"What's wrong?" Igor turned sharply, returned the hanger to its original spot, and quickly walked towards Azathoth. He often tried not to appear stiff, cold, or fierce, as was typical of those who had graduated from military academies or fought on the battlefield. However, once a master neglected the outward disguise, many things hidden beneath the surface, deeply ingrained in their bones, naturally emerged.
The saleswoman clenched her fingers behind her back into fists, her eyes involuntarily gravitating to the man's straight legs, tightly clad in his suit pants. A young man, a head taller than her, walked past her without a glance, his scent of neither pheromones nor artificial perfume. The saleswoman noticed that, due to the high temperature in the room, he had unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and the cuffs, then rolled up his long sleeves to reveal his muscular, streamlined forearms.
Even when they were walking quickly, their straight backs and heads looking straight ahead did not hunch or sway from side to side like many other people who did not pay attention. Their taut posture was just like their owner's stride, standard and powerful.
Although her appearance is not outstanding...but her figure is really rare.
Unaware of Igor's disguise, the Beta saleswoman took a deep breath, tightening her stomach as she considered asking for his contact information. She wondered if he preferred being on top or underneath. There was something indescribably alluring about a young man lying on top, kissing her with a hint of sweat on his face. But what if she could only watch him burst into tears from the unbearable orgasm, unable to control himself and plead with him?
Hiss, it’s work time, take care of yourself.
With all these random thoughts swirling in her mind, the salesgirl tried hard to clear her mind, maintain a polite smile, and continue to watch the customers in the store.
Igor walked over to Azathoth who was sitting on the bench.
He was completely oblivious to the fact that he was becoming a spectacle. He leaned over slightly to pick up Azathoth's empty cup of milk tea and tossed it into the trash can. In the process, he noticed this rare flavor favored by the god, and committed it to memory. Then he turned back and calmly asked again, "What's wrong with you?"
Azathoth did not answer. He always looked gloomy and taciturn in the outside world. He just raised his chin slightly and pointed at the big screen hanging in the center of the mall that was broadcasting the Queen's birthday celebration live.
Igor followed his gaze and saw the bomb explode.
Azathoth stood up and gave him a hug as if he was drawing energy from this warm body. He put his head next to Igor's ear and said, "Something happened with Erica."
The human youth didn't struggle, but simply frowned at his words.
The salesgirl standing in the store shifted her gaze as if nothing had happened, cursed in her heart, and felt a sense of regret for the nightlife that had grown wings and flown away.
Igor asked in a low voice: "Is it too late to rush over now?"
Azathoth released his arm and shook his head: "Even if my real body is here, I can still take Erica and her children away, but..."
He hesitated for a moment and didn't say that he really didn't trust the intelligence of his tentacles when they acted alone.
Even if you are a God, how much can you expect from a bunch of brainless limbs?
Igor didn't know what he was struggling with. Seeing that Azathoth was hesitant to speak, he took out his mobile terminal from his jacket pocket and said, "I can contact someone for help."
He has connections and background, the only thing he needs to consider is the risks this move will bring.
However, this worry is not within Igor's consideration at the moment. If Azathoth does not solve the problem immediately, then no matter what the other party's reason is, he is willing to do his best to eliminate the trouble and bear the consequences out of responsibility or his inner desire.
Azathoth grabbed Igor's hand.
He glanced up and noticed that the live broadcast on the screen that took up three-quarters of the wall hadn't stopped despite the commotion. Many people in the mall were standing beneath the screens, looking up at the scene, their faces filled with anxiety and tension. As if he knew what he was thinking, Igor immediately said, "They can't stop. If we can't properly resolve this mess today, we'll face even greater trouble. Hiding the truth will make people think there's a greater danger than facing the blame for a moment of negligence that allowed despicable people to take advantage."
"The war has only just ended, and it's difficult for the Federation and the Church to handle the public's high level of panic."
While explaining, the young human's eyes fell on the screen that was flickering with firelight, and he looked at the faces inside one by one, some familiar and some unfamiliar.
A young man passing by, clutching a shopping bag and looking sullen, overheard him. He paused and glanced over hopefully. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, sir, but do you work for the government? My sister is in the square in front of Fort Maan right now. She's a reporter who's been invited to do an interview... Do you know what's going on?"
