Chapter 1

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Three months ago he hardly stood out from the crowd of office workers. You could say he was a typical philistine. He went to work, drank with friends, watched TV, and occasionally spent the night in the company of girls he knew. Like most people, he had a small hobby, which served as the object of jokes of friends and sometimes helped him get out of the rut of "work-home". Andrew collected various stories related to the occult and paranormal phenomena, communicated with witches and satanists, priests and healers, attended sabbaths, dark masses, and pagan services.

It was nothing serious: some people do the aikido, some people collect butterflies, but he was into all sorts of witchcraft. Most of what he saw were either pure charlatanism or just an excuse to socialize - people had as much fun as they could. There were the fanatics who really hoped to get the attention of the Prince of Darkness, but ninety percent of the flock were kids who'd come to see a naked exhibitionist tied to an altar. And so it was with everything. Very rarely did something happen that didn't fall within the definition of "sleight of hand - and no cheating".

So, another visit to another "master of black and white magic" didn't promise any trouble - it looked ordinary in every way. Standard dark office, lady-secretary with a standard mysterious expression, embroidered runes on the curtains and scare away evil spirits bells from the Chinese tradition. Andrew came by invitation, along with his host's colleagues, so no money was taken from him. Others were not charged either, for what was happening was not a paid session, but rather a seminar to improve their skills. Strangely enough, almost everyone present was seriously engaged in the occult.

Apparently, noticing the bored look on the guest's face, the magician offered to undergo a session of hypnosis. He needed a guinea pig to demonstrate "insight into the fate of previous incarnations of the being". As Andrew had long ago found out by experience, hypnosis did not work on him and reported this to the master. In response, the master caustically commented on dilettantism in the field of the occult and expressed strong confidence in his powers. Andrew fully agreed with the statement about dilettantism. Although not only the absentees were considered as mediocrities.

When the venerable master was convinced that neither the pendulum, nor the mirrors, nor the candle flame could put the stubborn guest into a trance, he became enraged. Outwardly his anger looked quite decent, but the glances being thrown made him feel a little frightened. The chuckles of his colleagues did not add to his calmness. Suddenly the master left the room and returned about five minutes later with a small box. Out of the box appeared a headdress, most resembling a hoop of silver with a large blue stone in the center, which was solemnly placed on Andrei's head. The sorcerer made some passes and ordered him to look in the mirror.

Andrew shrugged and looked...

Andrew disappeared.

Dark. Scary. Rage. Kill! Food, food, food, food... Hunger. Searching. Up - food, food, food. Strike. Harder! Harder! Rage! Harder!!! Bad. Hunger. Hunger. Dig. Dig. Faster, faster... Food? Yes... Food!!!!!

The sensation of moisture on his hands. That was the first thing Andrew felt - the rest came later. Something wet and a sweet, salty taste in his mouth. He struggled to raise his head and looked around. Most of all the terrain resembled scenery from a sci-fi movie: a deserted city with no colors, dead bodies in strange clothing, the glow of a fire in the distance. At his feet lay the body of a man with his throat torn open, his face grimacing with horror. There was a sudden flash of awareness to the young man as to the cause of the wet hands and what was now hardening on his clothes and face, covering his body in a thin crust. He jumped back, his mind racing, "How, how..." Then suddenly his thoughts changed direction. There was no one around, no one to see - he still had to run.

He raced away from the murder scene, his mind spinning with one thought: escape. It didn't matter where he was, it didn't matter what had happened, to escape first, the rest later. Terrified, Andrew darted down the street, took another turn, ran into some abandoned building, and crammed himself into a distant room. There he was slightly relieved. Sitting in the semi-darkness, he wondered what the fuck had happened and what to do now.

The last event that remained in his memory was a hypnosis session. He was most likely in the chair now, and the "wizard", who turned out to be not so untalented, was standing next to the body that had lost control. I'll apologize to him when I come to my senses. After calming down in this way, Andrew began to remember all the ways to get out of the trance on his own. He remembered none that gave a complete guarantee. He would have to wait for external intervention - hope not medication. A sorcerer would have to bring him back to normal! There must be an article in the penal code for damaging the subject. Once he had assured himself that all would be well, and slightly calmed down, the man looked around curiously. At the same time, he tried to wipe the blood off his hands.

