When Nixon opened his eyes again, he found a very familiar person sitting next to the bed and peeling fruit.
"Igor...?" He mumbled this out in a daze, feeling like something was not right.
A few seconds later, the man regained consciousness: "Igor?! Why are you in the hospital?"
He sat up suddenly. Although the wounds on his body had healed, he still felt a sore and astringent feeling from overexertion. Even the bones connecting his limbs creaked like old parts.
Igor did not respond immediately, so Nixon turned his eyes stiffly and saw Azathoth in a black cloak sitting next to the gray-haired young man.
Long-lost memories flooded back.
He suddenly didn't know what to say.
"Long time no see." Igor sighed, "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting for so long, but I'm not in a position to show up in public right now. I came here because I have a problem and I wanted to ask for your help."
Nixon calmed down surprisingly quickly. Perhaps this could be considered a tacit understanding between friends: "Tell me about it."
"What happened before the explosion?"
**
"It was because of a portrait." After walking out of the hospital gate, the midday sun shone on Igor's hair, making it sparkle with golden light. "Could he be trying to express something to you in this way?"
"It doesn't matter." Azathoth said indifferently, "Now that we know where he is, we just need to go there directly."
Igor was slightly surprised: "Where?"
"Criminton. Arthur probably thought I was the reason he attacked the church."
Igor's surprised expression gradually faded, and he said thoughtfully, "You really know him well."
“Time can help you achieve anything.”
Humans stopped talking.
After a while, Azathoth finally realized what was happening and said, "That was a long, long time ago, and Arthur is no longer the bug I like." After he finished speaking, he felt something was wrong and added, "I never liked him before..."
Why does this sound like the words of a scumbag?
Azathoth was silent for a little longer, then tried in vain to make amends: "...It was a very pure relationship. Although I don't remember it anymore, you are different from him."
grass!
It's getting weirder and weirder!
Blame Hugo.
Azathoth put the blame on the androids without hesitation.
"I understand." Igor said soothingly, "You don't have to explain so much to me."
Really?
Azathoth looked at him suspiciously. The evil god himself had a basic understanding of the human way of thinking, but understanding did not mean that he could apply it skillfully. People could still differ in their emotional intelligence. This was definitely not his fault.
But generally speaking, couples will more or less care about each other's ex-boyfriends/girlfriends, right?
Although he and Arthur had no such relationship at all.
But Igor didn't mind at all and it disappointed God...
If Hugo could understand Azathoth's inner thoughts, he would definitely blurt out: Why are you so troublesome?
There's no way around it. The former lonely old god always has a bigger imagination than other gods.
"Don't worry," the human said meekly, "I won't hinder you in this matter."
What obstacles? In what areas?
The radar in Azathoth's mind suddenly sounded.
"Even if you have other followers, or are interested in them, to me now it's just..."
"That won't happen." Azathoth interrupted him decisively, but he felt a little guilty when he thought of Arthur. "At least between the time you are born and the time you die, there won't be another follower."
Igor turned to look at him, pressing his hat, a smile on his face. "That's great! This will prevent me from having to fight an innocent stranger. As for Arthur, he's not a stranger. I've been hostile to him for a long time. I hope you don't mind the inevitable war between us."
Azathoth blinked and said, "Of course I don't mind, because I want to beat him up too."
He belatedly asked, "What if there really is a second follower?"
The young man's face was filled with a half-hearted look of distress. "Assassination is unethical, sir. I'm afraid a fair duel is more appropriate. I don't mean to hinder you, but sometimes it's a biological instinct to show your loved one that you are superior to your own kind."
"Oh." Azathoth responded in a flat tone, with no discernible abnormality. "Then you may never have such an opportunity in your lifetime."
On the way home, he took Igor's wallet and bought two marshmallows. The man and the god chatted slowly under the shade of the trees in the warm sunshine and returned to the mansion hidden by the green trees.
**
Nixon Evelyn: I'm a tool?!
**
Erica might need Azathoth to publish a book titled "How to Learn from the Gods to Act Stupid with a Justified Ethic", or Igor to write an article similar to "Keep a Calm and Steady Situation While Tease Your Friends/Lover and Attack Your Opponents".
Unfortunately, the little girl has not yet received the true teachings of these two great men.
So when she climbed through the window into Anne's ward, the two of them looked at each other silently for a long time without anyone speaking.
After a while, Anne felt that Erica's posture of sitting on the balcony with one leg was a bit uncomfortable, so she silently took two steps back to make way.
