The small, not so remote, but not so conspicuous cottage had a cone-shaped attic like any house of its kind, perhaps because of the fact that there were only three inhabitants, and the attic was idle, empty, dim, dusty, and full of cobwebs, though it was evident that the owner had worked hard to tidy it up at first—the cardboard boxes and boxes, the film, the plastic foam, the nylon bags that were used to bind and pack the new furniture were folded and stored, neatly stacked in the corners; White, or once white, old sheets covered the chests and crockpots—Hopkins carefully pulled the sheets, and the dust rolled down in layers like puff pastry on Danish bread, and next to a stack of crockpots, he found an old sofa—based on the idea and requirement of "simplicity", the adherents of the Overseeing Sect always liked to use everything until they could no longer use it, and the same was true of this sofa, which was stripped of its bright covers, The rough linen was exposed to the dim light that peeked in through the small dark window, and through its cracks could be seen the springs that had lost their strength were shriveling gloomily in a jumble of earthy sponge fragments and inexplicable textiles.

But this does not mean that it has been completely abandoned by its owner, and Hopkins finds new traces of repair in the wooden feet and handrails, and perhaps in a few days a diligent housewife will climb up the small staircase almost seventy degrees from the ground with a sewing kit or hammer in her hand—the intruder lifts the sheet, shakes it, turns it over and covers the couch, and then moves it into a position so that it can stand firmly under the only small window. He encountered the slightest obstacle in opening the window—the window was locked, the hinges were rusting from long periods of non-use and inferior materials—and when it opened, fresh air with the smell of vegetation poured in. The rain stopped, the clouds cleared, and the clear moonlight formed a strange square on the sofa.

The crudely collapsed makeshift seat made it necessary for Hopkins to stretch his legs, his cleanly washed fingers crossed and folded on his abdomen, the ghoul breathing slowly at a rate of fifteen beats per minute, the temperature of his abdomen gradually spreading through the starched linen shirt to his palm—he moved his neck and unbuttoned a button, the owner of the house was a short, strong man, and the finished shirt had to be modified to make him comfortable. Anthony. Hopkins was tall and thin—his slender fingers paused for a moment on his neck, and the feathery hair on the grey heron's back was still a little damp, and the doctor had never liked the man-made wind. The residual moisture seeped into the sheets resting on the head, creating a large shadow there.

He closed his eyes and entered his own memory palace in a matter of seconds. He walked up the long, steep passage, up the goose-like staircase, until he saw the door. There was an unusual silence behind the door, as if nothing existed, and the ghoul paused in front of that door for a moment, his reddish-brown eyes brightening, then he turned around and pressed the handle of the other door.

The second door was very close to the door that imprisoned the "beast". The style was identical, and to my father's slight surprise, the door was locked today—he knocked on it. Although it was not a gentle breath from the door, it was not a nervous breath, and the door was still closed. Hopkins rejects Anthony. Hopkins' visitation.

***

The door opened. Several people stood against the light, the one at the head of whom was tall and thin.

Sasha looked up. Before that, he had been studying the drawer on the walnut desk—a writing desk that had been born more than half a century ago, and which usually contained no more than a dozen hidden small mechanisms to keep valuable jewels and important documents for the clergy and nobles, and he had not wanted to find anything in it, but it was full of things—a small treasure trove, what we will not repeat here, five hundred years of tribute and accumulation, if not comparable to that true holy place— The most important thing is where the wealth belongs to a country, and the wealth here belongs only to a surname, or even a person.

Harry. Strong Jacob, to be precise, is now Stefan's priest standing in the doorway, looking carefully and clearly—his Messiah. Although his younger brother, that is, Hyman. Strong Jacob's actions made him angry and resentful, but he had to admit that this was what the Messiah should be—pure, radiant, fragrant, and holy...... Unique, and, theirs, his.

But now was not the time, he said to himself, the fruit was not yet ripe, and its stalk was still firmly attached to the sinful tree, and forcibly pulling it would only cause it irreparable damage.

