After a few seconds, Chisel pulled out a most ugly smile. "I don't know what I can do for you."

He was shocked to be able to speak at all, maybe it's because modern pop culture has washed away some of the horrors of the demon that he wasn't squealing with fear or going insane.

But he was terrified, as was the discovery that the reality he had come to rely on had collapsed somewhere, and that the eyes of something terrible were staring at him through the void that had collapsed.

Chisel tried not to lose control too much, and for a moment he wanted to emulate the legendary Saint Antoine, to resist and even rage against the demons in front of him, to preserve his dignity and his soul. But he did not have the courage. Perhaps because the dark and the sky were not the domain of primate species, Chisel felt that his limbs were constrained by primal instincts and could not move.This loss of physical control increased his sense of hopelessness. He felt more vulnerable and powerless than he had ever felt before.

Now he couldn't even organize a decent prayer in his head, where did he find the courage to rant against the demon? Let alone he was not a devout and ardent believer, the angels would answer his request? Chisel did not have that confidence.

His reason told him that it was necessary to remain calm and show that he was capable of conversation.The fact that the demon had not let him fall, that he had not fallen into a puddle of undiscernible flesh, meant that he still had a chance of survival.

As long as you don't irritate the other person or make him feel like he's lost his sense and worth.

Chisel told himself this in his heart.

"Fum, my friend, don't be so afraid." Instead of asking, the demon reassured Chisel, "I'm not as uncivilized as you think I am, I've invited you here because I think this is a more relaxed place for our conversation."

"I'm not going to torture you and I'm not going to throw you down."

"Of course, I'm not a mind reader. That would be rude. It's just that your expression gives me more than enough information. " The demon's face seemed a little worried, and Chisel can't believe the look on his face right now.

Woland clicked his fingers, and a tall glass of vaguely pleasant golden liquid appeared in front of Chisel, suspended in the air. "Try it, [Vulgar Gold]. I remember you liked to use it very much. It's better than brandy for pacify emotion."

Chisel didn't dare take the drink, in fact his trembling fingers couldn't take over it either.

Vulgar Gold is a card that appears in the fourth version of CC, "Tipsy Fond Dream". It is a property collectible card. In the context story of the game, it is a sweet, mild, and euphoric alcoholic beverage. It also has medicinal properties when certain herbs are added to the brew.

As a drink in game, it certainly shouldn't exist in real life. But alcohol is harmless and normal compared to demons.

"Sorry, I, I don't drink." Chisel refused.He would not drink such a dangerous thing of unknown origin.

The professor, with the grace that befit his title, raised his hand so that his glass flew to one side, and continued to reassure Chisel with gentle words: "Be assured, my friend, that even if you had not agreed to the deal with me, I would guarantee your safety and get you safely back to your home. That's basic courtesy."

"You don't have to think too much, muddling think can magnify fear."

I don't think a polite person would quietly kidnap someone to a place like this.Chisel's mouth was, "You right, I'm just, um, not used to this environment..."

"I guess my surprise for you didn't work out. "The professor shook his head. "I prepared it when you mentioned in your live stream that you were interested sky restaurant."

"Sky, sky restaurant?" Chisel resented the loss his tongue. It was the tongue that had made the mistake that had gotten him into this position so long ago, and it was still making him look bad.

"Yeah, Sky Restaurant. I've got some interesting ingredients from other worlds for that, like this one."He pointed to Vulgar Gold. "As for the rest..."

The professor took an invisible baton and raised it, pulling a corner of the deep darkness night away. Chisel looked up in the air beside him and the professor. A group of non-human beings were busy at a cooking bench.

Among the creatures he saw was a big, burly, fat black cat in a black suit.The black cat's frame was almost human, but it was still full of feline features. It was chopping up a huge piece of raw meat and seemed to discover Chisel's eye, smiling up at him and showing a mouthful of fangs.

He was probably just trying to be friendly, but Chisel found the smile more terrifying.

What was even scarier was Chisel's sudden realization of its identity.

Behe, Behe, BEHE... I see, you are actually Behemoth... Indeed, you appeared in that book too...

Chisel felt his shoulders weighed down with great fatigue and frustration.

He had very few friends, and every one of them mattered.

"Behemoth is also honored to have you as a friend, though you may not accept it for a moment and feel it a fraud.But for us, trying to pretend to be you and live your life is a fundamental respect for your civilization." The demon who claims not to be a mind reader apologized to Chisel for his frustration, "I assure you that Behemoth Monster truly considers you his best friend among men of this era, and he does enjoy your live broadcast and admire your soul as much as he says he does."

