Struggle: Grip of steel - стр. 9
It made him even more nauseous, and the pain played through his temples like a needle, but he got up. He got to his feet and collapsed. He vomited some kind of sludge, probably bile juice.
After that he felt a little better, though not for long. The warder kept demanding to get up, and it was unclear to the metropolitan himself how, but he succeeded. After shouting something directly at him, the SS officer went out and locked the bars behind him.
Samokh fell back into his bunk and, without even trying to make himself comfortable, fell into sleep. He dreamed of Nevrokh. Finally, someone who had given him the right advice, from whom he had learned to defeat his enemies and to weigh his strength before he acted.
– There is a man who is very dangerous to us. – the patriarch told him. – A man, not a plague.
Who is more dangerous to us than anyone else. Don't be a fool like others, don't think that people are weaker than us just because we once defeated them. Don't underestimate your enemy – there is a very high price to pay for that Don't underestimate your enemy. Don't underestimate your
enemy....
The last catches swirled in a merry-go-round around Samoh's consciousness. In the middle of the night he woke up remembering that dream. And then he remembered another one, where Bazankhr with general's epaulettes tells him about self-confidence, vanity and bluster. It all comes from misconceptions about his enemy. An enemy who now seeks to break him and make him beg for leniency.
– There will be no leniency. – The Metropolitan whispered aloud. – There will be nothing but one. The fires of the Holy Inquisition, which will make everyone tremble at the mere mention of it.
He felt a fever inside him even greater than the one he'd felt when he'd contracted this virus.
A heat that burned away all the sickness, all the weakness, all the indecision. His eyes seemed to come back to life, and he began to see clearly. At the same time, his hearing began to return to him. And then the screams from the cell across the hall.
Samoh winced. Pain shot through his temples from one to the other, a little nausea and it seemed harder to breathe. His eyes darkened momentarily, but he kept moving anyway. And the sensations of reality took hold stronger than the pain.
It was dark, for at night only a single light bulb at the beginning of the corridor illuminated the passage, but the prisoner in the cell opposite was clearly visible.
The Metropolitan stood up and walked to the door grate, still staring at the screaming madman. Raising one hand and pointing it palm up at him, Samokh said: