Games of the Gods.

Oh this sick crazy world.

The skies are black and shrouded in darkness. Roads, intersections, old churchyards, abandoned crypts –everything will come alive, filled with life, breathing and whispering. Oh, mortal, be careful, stay away, save your soul, avoid the dead places. There is a Dark Force, there is a house of demons, there is a kingdom of horror and nightmares....

I. Khosroeva

The preface.

It was raining. It hit the roofs of houses and pavilions, enveloping playgrounds. The rain bounced on umbrellas and tables of small cafes. The rain was bobbing merrily, then joyfully jumping, then threateningly thundering.

I watched this picture sitting in the warmth of the house. It was the only way I liked the rain. Rain is heavenly water, it brings deliverance and purification from defilement. Children intuitively feel this, and in summer they joyfully run in the rain up to their ears in mud.

The rain was gathering momentum, becoming fiercer and more aggressive. It was getting dark. It was still raining. The time of darkness has come. Night and total darkness. The darkness was created by the connivance of local officials. They're like local gods here. We want there to be light, and we'll turn on the lighting, but we want there to be a time of darkness. Probably the chief official has depression or PMS again, or some new quirk. In any case, there probably won't be any lights on that night.

I was distracted from my studies. You see, I learn all the time like a bookworm. I read, watch, listen, and need new information constantly. I just can't live without it. Yes, it may sound pathetic, but I really don't see any other meaning to life. After all, knowing is so wonderful, and even more so, applying your knowledge in real life. I need to work on this.

One of my teachers would say pathetically that we need to love the world, love heaven and mother earth. Although the world is imperfect with many flaws, if you change yourself, the world around you will change too. I don't understand that at all. To me, this world is like a university where we are studying temporarily. There are no immortals in this world; everyone is equal before death – young and old, rich or poor, sick or healthy. Our world is great for learning.

I am a third-year student out of six, and I am thoroughly sick of studying at this university. Everything about it has been a disappointment: the office with its walls, the building and furniture of the university, and especially my classmates. Every day, I see the same faces.

At first, you try to make friends, communicate, and show love. However, you may face envy, competition, pain, and disappointment along the way. Your heart slowly turns to stone as you realize that everyone who comes into your life is temporary. Friends may eventually leave or betray you, leaving a painful memory behind. Even if loved ones stay in your life, love may fade and only a habit remains, binding you together. Love can turn into hatred, and an enemy may emerge who knows everything about you. They use this information to hurt you. Parents, if good, may stay with you until they pass away. Toxic parents can also torment you, trying to control you and prove that you belong to them.. You are their child, who was not asked to be born, but a soul that parents welcomed into this world and are obligated to guide and protect while they are alive. In the first scenario, after the death of your parents, you may experience the pain of loss and loneliness. In the second scenario, you may also feel relief and loneliness.

We give birth to children for procreation. Someone gives birth to children as their pension fund, and someone to get a mother's capital. Well, or society dictates its will, and a woman goes and gives birth. Someone gets knocked up from fornication, and someone sincerely falls in love and wants a child from their love object.

Time passes, it runs. Children grow up. The first pimple, the first dates, buying clothes in an adult store, not in a children's store. The child grew up, left the nest. To eventually create your own and become a parent. It is ok. That's how it should be. But you're left alone as a parent.

Everything in this world is temporary and nothing belongs to you as property. Not people, not even your apartment. You will die, and your living space will go to your descendants.

A person, if you think about it, is very lonely in this world. You are the most important thing for yourself.

Every person who comes into your or my life or Uncle Petya's life from the second entrance is a kind of teacher. Even if that person hurt you. Especially if that person was close to you. It can be your parent, relative, girlfriend, or friend, the person you shared a bed with. This pain, disappointment, loss, resentment, hatred are your lessons that life in this university world gives you. Situations with people gently guide a person to self-perfection. Through poverty, pain, and self-denial. You can call it divine pendal, so that you can develop. Through all the negative moments in life, through sorrow, hard work, the soul is armed with experience and strengthened for spiritual development.

