Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

5
A human once said that there is always a huge gap between ideals and reality.

More than a thousand years have passed since I stepped on the ground with my own feet. The seventh god has arrived at the throne. I watched my good friend, the one and only Black Emperor, fall from the sky, and witnessed the birth of a glorious era in His hands. I witnessed the flames of war sweeping across the land, and the people struggling to survive in despair, leaving behind my favorite scene of desolation and decay. Then, in this peaceful era, I am sitting in a window seat at a cheap coffee shop in Backlund, waiting for the person arranged by the editorial department to come.

Yes, I am an angel. I am working.

My job is to provide scripts and novels for theaters and magazines. I work because I am bored. The purpose of proving my identity as a demon has been achieved, so the annihilation of the previous sect is not a big deal. The sect I re-founded in the Fifth Epoch has grown wildly between war and peace, and it undoubtedly requires a lot of money to set up businesses. Since the death of Russell Gustav, they have not had enough money for a long time. And my allies are also very poor. It's not that they can't make ends meet, but they are often short of funds. Cults are always poor.

I once asked Him when He was awake, "Are all evil gods so poor?"

He replied with a slightly melancholy look, "That's right. The Second and Fourth Ages were OK, but since the Fifth Age, many ways to obtain resources and money have been regulated, and funds have limited the expansion of the sect and its believers."

At this time, I heard one of His followers praying and thoughtfully relaying, “Your Saint said that there is insufficient funding for activities and he wants to seek your guidance.”

He was silent for a moment, and then uttered incoherent mumblings such as "sown, z, ow@nswo!nsn, ds锟斤拷锟斤拷ijwj!sns, #kqnerrorerrorisw@&ns". It seemed that he had fallen into madness due to poverty. However, his chaotic mumblings were mixed with Russian phrases such as "no money", "no use looking for me", and "go make money". He ignored prayers and tried to escape from reality.

It was too miserable. How did the Rose Bishops make money? Did they have to perform flesh and blood magic? So I said, "I'll sponsor a small plantation."

"Okay." He answered without hesitation, then paused and continued mumbling in an attempt to cover up his mistake.

6
The person arranged by the editorial department seems to be the current best-selling novelist. I met her once. Her decadent and self-destructive appearance, as well as her soul that was once contaminated with contraband, could make a devil feel somewhat favorable towards her. The only drawback is that she is not really willing to degenerate. Under her seemingly lifeless appearance, she hides a strong desire to survive, which is extremely annoying.

The wind chimes at the door rang, and I looked up and saw a young woman with long, slightly curly brown hair walking quickly towards me and sitting opposite me.

"Good afternoon, Miss Forth Wall."

As a polite gentleman, I stood up and took the initiative to greet her: "It seems that you have brought a very interesting story."

She smiled tiredly, and the dark circles under her eyes and the fact that she was more than half an hour late exposed the fact that she was on a deadline. Miss Fors sat down, took out a thick manuscript from her bag, and placed it on the table.

It's a lot. I glanced at the three-centimeter-thick paper. Although the information can be obtained in an instant, I, who plays the role of a human, have to pretend to read them word by word, not too fast or too slow, and use various facial expressions and movements to show the proper posture of a human reading. I hope this story is really interesting. I took it with a smile, pushed my glasses and started to read it. I have to finish reading it quickly. Later today, I have to report to my crazy ally about His divine advent, and communicating with Him often wastes a lot of time listening to His mumbling.

For this reason, He specially gave me a seal, which is both a protection and a symbol of alliance. It is a small cross, which He held when He was still the "Sun". It can effectively resist the influence of pollution and whispers, including all kinds of filthy spirits.

This is an impeccable gift, but...

But, I am a "devil".

At least I am a demon on the surface, and this sealed object was given to me and asked me to carry it with me. My first reaction after hearing the news was "He doesn't trust me" and "He is testing my true path." I was cautious about this for at least ten years. Later, I confirmed through daily conversations that He didn't think so much at all, He just really didn't think about it.

Hanging it on my chest would make me look too clerical, and I am not a believer in the Hanged Man. In the end, I chose to make this small pure cross into an earring.

7
Fors Wall stretched out her hand and pressed her forehead, her eye sockets also hurt. In the one-week deadline, she spent the first six days leisurely, but the price was that she almost stayed up all night last night, and was still writing furiously until half an hour before she arrived. Procrastination cannot be cured, and it will never be cured in this life. Only by meeting the deadline can you submit it on time.

She yawned slightly, preparing to finish the conversation quickly and go back to sleep, and squinted her eyes to look at her collaborator sitting opposite her.

Mr. Edward Vaughan is a well-known writer in Backlund. He is often commissioned to write operas and occasionally novellas. However, most of his works are very formal, with hidden tragedies and many satires. They were very popular in his early years, but now people mostly yearn for light comic operas or more entertaining dramas. His audience is often just the same serious academic scholars and old-fashioned gentlemen.

I'm not sure about working with such an old-fashioned, er, no, serious senior... The female writer who is best at using romantic novels to attract people's attention scratched her head. Sigh, but the reward for this script cooperation is generous. If it can be successfully concluded, I can plan a New Year's travel plan at the end of this year, and maybe I can take Xio with me...

"Miss Wall."

The other party's gentle call interrupted her wandering thoughts.

"Miss Wall."

