Struggle. Prisoners of Darkness - стр. 11
All this Manhir tolerated, but for his own reasons. He hated him for letting him steal too much. He had been taught from birth to love and honor the power of the Darkstone, the Plague Empire, and his own kind, but he stole from his own kind. Shame and greed clashed in him, and the other always won.
Pozharin admired it all for him: the structure of the Empire's society, the supernatural abilities that had overcome once human civilization, the physiological makeup, and even his squeamishness towards humans. He disdained humans, even though he was one of them.
On March 25, the situation in the Donetsk-Makeyevka group changed: a message arrived from the center (the phones were working):
"Personally to the karak of Donetsk-Makeyevka Manhru from the broz of the Slavic column Bluh:
I am disgusted to inform you that some time ago I was informed that you, Karak Manhr, are engaged in treasury theft and are secretly transporting raw materials to the territories of Kuban, Sector 7, granted to you. Do not try to deny your involvement in this. You are required to return 264 tons of coal to the Dark Stone Empire within two weeks. In addition, pay 36,000 Roks as a fine. If you fail to do so, you will be stripped of your rank, position, lands and other property, and you will be placed in the employ of your former subordinates, where you will remain for the rest of your days.
Broz Slavic Column Bluh.
After reading this message, Manhra's eyelid twitched, the fingers on both hands shook, and the green snake tongue came out and became immobile.
Half a minute later Pozharin appeared in the karak's office. According to the rules, the man was not allowed to sit in the presence of the chum – an exception was often made for the A1 category. But this time Pozharin, when he saw the grimace on his patron's face, thoughts of that jumped out of his head.
"I should definitely thank you! Slave!" – Roared the plague. Pozharin lowered his broad head and stared at the floor. "You don't know why?!"
"Nah, sir, I don't know."
"Ahh… You don't know… Ah, what I'm facing for this, do you know?" – Manhir got up from the table and walked over to 'his guilty self'.
"No, sir, I don't."
Manhir swung his palm at his opponent with a wide, nasty swing. Pozharin flew aside, against the wall, and fell to the floor; he knew well enough that if he tried to get up, he would get hit again. It was useless to argue with the chums – they were incapable of admitting their mistakes.
"They'll twist my head, that's what they'll do! Me! I, Manhru, will have my head cut off! Do you hear me, slave?! Me! Manhru! Do you hear?!" – Manhru went up to the lying man and kicked him with his foot as hard as he could. Then again. And again.