Everything is trivial. If your mother-in-law behaved incorrectly, learn from this. When your son gets married, you will know how to behave with his wife. If your parents pushed you all your life, and you have complexes about it, be wise and don't raise your children the way you were raised. I digress.

At first, there were human teachers at my university. Some of them were wrong, like all people. Everyone has the right to make mistakes. Only the gods are not mistaken, but for me personally, God is a concept that represents the thoughts and powers of people who remember him.

The main mistake of all teachers is that they want their students to create their own copies. So that they can think and feel according to their teacher's instructions. The mentor's task is to show the way. And whether the student will follow it is up to the student. The mentor doesn't interfere with the student even if the student turns around and goes back. The teacher only transmits knowledge and doesn't make copies of himself, and especially doesn't turn his students into fans of him.

When I realized that earthly teachers were wrong, I came to the main conclusion that there should be no idols or authorities in the human world for me. When a person becomes the object of people's worship, their ego swells and sooner or later will burst like a balloon. Those who worship their idols give them their energy and time. Human attention is an important resource. They seem to pump the object of their worship with vital energy, which, as a rule, leads to collapse sooner or later. As a person grows spiritually, they should not join in with the crowd at all.

The second important conclusion I made for myself was that only stealth and playing helps to survive in this world. So, the earthly teachers were just a stage for me. Because demand creates supply, we were taught by those who were one step ahead of us in terms of spiritual development, having no body density but having knowledge. People called them gods and they had different names for these creatures in every nation.

Let's say there are two areas of study. I'm a sophomore. I am a worthy student in this field. The curator is my friend, but he is insubordinate to me. Because he is a deity, you are a child to him, and he doesn't have the animal instincts that you do. If you get naked in front of him, at least, he won't lust after you. He will admire you as much as a swan admires a pond. Deities like humans know how to love and can even fall in love with people. This is similar to how a person loves their cat or dog. The patronage of the curator allowed me to meet the dean and the director of my department. They are influential figures in both the human world and the world of non-humans, and their appreciation for me is not free. I do what they ask, and in return, I receive buns in the form of knowledge, power and material goods from them.

The story of 1. The demonologist. Specialist in sub-settlers.

This is how my life has transformed. The realm of demons has become more captivating than the human world. Demons and incubi have become my companions. And among them, Anastasia Petrovna stands out as the most remarkable individual, deserving of our attention.

Imagine a woman in her late forties, a woman of steel, who, judging by her wardrobe, appears to have been frozen in time in the 1920s. Naturally, she smokes, and her menthol cigarette is slender, as is the pipe she carries. Anastasia Petrovna smokes with grace and delight. This esteemed lady and I have agreed to meet in St. Petersburg.

Anastasia Petrovna is a professional demonologist who specializes in people who are possessed by demons. These are people who have demons living inside them. This might sound surprising, but there are many such people in the world. Some individuals of the human race live their lives without even realizing that they have a demon living inside them.

Sometimes, this is a parasitic relationship where the demon feeds off the vital energy of the host, but sometimes the demon can also help its host in various ways. It often happens that the demon helps the person achieve great success in their career and work, while protecting them from harm. These people and the demons who live inside them are called symbionts, or co-inhabitants. They are not fully human, but they look like ordinary people.

The purpose of our meeting with Anastasia was to share experiences. She invited me to a very expensive restaurant, where it is not clear which fork is meat and which is fish. Even though I was wearing decent clothes and had diamonds on my hands and ears, I still didn't feel comfortable. If I hadn't been cold and reserved and looked at people as if they were nothing. They wouldn't even let me in this pretentious place.

Anastasia was already waiting for me, smoking and drinking coffee from a beautiful mug.

"You're late." Sit down. – The phrase was an order that brooked no objections.

I took out my phone and looked at the time.

– No, I'm on time. You're the one who came earlier. I answer coldly, sitting down at her table.

A waiter approached us, as pretentious as the restaurant in which we were sitting.