Fors was startled, and raised her head to find that the other person was staring at her. The eyes were dark, and behind the lenses there was a dim light, like a void. The dark irises almost merged with the pupils, making it difficult to distinguish. "Yes." She was a little embarrassed, "What's wrong?"

"According to your plot, the hero dies in an accident between a pair of lovers who love each other deeply. The heroine is extremely sad and determined to avenge her lover." Mr. Edward adjusted his glasses and spread a page of manuscript on the table. He read very seriously, "But the poor heroine is limited in ability. In the end, it was their friends who came to help and caught the murderer... Miss Wall, I remember that the editorial department requested a comedy."

"It is indeed a comedy." Fors sat up straight with a little embarrassment. "With her help, the friend caught the murderer and made him get the punishment he deserved. Isn't this a comedy? Ah, sorry, this is my first time participating in drama creation, so there may be some discrepancies between my understanding and yours..."

"Young lady, this is hardly a comedic ending."

Mr. Edward Vaughan commented: "... lack of tension and explosiveness. Since revenge is needed, why can't this poor lady kill her enemy herself? Although she is weak, she is not weak. The power of hatred and love will make her extremely powerful. If she succeeds, everyone will applaud her beautiful appearance of crying tears of joy while bathing in the blood of her enemies. If she dies for this, it will be a moving tragedy. The weak defeating the strong and righteous revenge are the audience's favorite plots. I believe you should have seen "The Return of the Count". I like it very much, this famous play by Emperor Roselle."

"You're right." Fors thought for a moment. "This is my first attempt at scriptwriting. I forgot the difference between novels and plays, so I wasn't bold enough. I'll go back and make some changes... Do you have any other suggestions?"

“No, Miss. Your writing is excellent, but because of your cautiousness and conservatism, the plot drags it down.” The middle-aged gentleman with dark brown hair had a gentle smile on his face, which made people relax and want to get close to him. He sorted out the manuscript intact and returned it to Fors. “I am very much looking forward to the final result of our cooperation.”

If this play is successfully bought by the theater, I can get at least 30% of the profit, which is nearly 100 pounds! Great, it seems that this year's New Year's trip is settled. Not only can I take Hugh with me, but I may even have a surplus! Of course, the most important thing is to go back to sleep quickly - Fors was overjoyed and immediately replied: "Thank you, Mr. Vaughan."

8
"You are the essence of withering."

"You are the great being behind the veil of shadows. You are the monarch from the land of deep darkness."

Amidst the layers of prayers, one voice overwhelmed them all. Edward calmly stirred the coffee at hand, added a sugar cube and a spoonful of milk, raised it to his lips and took a sip. His pure black eyes looked at the street outside the glass wall, reflecting the people passing by like a mirror. After Fors left, He stayed here, drinking coffee while enjoying the afternoon city scenery, waiting for the call of his allies.

"You are the Eye that Watches the Living, the Merciful Edward Vaughan."

Edward turned his head and looked far away at the source of the prayer. In the almost dark room, a person was standing quietly in the shadows, bowing his head and praying. Judging from his stature, he was a man. A strand of long hair slipped down from the corner of the hood covering his face, revealing only a little bit of his face, which looked soft and strange, almost feminine. This was an acquaintance. There were many crazy believers under the ally, and he must be one of them.

Mr. A felt the gaze from afar, but he continued to pray without changing his expression: "…Respected Angel of the Abyss, my Lord has just sent down an oracle. The time has come. I invite you to go to His sanctuary for a conversation."

Edward nodded and responded, "I see."

He extinguished the prayer scene, silently chanted the name of the true Creator in his heart, and then felt a roar of chaotic whispers in his ears, and a wisp of consciousness was accurately located by the ally through a very long distance, and then was taken away. When he opened his eyes again, he was already standing in the deepest shadow kingdom of God. The constantly wriggling flesh and broken limbs were the floor under his feet, and there were piles of fragmented human bodies and bones covered with traces of corrosion everywhere. On the peak in the distance stood an inverted cross that was taller than the mountain. The evil god hanging upside down on it was covered with blood. A blood-red vertical eye moved up and down for a few seconds, and then stared at him.

"Good afternoon, ally."

Edward was used to it. He used the black cane of unknown material in his hand to push away the flesh tentacles that tried to entangle His legs and feet, with a gentle smile on his face: "You look in good condition now."

The voice of the true Creator rumbled, the flesh and blood knelt, and the corpse trembled: "What's the situation?"

"It went very smoothly." Edward said, "The seeds have been planted, and the mother's emotions are stable, but the assistant is not at peace, and there are still some signs of twisted fate. I will continue to help you watch everything."

9
"By the way." After the detailed information exchange, I said, "While you are in good condition, do you want to try the cake I just learned?"

Hearing this, the True Creator's red eyeballs shook violently, and before I could continue to say anything, He threw me out along with the space I was standing in. I didn't even have time to say a few more words. What a great way to end the conversation, I'll use it again next time - I returned to the cafe and heard His roar coming intermittently from the sanctuary, echoing in my ears:

"do not want!"

"It's nasty, British... it's nasty, eat it yourself!"

I downed my cold coffee, stood up to pay the bill, and felt confident in my ability to act human.

TBC
①The script is alluding to Daly, but you can imagine what will happen.

② Edward's cooking is delicious, and the reason he cooks bad food is to play the stereotype of "Englishman". Zhenzao is scared after eating it. Zhenzao: Don't be a human being.

(End of this chapter)