– You will die a long and painful death. Your words are mere. Fear is inside you, for you are hopeless; the wounds are incurable. You are bleeding profusely. And your blood is blackening. Do you imagine yourself the hero? Nonsense! – the claws sunk deeper into his flesh close to the liver. – Who are you now? Or what will you be? You are nothing. And do you know why? Because you're a human being. And like Neko-Mata I’m going to amuse myself with your lifeless body. Are you terrified with the impending decease?

– The teacher had been telling me from the first day of consecration to remember about the death. When I go to sleep or wake up, when I eat or starving, when I’m awake or reflect when I watch the farewell rays or the rising sun, I always remember about death. So behold the feeble person, me Arthur Jorja King!!! The man who doesn’t care about death, who doesn’t care about you, freaks! That’s because God is with me, and you are beneath me! – he burst into insane laughter, stamped his boot – the blade slipped off the soles – a kick in the groin followed; the werewolf recoiled, and Arthur turned around with lightning speed, picked up the fallen sword and cut off werewolf’s head with the blade. – Who wants the tail, who wants the crock, huh? Neko-Mata, dammit!

Sighing heavily, he wiped the blood flowing from his nose, and, clenching his bloodied teeth, with a shout rushed toward the Goth appeared in his way. He hack the body from the shoulder to the belt. The youth fell to

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his knees, breathless with the blood gushing from his mouth. Black bangs fell on his pale forehead, eyes with red lenses look upward. With pain Arthur looked at the ruined soul, at the sacrifice made not by his hands. The barrel of a gun set into his head and he heard a female voice:

– You’ve ruined everything! I'll kill you! You’ve killed them, you’ve shredded them like babies! Damn! Who the hell are you?

– You wish to hear the answer… And who are you and who are they? You’re going to kill me? Do! I’ve seen enough of horror and death! These O-Yama and Beherits are different in the languages but the same in nature. They are those slanderers and opponents, the Devils and Sets that have poured into new regime and flooded the minds of people as parasites, stuck in you, in me. I’m fed up with them for they have filled the whole world! The world is being convinced and has been convinced by them that there is no, no, no, fuck, either Evil, or Good! Because we're Evil and we're Good. Yes! We humans, puny humans are the both. Then, then, then we are Gods, only we are and nobody else! – he turned around and the muzzle of the gun set against Arthur's forehead. – So, bitch, you want to know the answer, don’t you? – he shouted, – Must you know the answer or not?!

– Yes…

– It doesn't exist! The existing thing is Lie! Lie was splashed out abundantly. Dirt and ink peals of Lie corroded and thinned the truth. Verity is ephemeral and forgotten, and conscience is eroded by decay, so there is no truth, there are you, me and these degenerates. It’s full compliance with the reality of our times. And some contrast will be lost. But there is something that keeps me from shooting myself in the head… Are you intrigued? – he slowly grinned. Being honored to be consecrated Mycoden, I renounced the ways of formation of the highest stages of knowledge, in favour of a different achievement of self-improvement.

His hand reached in his bosom and pulled out large crucifix on a black cord carved from pine, – the bent head, and outstretched hands, pained face full of suffering and clearly looking out from under veiled eyelids eyes burnt only by the view of betrayal and apostasy. The eyes finding unattainable and great in the simplicity of greatness, power and spirituality, full of Light and power, enclosed mercy… and understanding.

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– Your hand trembled, and your face contorted. Yes. You see the person who has mourned, but hasn’t rejected, with killed body, but arise from the dead in the soul embodied in the flesh. So who are you? You are destroying the flesh and transformed in the body; you are werewolves, a variable link of ghouls! You are vampires, occult geeks, parasitizing in the bodies. You die and your body comes to life and not as Gods; you, merged with the matter, penetrate into the material world, and you disprove Descartes’s dream by your dependence on space, oppressive and subordinating your nature, for you are the prisoners of the world. And the world will abuse the dependent, will bound by time and space! You are the devil incarnate; your look reflects your emptiness enclosed by the seals of evil, – Arthur snatched the gun put to him and turning back, released the clip in werewolves. One of them fell with scattered skull, and the detective, having thrown unneeded weapons, rushed into battle with the sword. A series of blows, trembling hands and predetermining of slaughter that was the incredible will of a mighty soul, which had plunged enemies.

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