Unfortunately, his ability to think allowed him to notice one thing he hadn't noticed or hadn't allowed himself to notice before. Namely, his new body.

Female!

A silly giggle, when he thinks about it, is not the worst reaction to such news. At that moment, however, he would not have been impressed by the coming of Jesus Christ in glory and with a host of angels behind him. Andrew continued to believe that he was under hypnosis, so he saw the changed sex as another twist in his subconscious. My older sister, a twice-divorced adventurer, thought all men were secret perverts - she was a hundred percent right about her dear brother.

At least, after a brief examination, he was glad that my sense of taste was still intact when he was delirious. He couldn't see the face, but the new body looked well built, with long legs, a thin waist, and small, firm breasts. The hands and feet were small, graceful, and blister-free. He assumed he looked like a young girl of seventeen or eighteen, which made him chuckle nervously again. This is something incredible, a delighted thought came to mind. I didn't even get this kind of vibe at a Castaneda fan party. Andrew had the worst memories of his life associated with these merry fellows: he had almost died of an overdose and had stayed away from drugs ever since. He had to get rid of the nightmarish visions of the slightly cloudy liquid for several months with a psychologist he knew.

The sky in the east was slowly turning red, and suddenly he felt tired and broken. He wanted a miracle, a faint hope that if he fell asleep now, he would wake up in a normal world-not in this nightmare. Obeying his instinct, Andrew crawled into some closet and passed out right on the bare planks.

He woke up with a pang of hunger. Contrary to expectation, sleeping on the hard floor had had no effect on his health, except that he was thirsty and hungry atrociously. Lamenting a little that he woke up not at home in a soft bed, at most in the hospital on a bunk, Andrew got out of the building to get something to eat. The sun had already set, from the fatigue, the man (he perceived himself as a man, trying not to look down on his chest) had slept all day, but the darkness did not disturb him at all. Whether the moon was shining brightly or for some other reason, it was easy enough to walk, the light was ample. I couldn't ignore the sight, though. The thirst grew stronger with every second, and to quell it, Andrew thought about the twists and turns of his subconscious. He had always been one hundred percent heterosexual, tolerated queers, but there was no desire to become one himself. Not at all. So he did not know how to perceive this illogicality and wondered if he should reconsider his self-image.

He went outside and looked around carefully. There was no sign of life nearby, though he could hear what sounded like human activity in the distance. After hesitating a little, I went that way. What difference does it make, really?

It was an unexpectedly long walk. It was as if the air was suddenly better at conducting sound, or as if his ears were better. Nevertheless, in about fifteen minutes he reached the source of the noise - three ragged men who were enthusiastically breaking apart a trunk taken from the house. They were so concentrated on their occupation that they did not notice the appearance of the witness. Not the best company, but Andrew wasn't thinking straight from hunger.

"Excuse me..." The quiet female voice made the marauders flinch and turn around sharply, knives in the hands of two of them, and a third grabbed a stick from the ground. "What is the name of this place, and where can I get some food? I've lost my memory, and I don't know who to turn to."

The ruffians scrutinized the unexpected phenomenon, and then one of them grinned:

"You were right to come to us, sweetheart. We can teach you a lot of things!"

It suddenly became clear to Andrew what a foolish thing he had just done. He took a step back, rightly assuming that being raped in a dream was no more pleasant than being raped in reality. He had no experience in this area, and he did not want to gain any.

"What are you doing?" the other ruffian intervened. "It's a ghoul. She's dead."

"What's it to me? I can make a woman like that happy even she is dead!"

The man tried to grab the girl by the arm, but she managed to bounce back and run into the building. The two partners rushed in after them. The door was torn from its hinges, so there was no way to hide inside the house. Despite three years of wushu lessons, Andrew doubted his ability to handle three armed men, much less in a woman's body. So he jumped out the window and was about to flee when a ruffian with a club came around the corner. He shouted something, calling to his comrades, and tried to hit Andrei on the head. Not too hard he was afraid to spoil his future toy. Andrew dodged the stick, but the ragamuffin grasped his free hand on his shriveled dress and yanked hard, dropping him to the ground. Despite his lightweight, he held firm and kept trying to hit with his weapon.