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

"If it weren't for the fact that I need your help, your friendship would continue as it should, until the end of time.He is as much a victim of my selfishness as you are. The fault is mine."

Chisel didn't expect Mr. Demon to apologize for interfering with a subordinate's friendship.He could only signal in a vague voice that he didn't really care, but that he couldn't accept it for a while.

He's not gonna be able to take it in for a while. The words "admire your soul," Woland said in a very mild manner, but Chisel only reminded of the horror of his own undead being torn apart and swallowed by monster.

Woland knew that Chisel had a long way to go before he could calm down. The demon snapped his fingers and the scene changed, turning suddenly from deep black to white. At that moment, Chisel felt his eyes being attacked.

As he recovered, Chisel began to distinguish his surroundings.

They were now in a place of dawn.

The sky was white, and the sun had not yet risen.

They were still in mid-air now, but they seemed much lower, only about twenty or thirty metres. Below was a long, narrow bank of white sand, flanked on either side by silent but not wordless mountains and sea. The mountains were wraped with snow, and the sea coverd with ice, all painted white beyond their true colors.

The trees on the mountain silently waited for the sun to rise over the sea.

The sight made Chisel so relaxed that he didn't even notice the extra table between him and Woland. The "cooks," including Behe, streamed past the table like fish, bringing dishes to the table and then disappearing. A few words ago, those dishes were raw materials, now they are qualified delicacies.

The aroma of the food further eased Chisel's tension, and he really began to calm down. What Woland had said earlier had created something in him as well, and Chisel fell into the sense of security that had been created.

Chisel looked up and was about to ask a question when Woland interrupted him. The demon pointed to a plate of steak in front of Chisel and motioned for him to taste.

The steak was Behe's masterpiece.

A demon with powers wants to kill me a mortal doesn't have to poison. Chisel thought so, picking up the cutlery that had appeared at some point in his hand and cutting a piece to taste.

The temperature in the mouth was just right, and Chisel gave up wondering how long it had been out of the pan. The devil is in the real world, a little time bug doesn't matter.

The meat looked like a regular steak, but tasted as delicate and soft as fish or chicken. Chisel could feel the aroma burst through his mouth as he chewed it. Very intense，but the aroma was still delicate and soft, more like cheese, bread and baked potatoes combined than beef.

Chisel was not a good judge of food. He was not a keen gourmet. He always ate fast food. But even his dull tongue understood the novelty and beauty of this plate of meat. The meat succeeded in banishing the last of his fears. He swallowed the meat in silence, looked up without further eating. "Where are we now?"

The tone of the words was still shaky, but much stronger than before. Chisel was finally able to look Woland in the eye again.

"This is Northern Europe." Woland poured himself a glass of vulgar gold out of the void while Chisel tasted the steak, sipped it leisurely, crossed his legs and leered at the scene, turning his head only when Chisel said, "If you ask it, ask what the place where this scene is located is called."

"I can only tell you: Time has not yet found a proper name for it."

Chisel calculated silently.There was no mistaking the time difference: when it was night in Los Angeles, it was morning in northern Europe.

Chisel raised his eyes to the direction Woland had been focusing on, east. In his vision, the pale blue and white sky and the pale blue and white sea merged into one another. At the midpoint where they met, there was a brilliant light, which seemed to be caught between the sea and the sky, and could not move. In a few moments the light flows out of the skyline, overflows, and breaks free.

That flow of light is an avalanche, a sword's edge, volcanic ash, the froth of champagne. It leaps out of the pale blue abyss of sky and sea and illuminates all ambiguity. The great power of light destroys all chaos, swings all vagueness into the air, divides sky and sea, gives outline to clouds and ice.

Chisel saw clearly without feeling his eyes burned. His eyes were not hurt by looking directly at the sun, but he still felt the urge to cry.He felt no mental pressure now. He had forgotten fear and courage.

Chisel didn't turn his head this time, looked into the sun, organized his words, and said, "I don't know what you need from me. I'm only ordinary people, ordinary people."

"I have no extraordinary talent or intelligence, and my greatest achievement in life may even be attributed to you, Magic Classroom."

"I am not a Master, nor do I have my Marguerite. In fact, even compared with Chairman Berlioz, I am more vulgar, both in ability and in mind." With these words, Chisel turned to look at Woland, who had also been watching the sunrise, and dropped his eyes wearily.

