My Path to Magic 2: A Combat Alchemist Read Online Free PDF Page A

At that moment I weighed my chances again; yes, Ron, you were dear to me, but my own life was more valuable. I mentally comforted him that I would see his murderers die in prison - I knew a couple of recipes, to which there were no antidotes.  Their death would be awful, I promised him. For a moment I abandoned the idea of killing them and looked at the situation from an entirely different perspective.
    'Hey, monster! Show yourself and talk to me!' Rustle emitted a wave of suspicious attention.  'I will neutralize the one with the knife, but meanwhile the others will try to kill me.  Act, if you want to see me live! There is no sunlight here.' The consent of the otherworldly came surprisingly easy; he didn't mind demonstrating his work to me, to heighten my fear of him, so to speak; and there were no warding amulets in this part of the city to stop the monster.  'Do not touch Quarters!' And Rustle promised that.
    I smiled into the eyes of the blockhead with the amulets and tossed up the bottle. It was the most difficult moment - I put my life at risk.  But I'd rather die than let Rustle witness my cowardice! I took a deep breath and inflated my Source, knocking out any doubts in my soul via its fury.  The knife at Quarters' throat crumbled into dust, and the asshole threatening his life, was thrown off with fractures in both arms. The arbalester on the right made a shot from his crossbow.  I lunged forward, trying to move Ron from the line of fire; my spell deflected one arrow, but it would not stop another if the arbalester shot again - he had three or four charged crossbows handy.
    However, the artisans' arrows did not pierce my ribs, their boss did not block my way, and the one who was hiding on the left did not attack me from behind with a sharp object in his hands.  I managed to grab Quarters before he slammed his head against the floor; meanwhile something hellish developed around us.  Dim light trembled and faded.  No, not the light - it was the air, filled with black ripples, like billions of falling leaves, that was shaking.  I felt as if my head was stuffed with cotton wool, and I heard the rustling of wind getting lost in the trees.  I risked throwing a look at my enemies through the orgy of shadows - they froze where they stood, eyes wide open and faces distorted with terror.  Black flakes whirled and flew INTO THEM, continuously pouring into their bodies.  The victims of Rustle sensed something - their eyes darted back and forth, their muscles twitched; but what exactly they saw was impossible to guess.  Given my own experience, I pitied them: they were taken alive into hell.
    I needed to get out of there. Not that I was scared, but it would be better not to tease Rustle at this moment.
    I hoisted Ron onto my shoulder - what a heavy hog he was - and walked to the door. It was already dark outside. I activated the NZAMIPS "whistle" in my pocket. Max slid through the door after me; the poor dog had no time to maul anybody.  The streets around the warehouse were still quiet and deserted.  Obviously, the artisans knew well the art of covert operations.
    Ron moaned, being poisoned and tied up. I seated him on the boxes and began unraveling his ropes; my zombie-dog was on his way back to the garage - I did not want him to flash before strangers. I wondered how soon NZAMIPS would arrive.
    "What was that?"  Quarters muttered after a partial recovery.
    "It was dark magic," I tried to calm him.
    "Will they die?"
    "How do I know?"
    Another question bothered me : "Did they capture you to make a trap for me?"
    "No," Quarters smiled bitterly.  " They kidnapped me because of my dad's wealth.  They needed dad's money."
    Oh, yes, of course! That was a more rational reason. I cheered up: not everything in the world was about revenge! He pulled himself together, and I started questioning him: "Why did I see you at the police headquarters with Sam?"
    "Sam s aid you were a salaried NZAMIPS squealer."
    I could not