Reincarnation Master

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The meeting place was at the home of Steward, a writer friend of Roca.

It is said that this guy came from the family of a certain oil tycoon, but he didn't like to go to the company to inherit his family business, and came out to become a writer chasing literary dreams.

Among those who have lost their lives, they have the most abundance, and Roca often quipped them as ‘people who don’t work hard and will inherit hundreds of millions of fortunes’.

Steward’s home is a two-story wooden villa, located beside a beautiful lake.

According to him, you have to walk around the lake every day to find inspiration.

When Roca parked the car, he found that several small cars had already been parked around. Obviously, the other friends were almost there.

Seeing this scene, he hurriedly parked the car, arranged his clothes, and knocked on the door of the villa.

"Roca, you are the only thing left."

The one who opened the door was Steward. He was tall, with slender cheeks, and there were dimples on his cheeks when he smiled: "Sara brought some fortune cookies today. You should try..."

"Hmm."

Roca agreed and walked into the living room, and saw that a lot of people had already arrived, surrounded by a somewhat strange man, watching him paint.

He wears a slanted painter's hat, a sky blue shirt and checked suspenders, and has handsome features, but on the whole, he is not much different from the wandering painter who paints portraits everywhere in the square.

"Who is this?"

Roca picked up the last fortune cookie on the tray next to him, and asked.

"His name is Simpson, he just came to our Orsay, and he came after Dick's introduction..." Stewardello said uncomfortably, "He claims to be a wandering abstract painter."

"He took our girl's attention too much, even Shala..." Roca knew why Steward was doing this, teasing him, broke the fortune cookie in his hand in the crisp sound, and pulled out the note: "doom?!"

"Ok?"

Steward took the piece of paper and chuckled: "Are you a prank by the merchant? You are so unlucky, brother! We have never eaten this before, you won the jackpot!"

"Mischief...?"

Roca looked at the word doom, and suddenly felt a sharp pain in her temple.

‘What did I... forget? ’

'doom? Why do you think it is so familiar? ’

"What's wrong with you, buddy? The sequelae of the last car accident?" Steward asked concerned.

"I...I'm okay!" Roca sat down on the sofa, feeling a little better from the headache, but more doubts followed: ‘I...I had a car accident? Why did I forget? ’

"Everyone... finished!"

At this moment, Simpson's brushes stopped, revealing the complete painting.

Red, black, yellow, green... all kinds of bright colors gathered on the canvas, making Rocca feel a little sick.

In addition, there are the irregular and distorted lines, which can even make people dizzy under long-term gaze, as if they are constantly wriggling.

"It's great... I seem to see some of the charm of Master Constantine."

A girl in a red dress exclaimed.

"I saw the inspiration boom, it's amazing, this perfect color combination..."

"And this line..."

The sound of praise came from all around.

Roca suddenly felt a little dizzy, and the surrounding buildings seemed to be centered around him, constantly rotating in circles.

That figure has become a little fuzzy.

"All those present are figures from the literary world. I think a beautiful painting must match a beautiful poem..." Simpson smiled, with some expectations in his eyes: "I don't know who else will perform next. ?"

"If you improvise, of course we are Roca here!"

Steward saw Shara's gaze coming over, his face flushed, and he quickly pulled La Roca's arm.

He knows his talents, if he doesn't experience a whole night of thinking and suddenly takes out his works, he will definitely make a fool of himself, and he can only ask his good friends for help.

"Well, Mr. Roca's literary name, I have long admired for a long time, and I have read your three-line poem in a magazine..."

Simpson smiled, handed a cardboard and pen over, and stuffed it into Roka's hand.

Roca's hearing was a little confused.

Although it is around during the day, a literary salon.

But in his eyes, those figures became mottled and alienated, like branches of black trees at night.

Those many voices also turned into dark and hoarse whispers.

Crackling!

The flames burst, it was a bonfire, it was a black figure, and there were a little crazy chatter...

A kind of desire, as accumulated in the chest, will burst out from the brush strokes irresistibly.

Roca took the pen and began to write his poems on the paper in a sleepwalking gesture.

No, this is not his poem, but it was originally engraved in his body and in his spirit. At this time, it is only through this attitude that it reappears in the world!

‘Roca can still write poems, it seems to be fine, but the state is a bit fanatical...’

Steward murmured a word in his heart, leaning forward, and saw a series of slightly messy words on the paper.

The mess in front is so messed up that I can't see clearly, just like a child's graffiti, writing a few words, and then quickly crossed out.

Later, the alterations gradually became less and understandable.

It's like a process of continuous creation.

Slightly tidying up, Steward felt that he had seen a line of poems and read it softly:

"I have gone through rebirth and death, but I can't reach the other shore..."

"Death is chasing the shadows, and it will not die without Fanghua..."

"This psalm will be there and will give you immortality..."

These three-line verses were altered in some places, but with a strange charm, which made many people present.

"That's it, this is it!"

Simpson looked enthusiastic and shouted: "Immortal! Immortal existence!"

His voice is weird, it seems a little out of tune: "This poem will grow and give you immortality..."

After being read by him in a weird syllable, everyone present felt wrong.

The body is fine, but mentally it seems to be pressed on a black boulder.

Just as Steward wanted to say something, he realized that he was limp on the ground, and he didn't even have the strength to say a word.

Most of the people present are like this ~www.wuxiaspot.com~ The only ones who can maintain their posture are Roca and Simpson.

Roca rubbed his temples and looked at Simpson who was grabbing his own poem: "I seem to... have seen you?!"

"Remember, survivor of the ceremony?"

Simpson's expression turned cold: "It is your honor to be able to listen to the voice of a great existence. Now... you are useless."

He drew out a black dagger and slowly stepped forward: "Death is the home of everything!"

In this weird atmosphere, Roca was shocked to find that he had no strength to resist, so he could only watch Simpson come to him.

As if it was an illusion caused by death, he saw a light curtain emerging before his eyes.

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