Path book 1 Igor chapter 8-1

A strong gust of wind blows the smoke away, and a wide street opens up to us. A hefty black machine is stomping on it, slowly rearranging its six paws. It can be seen that it is damaged, in some places the armor is dented and twisted. It's half a kilometer away, and it's not as big as the one the Keepers showed me, but it's also big-about eighty meters high. It's like a walking twenty-five-story building.

From behind a pile of rubble on the other side of the street, a group of three massive machines drives out. Most of all they resemble tanks, only, for some reason, on wheels, small turrets with long thick gun barrels sticking out of them are visible from above. The turrets aimed their guns at the reaper, and a heart-rending roar filled the air. Continuous trails of torn and twisted air stretched from the guns, they rested in the middle of the black body of the creature. The Reaper swayed, fragments and pieces of armor flew from it, it turned, growled, turning towards the tanks. With a lucky shot, a hefty layer of armor was chipped off from the reaper, and with a roar that covered the howl of the cannons, it crashed into the ruins, crushing them. Clouds of dust floated down the street. But the reaper did not give up, a dazzling ruby ray shot out from its lower part and rested on the tank on the far left. He stood for a while surrounded by a sparkling film of a power shield, a moment later the shield burst, and the beam touched the armor, there was a loud hiss, sparks flew, and the tank disappeared in a blinding flash. We were hit by a shock wave, a pile of debris and small stones. The other two tanks did not stop firing, so the tracks converged on one place of the already damaged reaper armor, broke through it, and the shells began to hide inside. Suddenly, the reaper straightened up, leaned on the dilapidated building standing at the back, seemed to glow white from the inside, and the rear part exploded with a bang, collapsing the building to the end. The Reaper, thrown back by the explosion, blazing with crimson fire from the joints of the armor, collapsed along the street, raising a cloud of dust.

I squatted down, and my hand touched something soft.... I look down and see a very young girl, almost a girl, Azari — she's probably not even thirty yet, her body is half covered with debris. She's wearing a once-white, but now purple-brown unik, a bar of rebar sticking out of her chest, and a black-brown pool of congealed blood around her body. Pain and surprise were frozen in his wide-open lilac eyes, his left arm was torn off, and the handle of the Apostol was tightly clenched in his right hand. The shotgun itself is crumpled and mangled. I reach out and close her eyes. Inside is a cold, heavy lump of hatred and pain. A hand touches my shoulder, and I start and wake up.