It was at that moment that the earthling realized: everything that is happening is real! It was not a dream. The wave of smells that wafted up to his nose, the greedy, hurried hands, the lustfully bulging eyes served as unpleasant and very strong evidence. And if later Andrew still tried to convince himself of the illusory nature of the surrounding reality, it was somehow embarrassing. Deep down, he firmly believed: it didn't matter how he ended up here, what kind of forces brought him to this world, but now he was here to live. To suffer and fight. With the likes of this rapist, for example.

He broke the grip easily, twisting the wrist, and then punched her fist sharply into the man's stomach. For a brief moment, as the man gasped for air, he wrapped her arms around his bowed head and jerked it sharply around its axis. A deafening crack and the flattened body flew aside. Andrew jumped sharply to his feet; the other two pursuers were already running toward him, swearing and waving their knives.

"Bitch!" The first one yelled as he noticed the body lying motionless to the side.

He had to jump out the window again, this time back into the house. The odds had improved, but he didn't feel like fighting. Perhaps he would have escaped if a rock had not knocked Andrew to the ground. The first man followed the stone, while the second man tried to climb up the window.

He dodged the inept swing of the knife by stepping aside. Before the ragamuffin could regain his balance, he managed to catch my opponent by the arm, keep moving, and jab the knife clutched in my hand at the man who had finally fallen over the window sill.

A pungent, salty smell rushed into his nostrils, knocking him off the feet. Andrew seemed to freeze in place, not paying attention to the man pounding on his head, just enjoying the ineffable bouquet of scents. The desire to touch the source of bliss, capable, he instinctively felt, of satisfying the burning hunger in his insides, was so great that he reached out to smell it with his whole body. No one knows how it would have ended if a hard blow to the head had not distracted him and turned his gaze to the remaining ragamuffin.

The horror written on the man's face cleared his mind a little. Just a little. Andrew realized that if he saw the blood pouring out of the ripped abdomen, he would lose his mind again. The pungent smell was maddening. He let out a half shriek, half moan, and ran out of the house with his prisoner. Breathing was much easier in the yard, though the brackish scent of blood still beckoned with terrible power.

Andrei threw his enemy to the ground; the enemy cried out and began to crawl back to the corner of the courtyard. He seemed to have a crushed wrist: the way he pressed it against his body. There was a foul stench of urine.

"What is it?" The shock of what happened is still there, and my voice is unnaturally loud and thin. "Why do I want the blood?"

The man did not answer. In a rage, the girl slapped him across the face:

"Answer me!"

"You're a ghoul! All ghouls drink blood!"

The word "blood" rang in my ears, making me want to go back inside. Apparently, the man noticed Andrew's condition, because he tried to run away. In vain: a thin hand grabbed his leg and jerked him sharply. The ragamuffin fell on his broken arm, cried out pitifully, and lost consciousness. I had to slap him several times, holding back and measuring my strength:

"What does "ghoul" mean? Answer me!"

He was able to deduce the following from the incoherent and verbose story. Three years ago, a Plague of the Mages, some kind of epidemic, swept through the land, and a lot of people died. A great many. About a month later, some recently dead people began to rise from their graves, to come back to life. The ghouls, as the uprising dead began to be called, could only walk at night, hibernating during the day, their existence supported by the blood of their victims. Ghouls were destroyed, the bodies of the dead were burned, even though it was against the local religion, but thanks to hunger and robbery, too many of the dead were left without a burial. There were more and more of the living dead. The captive was sure that the frail girl who had just killed two of his associates had also recently risen from the grave.

The man fell silent: he was exhausted. Andrew, too, was silent, pondering the new information, trying to define his questions. The shock of understanding the reality of what was happening to him came over him with renewed vigor. His legs involuntarily buckled with horror and awareness of what had happened, he wanted to yell, to fight, to take out his fear on someone.

