The Secret Code of Monsters

Chapter 380 Ch379 The Language of Addiction

Chapter 380 Ch.379 Addictive Language

It is exciting to witness the space breaking up bit by bit with your naked eyes.

Because you can't describe what you see in words - for Lillian Rose Vansittart, this is the first time she feels, feels the wonder of the mysterious world besides flesh and blood.

This should be called a 'miracle'.

Those broken, growing and growing 'blades'.

"Your miracle will kill us soon." Roland's feet are fast, like a duck floating on the water, the upper body and the lower body are not in the same world.

"Why don't you have any adventurous spirit."

"If you have, you should agree to the name I give you, such as the maidenhair fern..."

Rose was surprised: "My pretty face, but no one would name their son 'Pig Nose' just for that little bit of adventurous spirit."

"You mean, the name I think of is not as good as a pig nose?"

"How can you compare with a pig nose." Rose pouted, but the person in front suddenly stopped.

The girl was caught off guard and bumped into his back.

"…Did you do that on purpose?" Rose rubbed her sore nose: "You——"

She stepped on Roland's shoulder with her eyes, and the following words were cut off by her throat.

The two stared at each other in silence.

The scene in front of them was really shocking.

——This was a side hall for believers to pray.

But apart from the spider webs and dust that they had seen along the way, there was a 'cult' smell everywhere:

The upside-down cross.

The huge cross, red, pitted and rotten like flesh, was hung upside down at the end of the room.

The walls were painted with blasphemous works:

The saint with a silver cross on her chest was redeemed by a soldier and arrived at a sweaty camp. The filthy things that happened afterwards made Rose open her eyes wide.

The saint who opened his arms and shed golden light on mortals had another evil face gnawing at the skull behind him.

The candlelight of the Holy Cross no longer dispels the darkness for the ignorant, but instead ignites their flesh and blood, burns their fat, pulls out their tendons, and pierces their eyeballs into grapes.

Suck and eat.

The wings of the angel are red, and the fishy yellow juice flows down.

The priests are content with pleasure, with circles of naked children crawling at their feet.

The nuns are covered with wounds, holding up sharp thorns, and whipping their kneeling, weaker counterparts.

The seats of these people are piled with gold pounds, decorated with gems, and the crowns on the top of the chair backs are painted with pearls and silver.

—— On the other side of the wall, at the other end of the room, the murals are even more interesting.

The messenger who manipulates blood stands on the lower side, like an unyielding brave man holding his head high, staring at the high seat, and shouting loudly to the "holiness" who enjoys and destroys people——

There are no words on the murals, so Roland doesn't know what he shouted.

Maybe "Let me save them."

Maybe it's 'Let me sit in that chair'.

"Interesting painting."

Rose commented dryly.

The story that turned upside down after that was not as attractive as the one about the saint and the military camp at the beginning -

She didn't care about the Holy Cross or the Cradle of Flesh and Blood, and she didn't believe in these two domineering gods.

"Roland."

She touched the marks on the wall, reminding Roland that they didn't have much time.

The red blade that was constantly breaking and multiplying was slowly cutting off their retreat, approaching the prayer room little by little.

"Maybe..."

Roland stared at the huge cross that was still pumping, and murmured: "Maybe it's a simple and difficult puzzle... Give me some time..."

"I'll give you a lifetime." Rose shrugged and pulled over the low stool in the corner.

Riding, facing the corridor.

She put her arms on the back of the chair, but her eyes were fixed on the way.

Before they died, she would run over and do to Roland what she had never dared to do and had no time to do...

However, they shouldn't die.

Roland Collins must be a great man in the future. He is smarter and more talented than me.

He is the best ritualist, the best man, and the most fascinating madman.

He will never die in this bizarre dream for no apparent reason.

But in fact...

Just as Rose thought.

Too many ritualists died in this way.

Those who explore dreams, are keen on adventure, guess that their fate is smooth, and think that they are born extraordinary and surrounded by luck, and can always find the key to the top of the tower in one dream after another.

But there are fewer and fewer explorers, which proves that fate has disappointed these conceited people.

These houses floating in the black sea with candles lit are also traps with sharp teeth.

"Reverse cross."

Roland suddenly said:

"Rose."

"Hmm?"

"Give me your blood."

The knowledge in that book... should be the key to survival.

And to make a sound in Fuchino language, blood must be used.

But Roland's own blood...

To be honest, if he dared to cut a wound here, he would probably die a long death - the blood of the ancient angels made his blood appear light golden, and it had the same effect as holy water... or even stronger than holy water.

——Now this dream is obviously related to the flesh and blood creator, the mother of distortion and sanctification.

Light a match in the gunpowder magazine?

"Blood?"

"Yes, your blood." Roland stared at the slowly moving inverted cross: "Maybe a few drops."

"I have to find a..."

Rose didn't ask too much, her eyes turned around twice in this small prayer room - soon, she found a black iron candlestick, pulled out the candle, wiped the tip with her shirt, held it up and asked:

"Just a few drops?"

"Just a few drops."

Roland explained to her how to use Fuchino.

A few seconds later.

A cold finger was placed on Roland's lips.

Press down.

"But how do you drink it?" The girl raised her head slightly, feeling the tingling and heat from her fingertips.

Obviously.

The execution of green eyes is much stronger than that of gold eyes.

…………

……

'Hang upside down. '

'Hang upside down' in Fuchino is similar to 'the only one', they have thirteen identical syllables: when a few blood beads were rolled into the throat, Roland was surprised to find that he could smoothly insert more than a dozen syllables of different tones into a short word -

Although they were all unstressed syllables.

Roland couldn't explain how he did it.

He just could.

It was like having many more mouths, or maybe more of him.

And this simple yet complex way of pronunciation didn't consume the throat, and didn't require any superb skills.

It only required the blood covering the throat and lips:

The sound was "eating" them.

"Hang upside down."

Roland whispered.

The wriggling cross began to melt into wisps of slender red spider silk, and gradually, a crimson arch slowly emerged in front of them.

"What did you say?"

"Hang upside down."