He hurriedly ran through the dark streets carrying the goods his master needed. A long animal skin coat wrapped his partially shed skin and helped him protect the goods in his hands. He was not curious about the contents of the goods obtained from the church, but simply muttered that he could not lose it.
No, the Master would let those who displeased him die as they were not worthy enough, he had seen many times, those miserable creatures weakly decayed on the premise of being worthless, and would not be paid to be dispersed from the depths of Commorragh The price of resurrection in the Bloody Conclave.
He couldn't be stupid enough to let himself suffer that fate, not to mention that he had a message to deliver - a fresh, wet message, not popular enough, but enough to prove that he was his master's best and most trusted servant. He must return to the mansion before any other servant to deliver the big news into the hands of his master.
Thinking of the meaning behind this news made him feel uneasy in his guts. This was a daring challenge, the start and declaration of war of an absurd game of change, but the city's fragile peace did threaten to collapse.
He even thought about running away, because maybe it was too late, and then he felt deeply proud that he made the right choice to try his best to go back. If the master is willing to believe that he is a good servant who dares to face the consequences, he may even get a reward that is enough to support him to continue to live happily in this meaningless and boring life.
He jumped down from the ramp lightly, passed through the floral decorations composed of stone, metal and glass, and ran on the beautifully carved black and green stone steps, hoping that the two interested nightmares on the roadside did not really notice him.
The wastewater on the roadside was filled with hallucinogenic gases composed of pure and fragrant medicines and waste chemicals. If he had not had to protect the goods in his hands, he would have been willing to immerse himself in it temporarily and find a moment on the edge of numbness that was enough to forget all the words. crazy.
He was approaching the corridor of flesh and blood and the luxurious hall where his master was. This is the territory of the Wyatt family. His master has lived here for several generations, experienced many duels between famous families, survived orgies and murders, and informal non-contractual love affairs. So proud of this.
When he approached the pale green stone door of the hall and the gleaming morbid border, he suddenly heard a scream, high enough to penetrate the protective shield that blurred the mansion. He licked his lips, wanting to know what new trick his master was playing that was enough to break through the stimulation threshold.
He waited at the door for the samurai to allow him to return to the mansion. After ten minutes of ineffective waiting and seeing the reflection of a Talos engine's sharp knife on the street corner, he finally opened the door and entered on his own initiative. It made him feel uncomfortable, like being hung on a nail from the roof by his master and ignored: he weighed the situation himself, which was the wrong kind of arrogance.
He walked through the dark front hall as quietly as possible, moving quietly among the corpses with their necks broken, wondering why the owner had played so cleanly this time. He smelled so little pain in the dead, these rare and precious elements of life being sadly wasted, that somehow he felt a deep uneasiness.
boom. The door was knocked against the wall by the wind. The valve leaked due to being left unattended, and he angrily mentally scolded his colleagues who had neglected their duties, cursing them for losing the favor of their master.
In the darkness without light, he followed the footsteps of his memory until his footsteps were blocked by a strange distortion. This made him almost drop the goods in his arms to the ground.
He hurriedly hugged the object that was more important than his soul, groping to confirm the current shape of the twisted corridor - it was like a ruin pushed away by some kind of impact wave, or a drop was enough to change the remains and be with him from now on. The debauched and dissolute life in the past made other surgical solvents fall into the dilute emulsion, and the entire reality was tampered with and deformed by unknown forces.
He climbed over the collapsed porch, the illusion of his master fading like mist. He was wary of traps, hoping that the debris blocking the stairs wouldn't trip him up. He skirted the sloping pillars and crept under the sagging roofs until he came close to the silver ring carved with rosettes and crescent barbs that hung from the cellar door.
At this moment, he hesitated whether he should enter. But there came a strange voice, with an intolerable accent and a most ugly and strange accent.
Unfortunately, however, the roughness and brutality in the voice captured him, causing him to instantly fall into the pain that this moment brought him.
"Come in, Eldar," said the voice, worth more than the finest narcotic flowers.
He carefully pressed a rosette next to the silver ring, knowing that anyone who touched the silver ring itself would be instantly pierced seven times by long arrows. The master likes Yin Huan very much, and his agreement guarantees that he can be resurrected from the palace of flesh and blood at any time, but a servant does not have such enviable conditions.
Metal, crystal, and polished bone make up the incredibly delicate structures in the cellar; simple pagoda-like cages made of gilded bars are contrasted with giant wire spheres, leaded glass cubes, and intertwined ossuaries; brought down Thorned blades and lighted candlesticks squeezed against each other, forming a jagged and racing bridge as dizzying as the skyline of Commorragh.
In the middle of these complex structures, he saw an unimaginable giant sitting on the ground against the flattest wall in the room.
The giant may have just stood up from the operating stone and left. The epidermis in many places still hangs out of its normal position. However, under the cut and torn skin, there are neither tendons nor exposed pale bones. , not even an ounce of sweet blood leaked out.
He could smell a familiar scent, the scent of his Master, that fragrant and rotten scent that was present in every precious approach, a rare reward, and a punishment to be remembered. Now, this smell is coming from a pool of flesh and blood that has been crushed by some unknown reality-distorting power.
The giant's broken face was illuminated by the candlelight. There was no pain on it, and it even seemed to have no real consciousness. Under the missing cheek is a shadow of pure nothingness, and a golden steel structure hidden within the shadow. This brings out a unique charm beyond flesh and blood art.
The syringes or tubes used to inject the anesthetic and neurotoxin solution had just been removed one by one. Each priceless injection was broken and discarded without mercy, but for some reason, more than ten frosted black needles were left on the scalp. pipeline.
A pile of various indulgence books, murder manuals, dark torture and a small number of cultural reading books that the owner had collected were scattered at the giant's feet, having just been thumbed through at high speed. Somehow, he guessed that the giant had temporarily learned their noble and ancient language from these books.
After he reached the giant's feet, the giant finally gave up and put a severed finger back into his palm. He temporarily placed his fingers on his knees, and the dark gold metal that replaced his broken finger bones flickered in the candlelight.
The giant stared at him, tearing off a piece of skin that could not be removed from his cheek, and then tore off a piece of neck flesh hanging down from his shoulders. More steel and metal are exposed.
"Where is this, Eldar?" he asked. "And the current year and month?"
(End of chapter)
