Beast

Saga couldn't believe what he heard.He didn't believe it when someone called him to report the progress before, and he still doesn't believe it when he sees Rachel and the incomplete team come back.

In fact, it's not that he doesn't believe it, it's just that he can't accept it.

And when faced with unacceptable truths, he is used to expressing emotions in an angry way.

He slapped Rachel three times in a row, but didn't let her deal with the wound.Rachel stood with her head bowed in front of the little man, but she was still a head taller than him in such a posture.

The little man said, tell me again.

Rachel replied that Pero and his beast arrived in time, and Cuenca and his beast were seriously injured, but they should not have died, but——

She didn't finish speaking, Saga slapped him again, and asked again—say it again.

Rachel swallowed a mouthful of saliva and repeated, Cuenca and his fighting beast were seriously injured, Perot arrived in time for reinforcements, and we didn't expect them to turn back early——

The little man interrupted her with a slap for the third time.

"What's the use of me raising you?" The little man said softly, "The money spent on you every month is used to feed the animals."

His tone was very, very soft, but the slap was probably too heavy and woke his wife up.She came out of the room and gave Rachel a hard look.

Saga waved Rachel out, and turned to face his wife's questioning.

"Then change another batch," the wife said without hesitation after hearing Saga's explanation, "It was fine if we didn't do anything at first, but now we do, but the people in Posai Bay are still alive. I'm afraid you don't want me and The child will have a hard time!"

Saga said yes, yes, I know, but it is not easy to buy a fighting beast now, I will find a way.

The wife pointed at Saga and emphasized—"I told you earlier that this is not a good opportunity to attack them. You insist on doing it. Now, let's see what you have done! If I can't feel at ease here, You can stay by yourself, I don't plan to take the child to be buried with you."

Saga wanted to explain something, but his wife didn't give him a chance. After finishing speaking, he slammed the bedroom door angrily. At this time, he was no longer worried about waking up the child.

Saga stood alone in the living room, turning his head to look at a group of female fighting beasts outside the house.

Saga doesn't like women to direct him to do things, especially his wife.

But when the start-up and operation funds of a person's business are provided by the other party - one can imagine their family status.

His rich wife, if she was not willing to share the inheritance with him, Saga would be more willing to kill her than to kill Cuenca and Pero.

He stared at Rachel's back until he couldn't see her, and Rachel didn't look back.

Of course Rachel will not look back, she really knows the temper of the owner too well.She walked all the way outside the gate of the house, before she lowered her head and glanced at her wound.

Her companion brought up the medical box, took out the bullet embedded in it, and helped her wrap the gauze before finally asking—"How's the situation?"

"Are you asking now or later?" Rachel looked up at her, "Are you asking the owner or the opponent?"

"Ask all." The companion replied.

"Now we have suffered heavy casualties, and the owner is furious." Rachel answered one of them indifferently.

The companion waited for a while, but after waiting for more answers, he asked—"What about the future? How do you think Pu Sai Bay will move?"

Rachel's eyes were on the far side of the path, where the end of the road connected to the sky.This end was far away from her, but it seemed within reach.

She thought she would go a little longer, such as until the day when Saga died of natural causes.But given the current situation, it seemed impossible. This was probably the only object of her allegiance in her life.

Rachel sighed softly, looked back at her companion, "It will kill us all."

The sunlight complemented her vision, and she couldn't see her companion's expression clearly for a moment.

The poet had a long dream.

He dreamed that he was back in the house surrounded by maple leaves. He was lying on the bed, looking at the skylight covered with red leaves.The red leaves are eloquent, like warm blood.

His family members are discussing donating him to a good church, so that the people inside can manage him well.There have been countless family meetings like this, especially since his brother grew fur, and such discussions are as regular as they come.

He makes mistakes the day before each of these family meetings.Just make any mistakes, and then get slashed all over your body.

He felt that he was less and less afraid of pain. It may be that after each injury healed, the skin would thicken, so that now he can lie on the bed peacefully and watch the scenery after whipping more than ten or twenty whips.