– Madam, we don't smoke here. He turned hysterically to Anastasia Petrovna.

– And I smoke. Anastasia Petrovna said.

– I have to fine you, we don't.. .– The waiter did not finish.

– I'll pay the fine. And so (she took out $100 from her purse) This is for you, leave us girls alone. Katya, do you want coffee? I nodded. I'll have another cognac, please.– She said importantly with a kind of bantering smile, crossing her legs.

The waiter left, taking the money. He returned two minutes later with a cappuccino and a drink in a rich jug.

After that, we got straight to the point. I shared my experiences with Gods and spirits, and Anastasia told me about her practice of working with the mentally ill. She has a doctorate in psychology and psychotherapy. Well, as she explained. Twenty years of experience in psychiatric hospitals. After working there for many years, she realized that such hospitals do not treat the mentally ill, especially if the patient has a serious illness such as schizophrenia. At least, the treatment that doctors give their patients does not help them. The fact is that psychology is the science of the soul. Modern science does not recognize the soul as such. Only the flesh and blood of our bodies is what our science perceives. But the soul exists and it is very vulnerable.

Anastasia's family had either a sorcerer's great-grandfather or a whisperer's grandmother, but that's not the point. The bottom line is that she had the rights to witchcraft and began to move along this path. Having learned something, she began to apply her knowledge in practice, including to the patients of the psychiatric hospital in which she worked. She fumigated the spaces of the premises with herbs.

Anastasia whispered and conjured. Purifying the auras of her patients, whom she was assigned to as a doctor. Her patient was getting better, but they were not completely cured. One of her patients was schizophrenic. Anastasia called him Cyril. Cyril has a crazy dad. Kirill became Anastasia's guinea pig and the love of her life. It was with the help of this experience gained with Kirill that she became one of the elite, a very rare and highly focused specialist. She told me the principle of the technique. The essence of this technique is that through the eyes you need to enter the head (the mental space of a person) into his thoughts and feelings. Warning that this is a very energy-consuming ritual, and sometimes even dangerous for your consciousness.

– Every person has his own demon Katya. The demons in people can be so powerful that they can even crush you mentally. If you feel in danger, immediately disconnect from the person. – Flicking a cigarette into an ashtray, she instructed me.

– But what type of people besides practitioners and mystics has such a powerful sub-tenant that his power can harm your consciousness too? – I asked.

"The killers. Maniacs. The mercenaries. – That was her answer.

The lecture continued. I learned from Anastasia that souls can also be collected. Only the souls of those people who are dead, and their souls are torn to shreds. It is important to find images of these people, their faces, and necessarily their names.

– The name Katya is not only what you call yourself, it's who you feel like. – Anastasia said, and with that our meeting came to an end.

Yes, she's completely right about that. The most important method of witchcraft is the name. Words rule this world. Only he who knows the true names is omnipotent. Whoever identified himself revealed himself to the enemy and has already been defeated. Therefore, in the West, children are given many names. Therefore, at baptism they are called by the name. All rituals fall on people through the name, too. A person's name is the key to it.

Story 2 .The death of a sorcerer.

I'd rather not go on about my husband's car, but I have to say that it wasn't a pleasant experience. I don't enjoy driving, especially in his car, and we seem to have a difficult relationship. Throughout the journey, I had an uneasy feeling that something unpleasant would happen. And sure enough, that's exactly what happened.

The weather turned cloudy and dark quickly. I turned on the radio to distract myself, but after listening for about half an hour, I began to swear profanely at the DJs. I can't help wondering if they're smoking or taking drugs, but that's not my place to judge. In today's world, where everyone seems to be doing something wrong, I'm the only one who stays sober and avoids all harmful substances. That may be why I'm always feeling so sad.

So, let's sum up. The Novgorod region. Spring is a car and I. And I got stuck in the mud. Well, rather, the car got stuck. I'm trying to get out. No way. I'm stuck. The internet is down, the connection is poor. The place where I'm stuck is near the village of Malye Gavnyuki. The name is different, of course, but that's how I'll refer to it.