"I'm sorry."

The boy closed the drawer, went around the desk, took two steps forward, and stood under the bronze lamp that hung from the center of the high roof, which was completely enclosed underneath, and although it used a bulb, the light was projected in all directions from the bowl-shaped holder. Hopkins' face is likewise hidden under shallow shadows.

"For everything so far." Stefan said: "Although. Strong's actions didn't come out of my will. ”

"It doesn't matter," Sasha said coldly and softly, "then, what's next?" ”

"I'll do my best to make amends," Stefan said, "Thankfully, nothing has gone wrong – the game is over, your players will receive the best possible treatment as planned, and everyone else can leave at any time and go back to Grande or something." ”

"Including me?"

"Including you," said Stephen, "and your friends, your father, whoever." ”

"Beelzebub. Bisandi? ”

"He's very nice," Stefan said, and on the face of it, he seems to have no qualms: "You can go see him first." ”

***

Slightly unexpected, Beelzebub. Bisandi's situation was not too bad, he was also placed in a room, but there was no furniture or decoration, the roof, walls, and floors were painted with black and red paint, and the air was filled with the familiar smell of roses and blood.

To Sasha's delight, Beelzebub had returned to his original form, a man, a boy, without an extra arm or a leg, naked, naked without the slightest fear or uneasiness except for bruises and slight bleeding.

He was asleep, his chest rising and falling slowly and regularly.

Stefan made a gesture, and a black-clad priest stepped up, poured a potion into Beelzebub's mouth, and then stepped away, and after a few seconds, Beelzebub opened his eyes.

"Good fellow," he said hoarsely, "this is exciting, isn't it, Sasha?" ”

"Can you stand up?" Sasha said, "Go first, or come with me?" ”

Beelzebub blinked quickly, he sat up lazily, moved his limbs, and then his fingers and toes: "I'll go with you." ”

The priest brought a suit of clothing—a black robe, no underwear, no socks or shoes, no waistcoat or shirt, which Beelzebub put on himself and snorted unobtrusively. As he walked down the hallway, he touched Sasha's arm maliciously: "How is it?" I mean...... Honey, it's been a few years since I've been this cool down there. He looked at Sasha—from the waist down, Sasha's robe was very similar to his, but with indescribable finesse and luxury, and the color was white.

Sasha didn't say anything, he just took his friend rudely, Beelzebub wasn't as good as he appeared, he barely made any resistance worth mentioning, he could go, but only walked.

"Where are we going?" Beelzebub asked.

"Go meet my father, ah, the one on earth," Stefan, who walked ahead, replied amicably, "Sage, Jared. Strong Jacob. ”

Jared. Things were very bad for Strong Jacob.

But what is surprising is not this, but that they can really see the sage Jared who is dying, and his life is like a candle in the wind that may be extinguished at any time.

It had only been two or three days since the last time they met, but Jared seemed to have spent the last part of his life left, the dark purple and gold curtains, the face and body exposed in the cloud-white bedding could only be reminiscent of a misshapen walnut - a dry, blackened walnut, his blood was drained, his breath was like nothing, and countless tubes protruded from under the brittle skin of old paper, connected to one medical device after another, and strangely they did not see the doctor, Only a stiff, pale, shrunken one, like a who would receive God's call sooner than his father. Strong Jacob.

What's even stranger is that he was seeing Stefan, his brother, the former Harry. Strong Jacob was indifferent, and only regained some normal energy when he saw Sasha, and he moved his body as if to say something.

Instead of stopping him, Stefan stepped aside so that could confront Hopkins directly.

"You said if I needed ......," said.

"Of course." Sasha said, "But like I said......"

"The best," said, "the strongest—even if it brings death—or something ......else."

"There's no need!"

A sudden voice interrupted their conversation, and its effect was like a giant hammer smashing Heyman's head and spine directly, and the despair and sorrow that rose in his eyes were enough to flood the salt wells of the entire White Salt City.