"I hate you." Rakat said.

"Are you already so lacking in language?" Fogreme topped himself a new cup of warm tea. His kettle was unnecessarily made of copper, and some memoirs might recognize it as a Chemothy style, elegant, refined, and easy to use. A small porcelain dish was placed aside, and a few pieces of freshly cut sugar cubes were laid on the crystal paper.

However, there are subtle cracks in the uneven glaze of the glossy porcelain plate, and the oil paint underneath it shimmers with a brilliant blue...... Although none of the users will care. And the strange color of the small sugar cubes shows some signs of danger. Fogreme's eyes swept over with regret, glad that Rakat's knowledge of the Empire's property was largely confined to organisms.

Although they are well aware of each other's gold and jade, the face is still subtle and wrong, and it is also in line with the nature of intelligent beings.

There is no way, these precious belongings of his have been fished out from the last nest that is about to collapse, and some small flaws are also deserved...... He didn't want to make some tricks that would challenge Shelley's tolerance. Tech Priests can survive with energy and research projects, while Midnight Lords can munch on everything from rodents to terracotta rations. But Vogrim ...... Vogrim needs to live.

But real life, not survival, requires a cumbersome and lengthy process. Since the conception of the concept, it has been an accidental thing for a short time, and only a handful of people have been accustomed to it. And even more so in empires that are scattered like biscuits in various worlds.

It's no secret that unless you transform into a guy who trades desserts to the subspace, supplies will forever haunt your journey through the Void, from the Rogue Trader to the Sun Lord—and you'll probably get a slight deviation from both the concepts of "after-dinner" and "dessert."

As long as you don't eat your dessert, it's not too bad.

"Because I've just used up all the adjectives that work for you." "You're all freaks, bastards, undead sons of subspace, and Roga O'Leary...... Oh my God, O'Learian, he is the vanguard of the gods, don't you know how he carries the words of the gods? In the bones of almost every prophet I have tasted, his name is surrounded by praise and weeping. ”

"It's not that mysterious...... Fogham struggled with Rackat's ever-faster pace, "and he would even apologize three times in a conversation." ”

Contrary to this, the Blood Servant was even more annoyed, and the phoenix tasted both the grotesque face and the aura he exuded...... As if he had been born to know, he knew that this cold, numb, and vague touch should be named fear, and he was intoxicated for a moment.

Rakat's sharp nose twitched. "Only a cursed race like you would tolerate such a bane, you darlings of the irritating gods!"

"Is this unfair to a race, or even an individual, who personally assisted in the birth of a dark god......" Fogham's purple eyes fixed on the remnant of the dark Eldar creation, a pathetic creature who thought he was the greatest Blood Servant - and who may have personally fleshed out her fallen role before the fall of the Eldar Empire.

"Yes, we desecrated all ancient morals and sprinkled the blood of our fellow citizens in holy places, but what we thought we did at that time did not cost anything! And now...... Even in Comoros, this monster goes beyond the boundaries of what can be entertained. He brought flames, and then ashes. Seriously, what madman would want to raise him? ”

The voice transcended the deafening boundary: "And there are three in front of me!" Oh my God, in the name of the black-hearted muse, what the hell is this madness! ”

"Crazy?"

"Any objections?"

"I'm just surprised—no, I should be surprised, the galaxy's oldest and greatest flesh magician condemning me for my mental stability problems?"

Fogham raised an eyebrow, and in many exchanges they had become accustomed to this kind of unnutritious taunt, and regarded it as a kind of lubrication. Because if we express each other's views directly, I am afraid that it will allow it to evolve into an unchanging mutual attack.

Rakat snorted heavily. "I'm working for survival and pleasure, and you seem to be killing yourselves."

"Or else?" Fogham threw in a sugar cube, "What do you think we should do?" Press the chainsaw sword to his neck and turn on the maximum rev? If we die so easily, we would be lucky. ”

He watched as the sugar cubes melted in the boiling tea. "Do I need to remind you how many times my dear good son has died? Handsome Lucius, disgusted Lucius...... He burst out of a space necromancer's body because the iron skeleton felt cold satisfaction? Ha, the worst playwright would not write such a paradoxical story. Because of Slaanesh—"

"Don't say that name!"

"Well, Lady hasn't grown tired of the fun this toy brings. No matter how broken he was, she would always pick it up and mend it. The only rule in the chess game of the gods is their own mind. What else can I do to jump off the board and yell 'I don't want to play anymore'? ”

"Don't lecture me with such words." Rakat muttered, "I'm much more authoritative than you about her capriciousness." ”

"You speak this like a personal servant who is dissatisfied with the mistress." Fogham picked up the second sugar cube, knowing that his interlocutor had relented.

Rakat let out an unpleasant hissing laugh as the lack of mouth looked like a leaky rubber ball. "How apt...... Eternal slavery, we reap the pain for her, but we can never taste it ourselves. ”

"Is it possible," the phoenix slid the third piece down the inner wall of the teacup, "that a realistic creature can survive without the suffering of others?" ”

"Perhaps," the Blood Servant grinned, "I've forgotten the joy of not feeding on pain, even long, long before our empire fell, and that was it. ”

Phoenix silently poured the remaining sugar cubes from the porcelain plate into the cup, and Rakat leaned back in disgust to avoid the splash. "yes, that's what you are."

At a time when the Spirit Empire was still thriving, the Blood Servants stood high in the halls, leading the revelry to depravity, and the noble creatures, tired of the pleasures of the world, abandoned the ancient and dull gods, despised the stars for their dreams of destroying them, and spit on all principles and moderation for the sake of a new stimulation of the senses.

And so the empire, as strong and glorious as the galaxy, dried up and evaporated like fresh blood on their plates. Did the gods spread the sin, or did the sinners of sentient beings give birth to the gods to take revenge for their deeds?

Vogrim didn't know. All he knew was that the Blood Servants no longer cared about these old things, and focused on their new masterpieces. With screams as music and pain as the aroma, they walked and snaked their steps with fresh blood.

But why, did he taste the bitterness of grief in Rakat's emotions?