Night had fallen, and I decided to leave my car and walk to the village. I wasn't scared, but I was furious. I was hungry, and the desire to eat was overwhelming. It was a strong, almost uncontrollable urge. I gathered my things and headed towards the only house with lights on.

The village of Malye Gavnyuki was abandoned like many other Russian villages. In the distance, I saw an old, leaning church and a cemetery. From a distance, it was clear that the cemetery was in disrepair. The moonlight illuminated the scene, making it eerily beautiful. The fog added to the atmosphere, and the crows' cawing in the churchyard completed the picture.

It was like a scene from a horror movie, but there was no need for special effects. The atmosphere was enough to create a sense of dread and unease. However, despite the eerie surroundings, my hunger was still the main focus. I continued walking towards the house, determined to find food.

I was tired, angry, and hungry, but I guess I wasn't scared. As I moved towards the house with the light on, it felt like it was guiding me, focusing my attention on my goal.

At some point, walking to the house became very difficult. My path was through knee-high grass and waist-high shrubs, and it seemed like an unknown force was trying to pull me down. It felt like a sticky web was flying into my face, but I wiped it away with a handkerchief and kept going. Invisible bonds seemed to be holding me back, but finally, I understood what was happening. These creatures are called shaitans, or lesser demons.

I concentrated and said to myself, "I forbid you, it is my will to leave you behind."

Then I move freely, reaching the cabin. His life and time were not spared. The house was old, dilapidated and dirty, with a rickety porch. But it is clear that people live in this house.

I'm knocking. An old man opens the door for me, with an old wrinkled face and evil unpleasant eyes. I would call those eyes young with a devilish twinkle.

– Hello. Let the owner in for the night. The car is broken, the connection is not working. I'm tired, hungry, and I think I have a cold. – Sneezing at the same time, I said.

– Well, come in, if you've come. – Said the grandfather.

When I entered this strange old man's house, I felt dizzy. I just crossed the threshold of the house and it was like I was hit in the back of the head with a mace. I even swayed a little.

– The girl is strong. It's a pity that she's not a man, it would be better if she were. – the old man grumbled.

I felt sick. It was like my body's battery had run out and I was completely drained. "Don't shout, go lie down and sleep. There was metal in the old man's voice. He gave an order that could not be questioned. Besides, I did not have the strength to argue.

Now, I understand that a force led me to the old man. I do not know what his powers are for. I know that my car didn't stall by accident half a kilometer from his house. This isn't a coincidence. The old man is a sorcerer, and very skilled. If it weren't for the protection the curator gave me, he would have broken my will and I would be at his mercy. Even though I didn't bow, I still owe him. I have nowhere to go. I feel sick and cold, and I don't have any cash on me. Everything is on my card. I don't even wear gold right now. I only have a silver ring and three cubic zirconia earrings in my ears. Yes, I am a fool. But if I'm here, that's what my supervisor needs. There are no accidents in my life, and this is probably another quest he has for me.

I sat down where the elderly man indicated. I began searching through the bag that was attached to Ingaverin's belt. I found it, placed it in my mouth, and swallowed it.

"What is your name?"-the wizard asked, sitting at the table and smoking.

"Whatever you want to call it,"– I replied.

"Brown eyes,"– suggested the owner of the house.

"That will do,"-I agreed.

"Where were you heading?"– The sorcerer continued the questioning.

"To Veliky Novgorod," – I answered.

"There is nothing great about Novgorod. It is a place of ruins and poverty, with numerous churches. Its greatness lies in the past. Are you ready to eat?" the old man inquired.

"Yes,"– I replied.