Chisel had always been an introverted, gentle, unobtrusive man who refused to be competitive. His videos introduce viewers to card groups and focus on tandem discussions about decks. His live game broadcasts are often ridiculed by viewers for their mediocre win rates. He knew how mediocre he was, and that sobriety exacerbated his inferiority.

As he said, he had no idea why the professor had chosen him. But he also knew that showing his worth to the demon would make his situation a little safer. Even though he had been guaranteed his life, Chisel was still not completely free of fear.

But he had to say these words first, these preparations for rejection. Chisel did this partly out of honesty and partly because he was prepared to ruin the conversation.

To be honest, Chisel was even now half-expecting to be killed for his uncooperative attitude. It was true that he had been so frightened that he could hardly speak. His death-avoidance instinct had taken over, and he was behaving badly. But when he calmed down after watching the sunrise, he suddenly realized that death wasn't so scary.

He did not feel that he had anything to contribute to the world by living, nor did he feel that one should live for others. But at least his existence should not be some kind of disaster.

Aren't the stories of those who make deals with demons mostly tragic? How many people did Faust hurt and fail in his fantastical journey? After his instinctive agitation had subsided, Chisel remembered all the happy things that had happened in his life. Perhaps it was the more or less colorful memories that gave him courage, or perhaps it was part of shame and anger at what he had just done, some sort of foolish courage came out of Chisel's heart and coursed through his blood.

He began to feel that he could accept death, maybe not quite, but at least he could face it. As he thought, he felt his calf and fingers begin to shake again, but the tremor can no longer stopped him.

Woland, aware of Chisel's utter calmness, said little or responded to his resistance, opting to cut to the chase: "In short, I'm having a little difficulty with the follow-up development of the Collector's Catalog, and I need your help."

"WHAT?! But I don't know anything about game development. No, why would you ask a game host to talk about development? I never studied programming or game development. And

my level of play don't even rank among professional players."

"Technically, well, we don't have a story." Woland throws up her hand, expressing frustration. "I've offended a few of my siblings over some trivial matter.They had turned a blind eye to my attempts to turn stories from other worlds into backstories for commercial games, and now they were choking me out of personal resentment."

Woland made a chokehold with his left hand, rolling his eyes and sticking out his tongue as if performing a burlesque.

Your siblings? Mammon or Belial?

Also, stories from other worlds? I think I heard some great Intel............

Chisel couldn't resist his curiosity and asked, "Well, if they're your brothers and sisters, there must be some reconciliation. And what you just said, uh, is CC's story all, all......?"

"All happened in some sad, destroyed world that hasn't had time to meet this world yet? Yes." The professor shrugged and completed his answer with a complete question, "As for my siblings, well, leading the pack is a workaholic who takes only one day off a year."

HOLY SHIT. I was wrong, I shouldn't have asked.

Chisel felt his blood diluted by some emotion, and his hands began to shake again.

"Workaholic is nothing against me. He's a good guy. He never gets personal. I don't have a deep affair with him but we always respect each other. However there was a wicked and mean secretary who got very close to him." The Professor looked sad and resentful. "She's always been against me, against everyone. Sometimes just because she thinks it's funny. And this time, too."

Chisel felt pins and needles in his limbs and nausea. For the first time in his life, he prayed to God so earnestly that he might lose the memory of hearing the demon complain.

What a fucking performance art! God, the demon is accusing the angels.

He realized who Woland was talking about, only he couldn't bring himself to think of either name. He didn't even have the courage now to ask the professor to stop talking. The courage to face death clearly doesn't apply to face the fucking world.

"In short, my good staff and I were forbidden from writing stories from other worlds into the game." Woland shrugged, but fortunately he did not pronounce the two names. " Miss Secretary even pushed through a bill about our demons for this reason. Hell, if she was on Earth, how could she possibly be in a position to push a bill through? Even if she had the chance, the time between the bill's introduction and its establishment would have been enough for me to scoop up the last batch of stories."

The demon, acting indignant, began to accuse the act of discrimination against the demon and its negative effect on business development, disparaging "Miss Secretary" for her overreach and questioning whether she deserved the position of power she held. Chisel, on the other hand, felt that if heaven were truly democratic, his "Miss Secretary" would at least have the position of Secretary of State.

"Anyway, I need humans to help me, because they are always kind to humans, not as hard on us demons. I can't do it myself, I can't send my people, but I can entrust you to go to worlds, worlds that are in danger of destruction or chaos, and be a war correspondent for me, for my game to keep running." The CEO threw up his hands, beaming with enthusiasm and anticipation.