But it is impossible to say that it is not uncomfortable at all.The wet weather made his wounds red, and there was no way to scab over his back.He rolled over, but it hurt more elsewhere.

Maybe he can sneak into the storage room to steal some painkillers tonight, he has to be careful, if he is discovered, the pain will probably appear in a place that makes him more tormented.

His tears flowed out, and it took a long time for him to realize that he was crying.

In fact, he has always been unfamiliar with the feeling of crying, because his brother cried loudly, but his cry was quiet.It's like there is too much water in the body and it suddenly gushes out.His pillow was so wet with sweat and tears that he had to turn it over.

Now that he was sitting up, the pain in his back was more pronounced.

He wanted to turn his head to see how his injury was, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't turn his head.

His neck and waist were covered with bruises. He recalled that it was probably the result of his arms not being able to twist his thighs. Fortunately, he was young, and such marks would not last long on him.

He will be attending a church dinner with his family in a week, so the parents will be careful to let the wound heal before then.

He didn't like that church. For some reason, he always felt that people were looking at him like food, and that made him uncomfortable eating and drinking.

He has seen this kind of look on his adoptive father many times, and he feels that it won't be long before the brother who has grown hair will show such an expression.It was a beast-like demeanor, and every time they showed such a demeanor, they turned into beasts.

It was a curse that ran in the family's blood, and he didn't have their blood, so that look didn't come naturally.

But that doesn't mean he can't change.

The way to deal with wild beasts is to become more ferocious beasts.And how to be more ferocious - he hasn't figured it out yet.

The voices of the family members were noisier, and they seemed to be arguing.

They debated whether to send him to the place with the black robes or the synagogue with the red robes.

He'd been to both places, and he didn't see any difference.

The picture book of animals was taken out from under such a robe, one volume one and one volume two.The covers were also the same color as their robes, one black and one red, with the correct words stamped on them.

So he had to get down on the ground and express his gratitude and devotion.

Tears flowed more, and my back hurt unbelievably.

It seemed that another whip fell on him, and all the muscles in his body tensed up.The skin was torn out by the rough rope, and the pain was hot and sharp.

Then someone asked him—does it hurt?

He said, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

The whip didn't stop, and continued to whip. After whipping for a while, the man asked again—does it hurt?

He said, it hurts, please, help me.

It's a pity that the man still didn't stop, whip after whip, and pulled out the red leaves from him.

With the whip waving, the red leaves fluttered and fell on the wooden floor.The creaking wooden floor was also stained red, revealing a vast world.

When the whole room turned red, the whipping finally stopped.

The man pinched his chin and lifted it up, his eyes looked deeply into his soul, the man said - you have to learn to be grateful.

Thank you for having shelter from the wind and rain, and thank us for giving you enough food.I am grateful for the blessing of fate, for never abandoning you, for your father who gave you self-discipline, for your mother for your warm embrace, for your brother for your love, for dispelling loneliness, and for letting your filthy soul no longer burn in the lake of fire.

The poet's tears fell to the ground patter, leaving black marks one by one.

He said yes, I am grateful.

I shouldn't have a human body and an independent soul.I am the worm in the mud, the rat in the ditch, the poison that drinks human blood and grows, the sin that defiles the sanctuary.

So please tear my flesh apart and let the blood return to its original owner.Please take my soul out and let me see the filth of my body.Please give me pain, give me scars, so I can feel happiness and redemption from it.

The man put his hand on the poet's head and pushed him to his feet.

The poet kisses the ground in front of his shoes, one stroke, until the blood boils and tears and sweat turn into rivers.

The poet closed his eyes, he wanted to sink in the river.

The sea of ​​red and black rolled, as if receiving his sacrifice.

When the poet woke up, the lover sat in the chair next to him and fell asleep.

The poet looked at the curtain for a while, then moved it slightly.He was in pain all over, but fortunately, the pain was lighter than in the dream.

