Bologo had read some poetry, and in his opinion it was a romantic vocabulary, a literary carrier composed of highly condensed language and rhythm. They contained strong emotions and described various aspects of the soul.
Suddenly, Boluogo remembered the abnormality he encountered during the promotion ceremony. In the complete storm that stretched across the sky, he watched the story of the poet and the mountains as if he had experienced it himself.
Therefore, experience and poetry have a more unique meaning for Boluogo.
He began to be curious, wondering why Belphegor would ask this question. Evil devils and romantic poetry don't go together no matter how you think about it.
"Since many years ago, I have loved all artistic creations. Before the advent of movies, my favorite artistic creation was poetry."
Belphegor looked at the screen, which showed a picture of a desolate wilderness, with a poet moving forward tenaciously in the cold wind like a knife.
"Are you still surprised?"
Belphegor took a deep sip of his drink and asked.
"No surprise." Bologo relaxed and stared at the black and white video. "Even if you take out an electric guitar and sing a song for me now, I wouldn't be surprised."
Belphegor laughed.
The poet in the picture came to a strange town. He spread his poems in the town, communicated with other poets in the town, obtained new poems, and took them to another distant place.
"My brothers and sisters and I have different hobbies. For example, the tyrant Mammon you have already met is like a garbage collector. He will not refuse anything of value."
"Sounds like crows," said Bologg. "They like to collect shiny things, no matter what they are."
"Yes, that's it," Belphegor said. "Every devil has a preference that is hard to refuse. This may be the beginning of our original sin."
Boluogo secretly took note of this information, maybe he could use it in the future.
Boluogo continued, "What you like is to pursue artistic creation? This sounds so uncharacteristic of the devil..."
Before he finished speaking, Boluogo immediately rejected his idea. Devils are like this, unpredictable and weird. Whatever crazy things they do, in their own eyes, they all have reasonable explanations.
He even said that even a reasonable explanation is not important, as long as they can feel happy.
"I know this is hard for people to accept. The weird devil does not desire souls, but likes this kind of thing. Like a decadent young man who is out of touch with society, he collects these things that are incomprehensible to others."
Belphegor was playing with his collection. He was right. If Belphegor was just an ordinary person, he would be a lonely freak who shut himself up at home and was completely out of touch with society.
Bologger looked at Belphegor with a strange look.
The Bureau of Order is really good at picking devils, and they actually chose such a strange guy. It is true that only such strange devils can be bound by the blood contract of mortals.
Burlogo was still very wary of Belphegor in his heart. No matter how strange Belphegor's outward behavior was, he was still a hateful devil.
Belphegor said, "I like these things, and for these things, just like my brothers and sisters, I gradually have a group of people who believe in me."
"Unbound Poetry Society."
Bologo stared at the screen and called out the group's name.
On the screen, the poet came to the wilderness. On this endless grassland, there were many poets waiting for him. The poets set up tents and set up bonfires, like small towns rising from the ground.
Poets danced, played and sang around the bonfire, and melodious melodies accompanied the recitation of poems, hovering under the sky.
"You may not believe it, Mr. Lazarus. Although I am a devil, the blood contract I concluded with the Unbound Poetry Society did not come from those despicable desires."
Belphegor was watching the movie with his eyes fixed on it, and Bologger also focused on the movie. The two of them were like good friends meeting in the theater, immersed in the story.
The poets gathered and danced in the wilderness, and every day that passed, more poets came from far away to join them, until on the seventh day, a visitor came wading through the water.
The poets surrounded him and told him their stories from dawn to sunset. After another seven days, the visitors finally listened to everyone's stories.
It's time to leave.
The poets packed their luggage and demolished this small town built on the ground. They hugged each other, said goodbye, and agreed to meet next year.
When each poet leaves, he will stay in front of the visitor for a moment. The visitor wishes the poets blessings, and the poet touches the visitor's robe, leaving bright colors on it.
