"Are you done laughing?" Fogrem waited until Rakat was out of breath before patiently asking. He pushed a cup of tea over. "Let's make do with a drink to moisten your throat, the conditions on board are average."

"I don't need anything like that!" Rakat was furious, losing his balance because he had spit out too much of his tongue, and slapped it downwards at the bottom of the box. Vogrim put his hand on the rim of the cup in time to block the dust that had been stirred up.

"I'm sorry," he looked sincere, "I forgot you didn't have a throat." ”

"Bah, ......" Rakat spat out dust foam for a long time, and his voice suddenly increased an octave, "Forget! When did we set this feature up for you! ”

"No, no." There was no shame on Fogham's face that his lies had been exposed, or rather he had lied without considering the question of credibility. "I'm sorry, we humans don't have a throat, ah no, to be precise, we can't speak when we only have faces......"

"Humans? What kind of human are you! Rakat interrupted him abruptly, "Your flesh is more delicate than the engine of pain, and your mind is more deranged than giggling hatred, even the dregs of Erin Drach will praise you!" His face was full of distorted pride and arrogance, which made his already hideous face even more inhuman.

An extremely oppressive silence enveloped the room, and for a moment only the sound of candles bursting. It was only after a while that Fogham had his chest heaved as if he remembered that he could breathe.

Smile. He said to himself, smiling.

Why?

Oh, smiling will make you more like a person, people will laugh, people will be happy when they laugh, they will be friendly.

People also laugh and do evil, laugh and cry.

But you have to smile, it means you're not out of control, you're Vogrim, you know why you're smiling.

You're happy.

But you don't want him to laugh anymore.

The corners of his lips curled gracefully. "Yes, what you said is not bad at all, I am a moving natural disaster, the embodiment of pain."

Fogrem's figure was cast against the wall behind him by candles, facing the god of saturn. Saturn, as always, gnawed at the child's shoulder, his bulging eyes bloodshot as if he had seen something frightened. "Do you want to guess...... How many of the arts that you and your colleagues have stuffed into my head? ”

The tall and graceful shadows spread slowly like ink, smearing the patterns of the wallpaper, crawling slowly across the ceiling like some kind of corrosive fluid, and at first glance it seemed to be some kind of mirror-like darkness. But if you look closely, you will find that it is the illusion of a layered layer of shadows arranged in an orderly manner like scales, and there is still room for a gray color at the edges. The candlelight dimmed, and Rakat's teeth creaked. But the sweet voice continued: "They say that the Blood Servants are the Lord of Pain, do you think this will be true?" Or are you, like mediocre beings, only good at creating rather than experiencing suffering? ”

"Enough!" Rakat roared, "Stop, I'll tell you what you need to know!" ”

The deep shadows that engulfed most of the room closed like petals, shrinking, condensing back to the silhouette of the original. Fogrem reached out his white hand and picked up the teacup and blew on the vapor. "Fear is a necessity of life, don't be too embarrassed."

Rakat's scarlet eyes rolled upward, as if he didn't like the low view. "As if you know a lot, our 'remains', I don't remember putting such a thing on you."

"I didn't," said Foggrim, "but I tasted yours...... Tastes good. ”

Then he tasted embarrassment and irritation.

"Say," said Rakat with a lack of interest, as he always did when he didn't see anything tortured. "I can't hear the engine turning...... Your poor little boat has finally stopped? If you want me to say it's really like this. What are the troubles you are facing now? Hyenas in subspace? Imperial? Or my compatriots? ”

Rakat babbled for a long time, full of delusions and suggestions about the tragic fate of the trio, mixed with all kinds of practical knowledge of physical modification, and only when he talked about the details of the seventh maintenance of the Pain Engine did Foggrim interrupt the Blood Servant. "Luo Jia."

"Oh, it turned out to be Roga, I thought it was ......" Rakat muffled the tip of his tongue as he looked at Fogreme.

"Luo Jia?" After a while, he asked in a whisper.

"Luo Jia." Fogrem nodded.

"Roga O'Leon?" Rakat's voice trembled.

"Roga O'Leary, my seventeenth brother." Fogreme's eyes were sincere.

Rakat was numb and silent for a few moments, then lay back into the box. "Turn it off for me."

"Didn't I teach you to say 'please' when you ask for help."

"Please turn it off for me, thank you. I was talking too loudly just now, but now I think it's pretty good, and it would be nice if you could throw me into space. ”

Fogrem leaned back into his favorite chair and sipped his tea. "I'm afraid it's not going to work, we're now on Colchis 10,000 years ago, and Luo Jia is just outside your two walls, I hope he's asleep by now."

He said in a proud tone, "He'll be eating by himself today." ”

There was silence, and there was some kind of suspicious turning sound in the wooden box. "You're finally crazy?"

Fogrem lowered his head, his thin eyebrows furrowed. "When others praise children, you have to cater to them, has no one taught you?"

"The last time I complimented the cubs, it seemed to say, 'This little thing in the amniotic fluid duct looks good.'"

"It's okay, it's just that it's doubled in the past few days......"

"I didn't ask you!"

"Oh." Fogham replied smugly.