Erica glanced around the ward and placed a metal insulated box on Anne's bedside table.
"What is this?" Annie looked at the insulated box calmly, and asked in a cold tone.
She now looked like the Alpha girl who was alone with a book in her hand, with an arrogant and difficult-to-touch temperament when Erica first started school.
"These are the snacks made by Marshal Sullivan." Erica looked at Annie with her emerald green eyes without blinking. "How are you recovering?"
"Nothing, just a little frightened." Annie answered dryly before realizing what Erica had just said. "Marshal Sullivan?! Desserts?"
"Yes. Igor's cooking is truly remarkable. I remember you were quite fond of him..." Erica paused, remembering a few weeks ago when, during their conversation, Anne had let slip that she had grown up listening to Igor's legendary stories and had longed for his glorious achievements and prowess. Anne had then carefully warned her against sharing this. While others could freely express their opinions, Anne's status made her least likely to be "politically incorrect."
As a result, the girl who worshipped the former federal marshal and the current wanted criminal and follower of the evil god met unexpectedly for the first time in such an inappropriate occasion two days ago.
I don’t know if this will leave Anne with a bad impression of Igor.
Erica felt uneasy again.
Anne stared at the insulated box on the bedside table as if there was a bomb inside.
"Marshal Sullivan...good cooking...desserts?" She repeated these words dreamily, and a suspicious blush suddenly appeared on her cheeks.
Half a minute later, Annie shook her head and reacted, "Why did you run here? Your family didn't stop you."
"I came here on my own initiative," Erica whispered. "No matter what you think now, I want to tell you what I have been hiding from you."
She didn't miss Annie's hesitation. She picked up the still-warm pastry and gave it to her, then took a bite herself. "This is freshly baked. It's the God's favorite flavor."
Erica's tone was so frank that Anne's mind went blank.
After a while, the red-haired girl said weakly, "Our Pope never needs to cook for the Supreme Being... I mean, the One we believe in."
"Maybe He doesn't need to eat." Erica smiled shyly. "The Lord God doesn't need to eat either, but I think He is happy to spend time with Igor in the kitchen."
As she was speaking, she suddenly remembered something: "Oh, maybe the butter on that cookie you're eating was applied by the God himself."
Anne's chewing stopped.
She looked deeply, deeply at Erica, her gaze filled with curiosity about the brown-haired, green-eyed girl's innermost thoughts. "If I eat this cookie, will I die miserably here? Is there a curse hidden in that butter? Is this wonderful, rich taste, the perfect sweetness, even the hint of chocolate in the cookie a trap to lead me astray?"
In the final analysis, is there something wrong with you evil gods and your followers?!
"Annie? Annie! You're choking. Do you want to drink some water? I'm sorry, I shouldn't talk while eating!"
Erica hurriedly handed over a thermos cup. Anne subconsciously took a sip. She first showed a satisfied expression for the power of food, and then suddenly raised the pink cup that Erica handed to her.
"What's this?"
"Ordinary water that has been heated to boiling point?" Erica replied blankly.
Anne breathed a sigh of relief.
Their conversation came to an abrupt end.
As the moon reached its zenith, Erica said, "I'm sorry."
She carefully explained the origin of the matter and what she could tell today.
Finally, the brown-haired girl in the moonlight added, "I'm really sorry about Viscount Joyce."
Anne opened her mouth.
Reason told her that not only did this matter have nothing to do with Erica, but even Marshal Sullivan and the evil god could not be blamed.
After all, Shirley Joyce was the woman who committed the crime. She was a kidnapper, a liar without any moral sense or compassion, and an executioner who lacked conscience and condoned evil.
Even the bomb that blew up on herself at the end could be seen as her choice of self-abandonment after all her hypocrisy was stripped away.
The tall woman with beautiful snow-white hair and face, who always liked to wear retro long skirts and high combat boots, occasionally appeared in Anne's dreams like the quiet and peaceful moonlight in front of her, but never appeared in front of her again.
Anne could also suggest to herself that Erica was the liar, the one who made up everything and tried to deceive her.
A part of her emotions, surging like mud, urged her to confirm this easy thought without hesitation.
Wouldn't all the entanglement and sadness be solved if we just put all the blame on the hostile party?
You just ignore those doubts, stop working your brain, separate out unnecessary conscience, and lose an unnecessary friend.
Isn’t it a simple thing?
"...It's not your fault." She heard herself uttering these words with difficulty.
That's not the evil god's fault.
But Anne couldn't say it, she could only despise her own meanness and weakness.
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