Igor looked away and gave an apologetic smile: "I'm not, I'm just usually more concerned about current affairs."
He was about to say he was just talking about war on paper and didn't know anything, but the young man seemed not to hear him, or perhaps he had lost his mind and was desperate to find a solution. He simply walked over and plopped down on another chair, clutching the paper bag in his hand and said anxiously, "What the hell is going on? Isn't the war over? Why is there still danger on the day of the celebration?"
Igor glanced at Azathoth.
Mr. Evil God leaned back in his chair with his fingers crossed, his face silent and cold, as if he was deaf to their conversation.
"Don't be too nervous." After all, this young man, who might not even be an adult, meant no harm, so Igor comforted him. "Maybe it will be over soon."
——It is certain that it will end 'safely' for Erica.
Hearing this, the young man relaxed a little and held out his hand to Igor: "Thank you, call me George."
Igor used his pseudonym: "Bradley."
"Mr. Bradley, who do you think is responsible? A terrorist organization that doesn't want a ceasefire? Or..."
George's hurried question was interrupted by the voice coming from the big screen.
The roar of the engines drowned out the radio host's calm explanations and soothing voice. The platform in front of Ma'an Fort, once as white as jade and illuminated by sunlight, was instantly shrouded in shadow. The photographer, raising his camera, panned towards the sky and discovered a massive, space-faring vessel. Its sides bore ferocious, bare gun muzzles, and the glow of fuel at its stern was brighter than the sun, causing many present to shield their eyes.
The ill-intentioned ship was like a shark charging into freshwater, its ferocious fangs easily ripping the "small fish" beside it into shreds. Several sparking metal fragments swirled down from the sky, only to be intercepted by the protective shield held aloft. Finally, like meteors annihilated in the atmosphere, they gradually turned into dull scrap metal.
Another shell was casually dropped from the bottom of the giant and landed right on top of the protective shield.
After a second of silence, it suddenly exploded, and the cameras on the live broadcast were filled with orange-red flames.
The picture on the big screen kept shaking, I don’t know if it was because the ground was shaking or because the cameraman’s hands were shaking.
"...Trouble." Igor looked at the scene and said something ambiguous.
George shuddered at his calm and somewhat cold words, and asked tremblingly, "What's the trouble?"
Igor didn't answer him, still staring at the screen with a frown.
The camera stepped back two steps, taking the entire chassis of the spacecraft into view.
A dark blue symbol was engraved on the gray surface with a metallic luster.
As soon as he saw the logo on the spaceship, the word came out of Igor's mouth: "Zerg!"
Few in the capital could react as quickly as he did. A familiar feeling coursing through Igor's blood made him shudder for a moment. Three or four seconds after he finished speaking, George, who, besides Azathoth, was closest and heard the words most clearly, finally realized what had happened and began to shiver, nearly twisting the paper bag in his hand.
"Bug...but..." The young man looked at him blankly, then turned back to the screen, his voice filled with confusion and bewilderment. "Didn't the war end...?"
"Sorry, I need to find someone to ask a few questions now." Igor said to Azathoth, trying not to sound cold or angry.
He turned around and tried to go to the empty stairwell. George raised his hand to hold him back: "Wait, wait a minute—"
A hand that was so thin that you could almost see the edges of the bones, but not fragile at all, stretched out and stood in front of George.
The young man was stunned for a moment, then turned around and found that it was the man sitting in the other row of seats who had never spoken.
"He didn't ask you to follow." The man in the black hood said coldly.
"But!"
"No buts," the other party said in a condescending and indifferent tone, "Sit back."
Before his brain could react, George's body followed the man's command and fell down on the warmed-up armchair.
He realized almost immediately that this was definitely a big shot who had been in a high position for a long time and was used to giving orders. Otherwise, who could say just a few words to a stranger and be so intimidating?
The young man, about sixteen or seventeen years old, couldn't help shaking as he watched the strange man in a black cloak and who was taciturn, walk to the bottom of the screen against the hurried passers-by, and look up at the picture above with his chin raised.
What is this doing?
George stared at him blankly.
At this time, a faint sound with a strange buzzing sound was heard in the circular square in front of Maan Fort.
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