This is the first touch of color in a black and white movie. More and more poets bid farewell to visitors and dye their clothes into colorful colors. In this black and white world, he is like a gorgeous bird.
All the poets have left, and the gorgeous birds have begun their next flight.
"I don't really like to refer to the connection between us as gods and believers. It's not equivalence. We are more like... a group of like-minded friends."
Belphegor said softly, "Yes, friend, they entrusted their souls to me, and I gave them power. All this is not just for the devil's nature, but for our consistent and lofty ideals."
"Ideal? Does the devil have such a thing?"
Boluogo grabbed a handful of popcorn, stuffed it into his mouth, and said vaguely.
Belphegor laughed and said, "It sounds incredible, right? But it's also a fact. There are always things that even the devil can't do."
"So this isn't a movie, is it?" Borogo said. "It's the memories of those souls that you made into a movie."
The scene from a hundred years ago is played on the screen. Judging from the number of movie viewers Boluogo has seen, the costumes, props, and actors' acting skills in this movie can be said to be the most extreme he has ever seen. It is more like a movie than a movie.
It's a true documentary.
This is documentary, which uses the power of the devil to peel off those images from the soul and cut them into endless documentaries that record the times.
"Yeah, it's part of the deal."
Belphegor said as he picked up a cassette and pulled out the film. The images in the film grid were not static, but were constantly changing, and the movements of the men in them were also changing rapidly.
This reminded Bologo of the rejection of movies by some people when they first appeared. They said that movies were a kind of evil that would seal people's souls into film.
Now the evil magic seems to have come true. The man in the grid looked at Boluogo, showed a horrified expression, and screamed for help.
Boluogo could hear his roar, and the man in every frame was wailing.
"I am a devil after all. No matter how much I love them, I still have to do my job."
Belphegor roughly stuffed the film back and threw the cassette into the darkness casually. In the corner that the light could illuminate, Berlog could see the mountain of cassettes.
"I like to trade with people to fulfill their wishes in exchange for their sight, so as to peek into their lives. You can understand me as an audience and they are my actors."
Belphegor picked up another cassette and pointed at the name on it towards Bologg.
"Scott Martin, you should have met him."
Bologo remembered this name, and he recalled the speechless and silent sculpture in the Undead Club.
"Yes, that's the one in the Immortal Club," Belphegor continued. "When he was young, Scott made a deal with me in exchange for the funds to explore the unknown. I gave him abundant funds. In exchange, I
To witness his adventure first hand.”
Belphegor said in disappointment, "What a pity, our deal would have been terminated then."
"Scott became a world-famous adventurer, and I also got great movies. After that, Scott was not satisfied. He began to be afraid of death and asked me for the power of eternal life."
Boluogo whispered, "You gave him eternal life, but in another form."
"But that is indeed eternal life," Belphegor joked. "From the perspective of alchemical materials, Scott is one of the hardest substances in the world. Neither time nor swords can leave a mark on him.
No trace of anything."
Belphegor put away his smile. He gently stroked the surface of the shadow box and stared at the screen.
"Actually, I have promised everyone who trades with me that they will have eternal life in my hands, but they don't believe me and are just clinging to the survival in front of them."
Bologg roughly understood Belphegor's trading rules. If a tyrant is interested in everything of value, then Mammon coins are the quantification of the value of the tyrant's contribution.
What Belphegor loves is interesting stories, other people's gorgeous and beautiful lives, and shocking artistic creations. The more they can touch Belphegor's life, the more valuable it is in Belphegor's eyes, and the more he desires the other person's love.
Sight, witness the lives of others.
Borrogo asked, "The promise of eternal life? Is this one of your great ideals?"
"Of course, this is my promise. Every poet who joins the Unbound Poetry Society and shares his life with me will be compiled into the endless poems and gain eternal life."
Belphegor slowly clenched his fists, his voice was stern and full of anger.
"Unfortunately, Wufu Poetry Society has been corrupted, and the endless poetry has been cut off."