags from the bodies of the stinking Calcite creatures in an attempt to wipe off the blood and sweat, and thus restore at least ten to fifteen percent of his presentable appearance – while everyone else was healing, looting, and doing what they came for.
It was barely working – his heart was pounding, the cuts were oozing fresh blood, his body was trembling from the strain, his hands were not responding well, and his gaze was paranoidly jumping from one dungeon entrance to another, from the second to the third, from the third to the old man, and from the old man back to the first.
Abandoning this rather pointless activity, he tried to calm down a bit and surveyed the results of their efforts. A couple of dozen mutilated creatures, Genza – the runaway – but that was quite in his style – they were battered, but still alive, and the explosives were placed in the slots where they should be. He had long ceased to believe in any successful outcomes, but for now, at least for this one second, they had managed it.
Suddenly, he realized that the Calcite creatures now occupied the largest share of his life. Perhaps not the most unpleasant thought. But who killed how many? He didn't remember, but to his surprise, he discovered that even those from the team whom he considered the weakest had made a very useful contribution; he had clearly underestimated them.
Lowering his gaze to the katana, covered in someone else's blood from tip to hilt, which he gripped with a death grip and still hadn't relaxed, he grinned crookedly and weakly. The grin gradually began to grow until it turned into a real wolf-human radiant snarl.
now – before or after the conversation?
Argos summoned Ushumgall and Genza.
- You summoned me, Comrade Chief?
My sword, my trusted ally, unphased by my aspect.
Граф Орлов