Love Saint slept very lightly, and a slight noise immediately opened his eyes.

The poet looked at him for a moment and asked—"Did I be saved by you, or did you die with me?"

Lover laughed hoarsely, he pulled the chair to the side of the poet's bed, pressed his quilt, and said - "How do you feel?"

"Is it the feeling of being dead or the feeling of being alive?" The poet also laughed, but his muscles and bones hurt when he laughed, so he smiled very subtly, and answered by himself—"The former has no feeling, and the latter...you don't need to mention it."

Passionate reached in through the side of the quilt and scratched his hand.

It's a pity that the poet hadn't fully felt the roughness and temperature of his hands. The lover suddenly pulled his hand away as if thinking of something, took a piece of marijuana from the iron plate beside the bed and lit it, and brought it to the poet's mouth.

"Ah, that's great, you know how to relieve my pain." The poet wanted to support himself to sit up, but he couldn't, so he turned his head to the side of the lover, took a little breath, and returned to the topic-"How does the owner So?" After finishing speaking, he couldn't help but add - "If the news is bad, don't tell me."

"His condition is better than yours, Perot is guarding." Love Saint's expression relaxed, he may be telling the truth.

It seems that the feeling of being alive is not so trivial.

Love Saint also touched a piece of marijuana and lit it. At this moment, he needs to relax just like the poet.

"Do you know how long you slept? You slept for three days. Perot brought over the doctors from the next province overnight, just in case something might happen to the two of you. Please be content, your life is more expensive than many beasts. "Love Saint said.

Of course the poet is content, and he has been particularly content since the day he followed Cuenca.After all, not every fighting beast is as lucky as himself to have an owner who is willing to treat them as true brothers.

In the poet's childhood and youth, he didn't meet many people who were kind to him, so meeting such a person now-is a kind of compensation.

The poet held out his hand and shook it.

The love saint was stunned for a moment, and then held it again.After holding it for a while, the lover wanted to let go, but the poet refused to let him, and instead tightened his fingers.

Love Saint rubbed the center of his brows, and said with some embarrassment - "I will feel that you like me if you do this."

"Then what else?" The poet did not hide anything, he felt that it was impossible for the Lover to fail to see that he liked him, just as he could also see—"Don't you like me too?"

"I haven't." The love saint wanted to say something honest, but honesty didn't seem to be the best way to deal with this issue.

The poet shook his head and retorted—"You must like me, you don't like me, why don't you guard the exhausted Perot, but come and guard me who is still awake."

The lover's eyes flickered, and he looked away, trying his best to argue, "I have a good impression, but I don't like that."

"Now, you just like me," the poet insisted, "Can't you just say something nice, aren't you a lover?"

I have to say, at this moment, Lover really couldn't tell.

He can be glib in many relaxed moments, but now——his heart has been raised for three days, and he really has no extra energy to search for nice words.

"It's not exactly that kind of liking really, I just—"

"I like you very much." The poet stopped asking, and interrupted the topic on his own initiative.

The love saint's eyes turned back to the poet's face, he gritted his teeth, and stared into the other's eyes. For some reason, it became difficult to look at him at this moment.

The poet has indeed punctured some things that the love saint dare not admit, that is the strange emotion that the love saint faintly felt from the bottom of his heart when he witnessed the poet's dying struggle in front of him.

This emotion has been sleeping in the body for a long time, so long that the lover can't even remember the feeling of it ever existed.

Therefore, the love saint couldn't answer the words, he could only use a joke to resolve the stiff atmosphere at this extremely difficult moment - "Then when you regain your strength, give me a kiss and I will believe you."

This time the poet did not suppress his laughter, even though that laughter made his chest hurt.

"I really want to recover as soon as possible," the poet responded, pausing, and his expression became serious, "You know, what we are going to do next is very important."

Love Saint nodded, whether it was from Perot's state or from Cuenca's encounter, Love Saint and the poet could see that there was no extra move for the next move.

"Bloodwashing Yushan." Love Saint completed the poet's words.