The ragamuffin chose the wrong moment to try to escape. He jumped sharply to his feet, jumped aside, and darted out of the yard and into the street. Fear gave him energy: it was not easy to catch up with him. When Andrew was about to grab him by the shoulder, the man turned sharply and waved his healthy arm in front of him. The movement was so fast that there was no time to dodge, some sharp object deeply cut his cheek and forehead. The gushing blood flooded his eyes, and then a dark wave of madness, rising from somewhere inside, flooded his mind. What happened next, Andrew did not remember.

And never tried to remember.

Judging by the position of the stars, not much time had passed. When he woke up, his face was slightly bloody, and so were his clothes and hands. The corpse lay at his feet like a broken doll, its throat torn open. Strangely enough, Andrew felt fine. The sucking feeling of hunger receded, looming at the very edge of his consciousness. Understanding what exactly he had quenched his wild thirst did not cause any consequences, as if the body asserted: everything was as it should be. The boiling energy needed an exit, he wanted to move, her body became light, the colors bloomed in the night city. Without thinking, he quickly darted toward the sound of the surf.

Running allowed me not to think, to detach myself from what had happened, to forget, not to try to answer many questions, pushing them to a distant corner of my mind. Just look curiously at the ruined houses, listen to the night rustles, the squeaks of rats, and rare songs of birds, feel the wind caressing my half-naked body. Freedom, happiness! Happy and maddened laughter swept over the desolate street.

The rapid stride was interrupted as abruptly as it had begun, the laughter replaced by sobs. He stopped, squatted in the dust, and pulled the ragged dress off her shoulders. The cold and the nakedness didn't faze him - it didn't matter at the time. He wanted to howl. The realization of the horror of the situation in which he or she... found himself, came suddenly and struck him hard. He had never felt so bad. Not even the day his mother died. If a ragamuffin like the three he had killed today had come now, a despairing Andrew would not have resisted. He simply would not have noticed the threat.

That's how the dawn found him. The scattered sunlight, the harbingers of the coming day, tingled menacingly on his naked skin. At last, the undead with the soul of a man from another world, looked around dimly, rose slowly, and shuffled into the nearest alley, seeking shelter for the day.

The evening brought awakening and pain. The energy from last night's feast was in short supply, and the body was telling it in the way it could. He was desperate for blood. He should have gone in search of the living, but the thought of killing made him disgusted. After all, while hunger was tolerable, it was better to find out what was going on around here.

Sometimes the thoughts of suicide came to him, and Andrew chased them away. He continued to call himself by his old name, consciously "forgetting" about his female form. He had to be called something! In general, in his situation, the best thing was to ignore the changes that had happened to him personally and deal with the issue of survival, so as not to go crazy. So he decided to look around first, and then we would see.

With some difficulty, he found the rags I'd thrown off yesterday and wrapped myself in them as best he could. The dirty rags didn't cover as much as they exposed, but still, it was better than nothing at all. A naked girl and a girl in rags evoked slightly different emotions, though it was not worth getting caught by marauders in any case. The touch of the scruffy cloth was uncomfortable: the sensitivity of her skin seemed to have increased. Strange, the marauder had severely scratched her hands during last night's fight, then fallen badly to the ground... She should have felt a painful shock at that moment, with her skin so tender. It wasn't. Andrew ran his fingernail along her forearm, looking at the rapidly healing wound. There was no blood, and the pain felt distant as if it were another person.

Hurriedly stopping his experiments, Andrew climbed onto the nearest building. Half-destroyed, like all the nearby buildings, it towered slightly above the surrounding area and allowed him to look around to get at least a rough idea of the strange city.

The impression was not a happy one. The streets were dead, with frightening shadows, and a few tiny patches of fires that dispersed the darkness a bit. The houses were mostly squat, behind low fences, the gates were often torn down and lying around the courtyards. It is as if the inhabitants were suddenly forced to flee from the invasion of the enemy, with little concern for the safety of their property - just to get their feet away. Roofs had collapsed, some buildings had been damaged by fire, and lumps of clay and shell rock lay in their place. The bleak desolation was reminiscent in some ways of the chronicles of the Siege of Leningrad. The streets were filled with all kinds of garbage, from sticks to sand-covered human bones. However, the usual wrappers, cigarette butts, and other such trifles were absent, as well as rags longer than twenty centimeters.

