Orc Tyrant

The night outside the window is deep, and the dark candlelight inside the window covers the white walls with a kind of sickly sallow gauze. The simple and elegant dark red furniture is spotlessly smeared, full of mysterious luster, as if the blood that hasn’t dried up is still rippling, East In the styled vase are clusters of withered flowers. The dark purple petals hang weakly on the shriveled bones. It seems that they will all wither in a light breeze, although they have long lost their lives.

The huge quartz clock is ticking like the echo of a ghost’s lament. The huge paintings on the wall are embedded in the golden frame. The picture is full of scenes of death and disaster. The skeleton-shaped crowd is struggling in the quagmire and flames. The pain is The only tone.

In the center of the house is a long dining table, tableware is neatly placed on both sides, under the golden candle holders are displayed carefully cooked food, from fresh vegetable salad to tender meat steak on the outside, to the unknown fresh poultry. Meat is all displayed in the most perfect form, but there is only one person who enjoys them.

The dark brown short hair is neatly combed to the sides of the forehead, the angular chin is clean and there is no beard, the pale skin is not sick, but it has a rock-like texture, and the light green eyes are always drooping. It's hard to figure out a trace of feelings about its owner. Under the tall bridge of the nose are a pair of generous lips.

This is a middle-aged man who looks quite easy-going and elegant. The black dress of self-cultivation is so decent on him. No matter in any human country, no one will doubt that he has a decent identity and good knowledge, a standard gentleman. The template is the perfect embodiment of him.

As he dinned, he showed the knife and fork to the most ceremonial point, although he was the only person in this spacious but empty room.

Each piece of food was carefully cut, and then sent to the mouth with a silver fork. His chewing was always slow, and he did not make any noise. He could not see any happy or satisfying expressions on his face, as if it was purely for the sake of Taste every flavour of the food instead of enjoying them.

He ate plate after plate of food without hesitation, without worrying about the length of time, and showing no signs of stagnation, as if given him enough food, he could continue to eat like this.

Suddenly, there was a clear echo of footsteps outside the door, and he got closer and closer, but the man did not move and was still enjoying the food.

The footsteps stopped outside the gate, and a woman in black mourning clothes walked in with the slight creak of the wood.

Her face was pale as paper, her lips were painted ominously black, her pale blonde hair curled behind her head, and her body was filled with the charm and gloomy temperament of a mature woman.

The sudden intruder broke the silence in the house, causing the almost stagnant time to reverberate.

"There is a message from the forest explorers that Oak's army is sweeping towards the north, and this time the commander is their king."

The man who was about to put a piece of cut meat into his mouth, heard the last sentence, let out a deep sigh, put down the knife and fork in his hand, and took off the napkin from his neck with regret and folded it. Put it on the table.

"God is the most cruel. He always kills another person by the hand of one person."

His voice has a matte texture, low but not gloomy, like the final sound of an opera, a short, emotional tone.

The woman walked up to him and took out a handkerchief to wipe the stains from the corners of his mouth, but he turned his head to avoid the other's hand, picked up a cloth from the table and wiped it casually.

But the woman didn't feel any irritation or sadness. Instead, she retracted the handkerchief with a natural expression. It seemed that such things had happened countless times.

"The main priest group may need a gathering."

A cold voice came from between his black lips, and the middle-aged gentleman moved the chair back half a step, then leaned back and closed his eyes.

"Crazy is the cure for everything, they are too sane."

"But Oak's invasion is imminent, and the news will soon spread throughout Silent Hill, and all the cults will know."

"Shh..."

The middle-aged man put his fingers in front of his lips, and a weird smile appeared on his face with his eyes closed.

"listen."

The woman's expression remained indifferent.

"I can't hear anything."

"That's really a pity, their cries are still in my ears, the roar of that unique life, do you know what reminds me?"

"I don't know."

"The first cry of myself I heard, giving life and ending life have the same noble meaning."

The man opened his eyes, and the smile on his face grew warmer.

"You should really look at them. They are masterpieces that God cannot create. They are so pure and flawless."

"But they just want to destroy us."

"Emotion is a gift from gods to mankind, and cruelty is a gift from mankind to himself."

After speaking, he narrowed his smile and straightened up again.

"But before that, they have to pass there."

"Echo Swamp."

"Let Bakshiyev and Natalia take the predators to join in the fun. I have always been curious about the secrets that protect those things from the ancient past to the present."

"Do I need to tell Mr. Parker?"

"Hasn't he been busy cooperating with blood worshipers, why do we bother him? It is not easy for a person to find a goal."

"Understood, Mr. Hannibal."

After the woman nodded, she turned and walked away from the door, but suddenly the man called Hannibal spoke up again.

"Pedelia, by the way, please inform the Foreign Affairs Department for me to arrange a meeting with the Harpy in the near future."

"Yes."

After the woman left, Hannibal glanced at the food that was gradually cold, shook his head helplessly, got up from the chair, and walked to the towering bookshelf.

When he gently turned a white sculpture, the bookshelf slowly opened a hidden compartment, which contained hundreds of large and small glass jars, and various human organs floated in the slightly turbid liquid. , Eyeballs, tongue, fingers, ears, and even a shrunken brain, but none of these can compare to the one Hannibal held in his hand.

In the two-palm-wide jar was a dark red heart. It did not float as quietly as other organs. As a part of the corpse, it twitched from time to time, showing some signs of survival.

Hannibal touched the surface of the glass jar lightly, as soft as he was touching his lover, his eyes were full of intoxication and fantasy, and he murmured the same sentence repeatedly.

"God loves the world..."

The heart was still twitching slightly.