That's how our friendship with the sorcerer began. I stayed with him for a while. I wrote a message to my husband that I was alive and well, and I was stuck in the village, it is unclear for how long. The next day, the first thing I did was contact the car evacuation agency, but it took me a while to reach an agreement with them. After long conversations, the agency and I agreed that they would arrive in three days, picking me up and evacuating my car at the same time. After settling all the issues related to money and calling my husband back, I started cleaning the wizard's house. Thus, having decided to thank the host for the hospitable reception. There was a lot of work. The house was dirty, the linen hadn't been washed, the floors hadn't been washed, and the carpets hadn't been knocked out. Of course, there was nothing to wash things with, but I was lucky, I found an upholstery cleaner in the car. I washed and cleaned everything with it. However, my husband will have to buy this expensive product again. My grandfather wasn't at home while I was doing the housework. He went into the forest. Saying at the same time that we will have something to eat for dinner. By lunchtime, I fucked up, no, not in the literal sense of the word. The wizard's house was shiny and fragrant, and now my energy was everywhere. After cleaning, I smeared my hands with cream and passed out. I woke up in the evening. From what was sizzling on the stove.

"Are you awake?" -Sit down to eat, you've earned it. – the old man told me.

We ate. For dinner there were mushrooms, potatoes with onions and garlic. In short, it will go hungry.

Suddenly, the old man started coughing. The sorcerer spat out blood. It hit me right away.

"You're dying." – I said affirmatively.

He looked at me so angrily. I was even scared. But the old man pulled himself together and restrained himself.

– Not yet. But soon. The sorcerer replied coldly.

We continued the conversation. The old man asked more about me than he told about himself. I told him that I had been married for a long time and that I had a child. That I miss my son and really want to go home. She said that in 3 days a tow truck would come for me and my car.

– In three days you will not leave me. – The old man told me.

I didn't really like this phrase, so I decided to have a discussion with the owner of my temporary accommodation.

"Listen, I have a husband and a young child. They will be lost in this world without me if I leave. Please, let me go,"– I asked, feeling sorry for myself.

He replied, "No, only in a week. Then you can come back."

Surprisingly, he was right. Three days later, the company that I had hired to help me get out of Malye Gavniuki village called and said that, due to technical issues, they would only be able to arrange transportation for me in six days.

I tried to reach my husband, but it was difficult. When I finally got through, I told him about the delay. After making sure everything was okay with him and our son, I ended the call.

So I stayed with the sorcerer for six days. My life with him was quite tolerable. The only problem was flooding the bathhouse and washing with household soap. I was afraid of going bald, but then I thought of asking the owner for chamomile and nettle. By making a decoction and rinsing my hair with it, I saved it.

"How do you even live here alone?" I asked the old man. "Aren't you bored and lonely?" I continued. "You don't have TV, a mobile or landline, and of course, the Internet."

He answered me ominously, "I don't need a phone. There's no one to call and no one who calls me. Everyone who talked to me and loved me is in their grave, waiting for me to return".

We spent six days talking. I cleaned and cooked. The peasant came twice with food for the old man and me on a gazelle. It was noteworthy that the sorcerer never paid. I asked about it. The owner of the house answered: "He owes me a lot". I saved his son from death. I performed a miracle. He returned from war alive without a scratch.

The wizard did not have access to the internet or television. However, he did have a large bookcase, dating back to the Soviet era. Among the books, there were also works on the subject of a man making a pact with the devil. Within a week, I had read "The Tribulation of Satan".

The owner of the house had been away for an extended period, leaving for three or four hours at a time. Towards the end of my stay, the old man's condition deteriorated, and he eventually fell ill. By the sixth day, he had fallen ill and could not rise from his bed. The wizard was fading like a candle, his vital energy draining away. He forbade me under strict orders not to even mention doctors or hospitals. I agreed only to administer the painkillers I had brought with me.

I beheld his demise. I felt no pity for him, nor did I feel remorse. Living among the people and in the realm of night has imbued me with a sense of cruelty and cynicism. Yet I also respect the right to one's own choices. I had no doubt that, had the sorcerer desired, he could have healed himself. But he chose to depart. Death does not exist for children alone. It is mortals who fear it, fearing the unknown. Death is but a transitory phase, akin to the shedding of a snake's old skin.