But there were more lights on the side where the city crept gently into the sea. He could hear faint shouts, which meant that people were living there, or engaged in some kind of meaningful activity. The latter assumption was confirmed by something that resembled the ship's masts, but the ruins made it difficult to see the details. Shall he go there? Ask for help or hunt... Andrew shook his head, driving away the delirium of obsession. No, not yet. How to treat and how to welcome a pretty defenseless guest, he had already realized - first, he should learn more about himself and the world in which it seems, to live. Smart people had said, "Don't mess with the devil". Not listened - so not only that, even managed to find an amateur with a serious artifact. And more dangerous than a fool - only a fool with a machine gun, so now pay for his own stupidity and others.

You need a source of information. Thank God - gods, fate or the creator of the artifact that threw him here - Andrew understood the local language, so he would be able to ask the prisoner. Having looked around once more, he was unpleasantly surprised to find a pattern in the movements of the few people darting about the streets or resting. No singles appeared at all: the city's ragamuffins were packed into packs of at least three. Contacting a group wasn't something you wanted to do. So they'd have to stun the sentry or wait for someone to step aside.

Four men were sitting by the nearest fire - two were asleep, two were having a leisurely conversation. It was easy to get close to them: the starlight made it easy to distinguish the debris and knots, so they could move noiselessly on the ground. Slowly, of course, but Andrew was in no hurry: the opportunity to overhear other people's conversations suited him. Just to get information, not to waste time on idle chatter. Unfortunately, he could not find out anything worthwhile. The two men were discussing where they would be heading tomorrow, cursing the miserly buyers, dreaming aloud of "finding something of value". There were too many unfamiliar names, terms that Andrew did not understand, though he tried to remember them just in case. The tramps' speech, lavishly interspersed with foul language and jargon, was gradually becoming inaudible, pauses longer and longer. At last one lay down on a piece of rag, the other continued to stare thoughtlessly into the fire.

What should he do now? Try to get close, stun the sentry, and escape before the others wake up? Andrew had noticed yesterday the unexpectedly great physical strength of his new body. Yes, he could drag a man away, especially one so puny, if they didn't interfere with him. Tempting, but unlikely. They sleep too soundly-they shudder and wake from time to time, look around with muddy eyes, and then fall back into a half-conscious slumber. As soon as they feel the presence of a stranger, they immediately come to their senses.

That night, fate itself played on the Earthman's side. Apparently, she decided that he'd had enough of it and she have to help the loser a little bit. The sentry rose quietly and made his way to the block of the wall behind which Andrew was lurking. A murmuring sound was heard, a contented grunt. At the very moment when the man began to tighten the rope that served as a belt on his tattered pants, a swift maiden figure jumped up to him, a thin hand struck him on the temple. He suppressed the first impulse to sink his fangs into her neck: Now was not the time. He threw the flaccid body on his shoulder and ran from the fire. There were frightened shouts behind him, and he had to hurry. Dawn will come, judging by feelings, in three hours, until then it is necessary to find a quiet place, to interrogate the prisoner, to hide in a place protected from sunlight. In general, we need a permanent shelter.

The prisoner had to be secured with his clothes. The rope was used to bind his hands, and the pants pulled down and wrapped around his legs, hindered his escape. After a couple of slaps, the man recovered enough to feel the nails on his throat and hear a low hissing voice:

"I ask, you answer. If you ask questions, I'll kill you. If you yell, lie, call for help, I'll kill you. You got it?"

The ragamuffin nodded. That is, he blinked his eyes and grimaced in agreement.

"What's the name of this place?"

The prisoner tried to speak, but a hoarse hiss came out of his throat. Andrew relaxed the pressure a little. The second attempt was more successful.

"Taleya, Mistress."

"Is that the name of a city or a country?"

"The city, Mistress."

Taleya was deep in a large gulf and formerly served as the sea gateway to an entire country, even more than one. To the east was the Good Sea, a vast body of water that used to be a source of sustenance and income for numerous merchants and fishermen. Shores with convenient coves and numerous islands facilitated shipping. Now pirates rule the area. Although merchants continue to prowl between the towns, their numbers are much smaller than before, and they must hire soldiers to guard the ships.

