"This is the third time you've come to see me tonight." Without waiting for Langman Griffin to speak, Azathoth said to himself, "It seems I slightly underestimated your ambition."
Langman's heartbeat suddenly accelerated, and he did not regard the other party's words as a joke out of avoidance.
"…What do you mean by third time?"
"Don't you remember?" Azathoth shrugged and opened the door a little wider. "Come in. You have no other choice anyway."
Langman looked at this room, which he should have been very familiar with, and after hesitating for a moment, he walked in with a sullen face. He looked around cautiously but didn't find anything special.
"Who are you?"
"This is the third time you've asked this question tonight." Azathoth twirled his fingers boredly, not even looking up. "And my answer remains the same. You don't need to know me. As long as you answer my questions, I can let you go."
Langman quickly extracted key words from this conversation: "You mean I didn't say anything the first two times? Is this your ability? Time reversal or sensory manipulation?"
Azathoth finally raised his head, and Langman noticed that he did not deliberately let the hood cover most of his face at this time, so when he sat leisurely in the chair and looked up at him, he could almost see the whole face.
...Are you not going to let me survive?
Langman felt a sinking feeling in his heart, considering that showing his face to the kidnappers meant murder.
In an instant, fragments of the conversation reappeared before his eyes, which seemed to be the scenes of the previous two conversations that he had forgotten.
The man approached, his movements almost gentle, and lifted his waist with one hand—no, it wasn't a 'hand'. Lang Man's head was splitting with pain. He forced his eyes open and saw that it was actually a deep black tentacle, its surface smooth but not reflective. The tentacle extended from the black-clad man's hand and wrapped around Lang Man's back, inviting him to a dance. Lang Man stared blankly at the ceiling, his eyes wide open, motionless.
"Is it completely broken?"
The young man in the black cloak complained softly.
"Humans are such a hassle. We'll have to try again." As he spoke, he looked up, as if noticing Langman, who had just started the third round of the game, observing him. He gave a faint smile, "I hope I can hold out a little longer next time."
Langman regained consciousness and staggered back a step.
"you……"
"Perhaps it's not that I don't intend to tell you." Azathoth replied, "It may be that I didn't handle it properly."
After all, as an ordinary evil god, he has never received professional training in interrogation.
"I'll be more careful this time."
Langman tightened his jaw. He tried to be calm and said, "I think we can discuss the terms. What do you want?"
Azathoth rarely went through such a long, repetitive conversation. The most boring thing was that Langman's reaction to him was almost the same every time he saw him. He wanted to say something different to break this boring cycle, such as saying to the other party: I want you.
Or to put it more coldly: I want your life as a gift to Igor.
But if he really said that, he would probably have to face a similar process for the fourth or even fifth time.
Thinking of this, Azathoth immediately restrained his urge to play around.
"I……"
His uninterested words were interrupted by a chaotic knock on the glass.
Langman's attention was inevitably diverted. He turned his head to look out the dark window of the Griffin mansion, only to see something had fallen from above and clung to the transparent glass. Illuminated by the light from the room, it resembled some wriggling mollusk crawling downwards. The Griffin family leader stared for a long time before realizing it was blood flowing from the upper room.
Azathoth followed his gaze and spotted the blood raining down on the window, threatening to overflow into the room. He said with a hint of dissatisfaction, "It's Gilbert. I really hope he doesn't bleed as much the next time he tries to escape."
The dagger carried by Bishop Gilbert must have been marked with the mark of the true God believed in by the Federation. Whenever it senses a threat, it will emit a red light as a warning. If it does not receive a response from its owner, it will even proactively cause a minor wound as a reminder. It seems to be quite unique.
Although Azathoth believed this thing was useless beyond slashing its owner when he was excited, Gilbert clearly had high hopes for it. Unlike Langman, who didn't realize he was in a false dream of repeated time cycles until the third playthrough, he had been constantly experimenting with various ways to escape.
Although this old man is over fifty years old, he has a strong desire to survive.
Langman: "...Is he still alive?"
"Of course I'm alive." Azathoth looked at him and said, "I never intend to take the life of any human. If you had been more cooperative, perhaps this night would have been over long ago."
Langman noticed that he had not made any compulsive movements, and he didn't know if it was because he had been too harsh in the previous times and had learned his lesson this time, as the other party said.
Azathoth continued, "I want a list and a process."
"That is, any event you planned that was related to Igor Sullivan, and the names of the people involved."
Langman: “…”
Gilbert's words suddenly came to his ears: I hope you can maintain this calm expression before revenge comes!
Could this be a curse?!
He thought woodenly.
"Actually, I didn't..."
Azathoth interrupted him: "Let me remind you that you did tell me part of the story twice before. If you are trying to cover up or lie, then let's see if you tell the same story every time."
In fact, the threat of Azathoth can be simpler. For example, as a god, Azathoth certainly has the ability to see through lies in the dreams he created.
However, Langman is the kind of person who is extremely confident and will not cry until he sees the coffin. He has his own understanding of the world and human society. Unless Azathoth rudely reorganizes his three views (it turns out that too big a move will kill humans), it is better to use a suitable set of logic to convince him to cooperate honestly.
Sure enough, Langman didn't dare to gamble.
He thought for a long time with a gloomy expression. During this process, the sound of blood dripping onto the glass outside the window continued. It can be seen that Bishop Gilbert has the perseverance of dripping water wearing away stone.
Azathoth could turn a blind eye to this, but Langman was annoyed by this intimidation that felt like a blunt knife cutting flesh. He wished he could rush upstairs on behalf of Azathoth and yell at the elderly bishop to lie quietly in bed and not mess around.
Finally, he picked up the pen on the table and confirmed, "I guess you won't tell anyone else about me leaking the information?"
Azathoth said indifferently: "Your value to me is no more valuable than a grain of sand."
Langman, in turn, breathed a sigh of relief. Enduring a headache and the fatigue from lack of rest, he bent over his desk, writing furiously, striving to finish as quickly as possible. As for Azathoth's true identity... or whether he would seek revenge against him after this, or how to address his actions, these were no longer on his mind.
When he finished writing the last word, Langman was almost asleep on the table. He forced his eyes open and asked tiredly and painfully, "Can I leave now?"
The young man in black robe took the paper expressionlessly and put it aside without even looking at it.
Then he said, "Go ahead."
Langman stood up, staggered, and nearly fell to his knees. He walked to the door of the guest room and was about to push it open when he suddenly realized that Azathoth's words of "Go" were not actually directed at him.
Because the other person's eyes were not on Langman, but looked past him at the wall behind him.
——There lives a group of tentacles that are eager to try and seem to be very interested in human flesh and blood.
"Wait... wait a minute!" He was suddenly awakened by the shock, "You said you wouldn't kill anyone!"
"You won't die in reality." He heard Azathoth say before being completely swallowed by the unknown creatures, "But every death in the dream will leave an indelible mark on your soul."
Through the increasingly dim light in front of his eyes, Langman saw the other party walk up to him and half-kneel down. There was indeed no murderous intent in his eyes and expression.
…But there was something in that condescending look that was more terrifying than the murderer.
He didn't want to let Langman go, he just didn't care.
"You won't remember this after you wake up, and you might even fall into madness... or maybe not, it depends on your own willpower." Azathoth said calmly, "And I hope you can understand that these three deaths were not because you saw me, but the retribution for some of your past choices."
Langman heard this in a daze, and a name flashed through his mind. He uttered it with difficulty: "Igor... Sullivan?"
However, the other party did not respond.
Azathoth simply said, "I hope he likes this gift."
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