The Mist and the Lightning. Part 15. Ви Корс

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      “How are you feeling? How are you?” Nikto asked.

      “Everything is all right,” answered Lis, “is your holiday coming soon?”

      “And it already took place,” Nikto answered him as if nothing had happened and looked around them with a mischievous look of his bright eyes. He looked like he was laughing at them in his soul, making fun of their confusion, and the expressions on the faces of Lis and Kors genuinely amused him.

      “What?!” Lis literally choked on wine.

      “The holiday has already been,” Nikto repeated, continuing to have fun, “a lot of guests came from distant worlds too. I myself didn’t expect it,” he slightly shook his light tousled head and, as usual, made an involuntary movement, touching the rings in his nose. “Do you remember, Lis, I told you and Karina about my friend, whose ancestors came from the world of insect-like creatures, and she had four arms.”

      “About the spider?” Specified Lis.

      “Yes.”

      “This can’t be forgotten.”

      “Well. There were too many beings, and from such worlds too. I decided that you cannot go back to your normal life if you remember them. It's still not for people. And I erased your memory.”

      Lis, Vitor Kors and Karina froze.

      “And… and how much time has passed?” Lis finally managed to squeeze out of himself.

      “Lis, don’t worry about the Fort, we will return to the same point in time from which we left. I promised, in your world, not a day will pass.”

      “Then… then, if your holiday is over and your insect-like friends have done whatever they wanted with us, maybe we can come back?”

      “Here it begins,” Nikto drawled, “Lis, stop shivering about someone needing your ass like that.”

      “Please, let's go back.”

      “We'll be back in the coming days, don't start. I also need to do a Mission in this fucking Fort, so of course we'll be back, don't whine.”

      “Where is Arel?” Kors asked cautiously.

      “I left him in the room, don't worry, Kors, your Arel hasn't gone anywhere. The unclean spiders didn’t drag him into their world. And they didn't drag anyone away, you're all right! The conversation is over! Drink!”

      When they returned to their room, fairly drunk Lis fucked her for a long time. But he didn’t change his original decision and didn’t take off the cape from her, only lifted it up, and she couldn’t touch him with her hands, only through the fabric, and couldn’t really see whether he was happy or not. But judging by how long and with pleasure he fucked her, he was pleased. And in the morning, barely waking up, he continued. She didn't ask for anything. Resigned, she just got up and lay down as he wanted, allowing him to do whatever he wanted with her body.

      Habir Verniy entered Kors’ room without any ceremony:

      “Get ready, master ordered to bring you,” he growled deep-chested.

      Verniy seemed to sense how Kors treated him, how he didn’t like the unclean dog, feeling disgust and fear. Kors knew that dogs feel when someone is afraid of them, and usually, sensing fear, they attack, but he couldn’t help himself, so this vile, predatory unclean irritated him. And the fact that Nikto loved him with some kind of unjustifiably tender love and constantly dragged him everywhere with him, even more infuriated him. Kors was ready, he pulled himself together and put his appearance in order. His hair was neatly styled and pinned in a ponytail, his clothes smelled of expensive perfume, and precious rings glittered on his neatly nailed fingers. Kors came to his senses after all the failures, or so it seemed. And the dye on his face was almost completely faded, which is why Kors couldn’t even without shrinking internally look at his reflection in the mirror. Yes, he tried not to think about anything and drank a lot of wine to stay in a relaxed oblivion, but it was almost the same Kors – spoiled, broken, but not surrendered. He, obeying the order, followed Verniy into Nikto’s room, and when he entered, he noted with surprise how big it was and one might even say luxurious, but at the same time the Demon had neither windows nor a balcony, like in Karina’s room. Twilight always reigned in his personal World, but it seems that Nikto was not oppressed by it. He was used to living in a witch's cave like in a burrow, Kors thought, staring at the polished stone walls and black slabs of the floor. The ceiling was propped up by carved columns, resting against the vault with openwork arches. Kors saw that Arel was kneeling on the steps by the high bed, undressed, in slave attributes, he didn’t raise his lowered head, and still Kors noticed that something was wrong with his face.

      “Hello, Vitor,” said Nikto and his voice was calm and cheerful.

      “Glad to see you, my Demon,” Kors replied, kneeling down.

      “Hey, get up, come on without ceremony,” Nikto smiled, “I love you as a noble master who made me first a slave, and then his lover and his thing.”

      Kors only smiled bitterly, he no longer believed Nikto. And yet, when he knelt on these black floor slabs, he was almost on a level with Arel and involuntarily noticed that his lower lip was strangely pushed forward.

      “Make yourself comfortable, Vitor, make yourself at home, sit down at the table, pour yourself some wine, if you want – smoke,” said Nikto, getting off the bed and going up to him. It was unusual for Kors to see him so, not crippled, not lame, but because of his thinness, even somehow graceful, like a weasel. And still, despite the fact that Nikto was in good spirits, Kors involuntarily shook as Nikto approached him.

      “Vitor, what’s the matter? Why are you so afraid of me?” Nikto asked, even somehow a little surprised.

      “What about Arel?” Kors tried to avoid answering.

      “Eh?” Nikto turned to the prince, “Arel, raise your face!” he ordered, and Arel immediately followed the order.

      Kors saw that something big and thick had been threaded into his lower lip – a bottle cork!

      “What is it?!”

      Nikto laughed:

      “I made a small cut and stuffed a cork into it. It suits him, right?”

      “But why?” Kors was shocked, and Arel with a protruding lower lip didn’t look good at all.

      “The unclean do this, they insert a cork into the lips of inveterate drunkards as punishment. It's funny, and it's immediately clear who is in front of you.”

      “But you yourself allow him to drink, give him wine!”

      “Well, what remains for me if he cannot live without it? I did it to him just like that, for nothing.”

      Kors looked at Arel. With a ring in his nose, a hole in his cheek and now with a disfigured mouth, he looked really bad. Arel's eyes were not overshadowed, but he didn’t raise them and did not look at Kors.

      “You know, Vitor, why I called you?”

      “No,” and now Kors was really scared.

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