To the north and south of the city are the former possessions of the kingdom of Salvatia, which after the Plague scattered into scraps of land under the rule of autocratic rulers. The vast valley, which was the main part of the state, became a battleground for food between distraught people. The sea bailed out the inhabitants of the coast; most of the famine was raging in the west. There, near the high mountain ridge, there were hardly any people left. The distance to the mountains could not be ascertained: the captive did not know the exact answer. Before the disaster, it was possible to cross the kingdom in a week.

Weapons were plentiful for now, even if most of them were inoperative. The Plague of the Magic, as he called the catastrophe that had occurred - all over the world, as far as he knew, had changed something in the global laws of the planet. Magic was gone, and civilization collapsed with it. Three-quarters of the population died in the first year, and there have been fewer and fewer people since. There is almost no food to eat, no medicine, and the wild beasts and witch creatures that broke free have lost their fear of man. The risen dead did not cause much excitement against this background compared to other inhabitants walking at large. What's a ghoul? He's easy to kill - it's enough to pierce his heart or blow his head off. Or just drag it out into the light.

The Duke of Dinir ruled over Taleya - at least, that's how the alien translated the title of the ruler. First, he and his cronies hid in the citadel, waiting out the worst of it in relative safety, then regained control of the city and the surrounding area. Slowly the fields began to be sown, the economy restored, and the soldiers slaughtered the most dangerous monsters. Dinir's domain now stretched three days in all directions and was considered relatively safe, a huge achievement by local standards. He even managed to sink several pirate galleys.

The place where Andrew found himself had been called the Pustule for the past three years. These quarters used to be considered quite prestigious, if not compared to the Golden Quarter, the quarter of the nobility. It was home to prosperous merchants, weak wizards, and wealthy artisans from among the owners of businesses. They were the first to suffer during the Plague. Fearless mobs massacred the inhabitants, who had no protection from the city guards holding up the walls of the inner city. After the slaughter and looting, the quarter was abandoned and the poor moved closer to the sea. It was easier to find food and fewer monsters in the harbor districts. True, the semblance of a primitive economy that survived eventually forced the poorest of the survivors into the dangerous trade of scavenging for useful things to sell.

During the Plague, the rioters had stolen much, but many things remained hidden or were simply overlooked, forgotten to be picked up. Luxury goods were not much valued - the buyers were more interested in weapons, metalwork, cloth, and carpets. Gold was valued less than a good jacket or a loaf of bread made from rough flour. A tin of tinned food was killed without a second thought.

Books, artifacts, carriers of knowledge were ruthlessly destroyed. Prophets multiplied like mushrooms after the rain, and all of them unanimously declared magic to be the source of all troubles. Mages were slaughtered along with their families; the shadow of a suspicion of possessing a book could condemn a man to a painful death. However, the newfound messiahs were no strangers to cursing each other, and their adherents often clashed in brutal, bloody, and senseless fights.

"What do you know about ghouls?"

The prisoner had already realized how to behave. Don't flinch, don't ask questions, answer briefly and clearly. With the last two conditions, however, the man coped poorly: the fear of ghouls interfered with concentration. At least he didn't shit himself.

"You... you come back to life on the third day after death, Mistress, and drink people's blood. I don't know anything else, I swear!"

It's possible.

"If a ghoul bites a living person and that person survives, does the person become a ghoul?"

"I don't know, ma'am!" the ragamuffin was frightened. "I swear by Sixes, I don't know!"

Andrew thought about it. It seems there is nothing more useful to learn, the source of knowledge has dried up. And dawn soon... The undead stared thoughtfully at the thin vein swollen on her prisoner's neck, inhaling involuntarily at the sweet, brackish-scented air. The thirst was growing stronger by the second. What if she didn't drink the blood? "You'll go mad," the rational part of the mind said.

The swaddled man twitched in horror, for which he was immediately struck on the head with a stone. I didn't want to kill him: the remnants of humanity forbade taking life unnecessarily, and that was satisfying. It meant that all was not yet lost. So it was possible to live, it was possible to hope, it was possible to plan the future.

He cut a vein on the prisoner's elbow with his small fangs and took his first sip.

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