The Secret Code of Monsters

Chapter 350 Ch.349 The surging tide

When the cork was pried open.

Time seemed to stand still.

Three golden arcs were pulled horizontally by the arm to form a brilliant arc that connected head to tail, and quickly connected into a perfect ring.

They burst out with boiling heat in the air, enveloping the life in the ring.

This sudden brilliance was so strong that it did not need turpentine, as if a saint had been eagerly holding the Holy Grail, kneeling on the scorched and cracked ground waiting for the sun to bleed golden blood.

It was like liquid fire, and when it was released from the glass, it could no longer be touched by mortals.

Click.

The pointer jumped again.

The ring fell into the mortal world and collided with the looming spirit in the air. Every golden bead that splashed out instantly condensed into a hot needle that pierced the snow wall, as if it was not blocked by anything and wanted to spread in all directions!

The blooming golden rose melted the spirits on their way forward.

They roared and shouted, for the Father of All Things or the eternal faith, evaporating themselves and taking away every gloomy and cold soul.

The "small ceremony" that any ritualist can perform is stored in a deep well and exposed to the midday sun.

They hatched from springs and mercury, just to complete the mission of a martyr.

The sizzling sound of hot oil splashing, accompanied by the sweeping golden blade, made the circle with Randolph as the center no longer have any staggering spirits.

And the other pile in the distance was almost devoid of living people.

They had no guns, no swords, only civilized canes and top hats, thick deerskin gloves and tight waists that were difficult for spirits to tear apart.

The young man who had argued with others before and claimed that "we should take more care of those at the bottom" was still alive.

The fat man who debated with him had long been dead.

He hugged his wife's head - only her head.

Then his head was twisted off as well.

"First... Gentlemen! Why? We have given you what you want! Why are you lingering? We are alive, but you are dead!" The young man hid in the flesh and blood, waving two picked-up canes in his hands, sitting on the ground, pushing himself back with his legs.

Ghosts were everywhere.

Soon, he was torn to pieces.

So far.

The heroic group led by Evans all died.

This is in line with the hero's fate.

"It's our turn."

Randolph's palms were sweating.

Those spirits looked over.

- If Roland Collins is like Evans, and doesn't keep his word...

None of them will be able to walk out alive today.

"... What do they want, do you understand?" The anxious businessman moved closer to Roland and asked in a low voice, but his eyes kept glancing at the gradually approaching and slowly shrinking "circle": "They don't want holidays, they don't want voting rights..."

Randolph became more and more anxious, but he only looked at his sister buried in Roland's arms.

"If you can take Beatrice away--"

Bang.

Swish, swish...

The wooden box was kicked over, and the gold pounds were scattered all over the floor.

Eyes the same color as the gold pounds and the sun passed through the spirits' green, shrunken intestines, plump resentment, and stunned tears. The once warm blood and urine, now only the scattered pieces of irregular but golden cute little things were warm.

Gold pounds.

Roland looked at them one by one very calmly, and under the gaze of the spirits from all directions, he said blasphemous words to all directions: "I have brought your father of all things."

After he finished speaking, he kicked the wooden box, urging the shy gold pounds inside to show more of their bodies.

"In the name of the Queen: You are allowed to take what you deserve..."

"Seven pence."

"Sirs, ladies, everyone-take them, and then, go to where you should go."

As soon as the voice fell, the entire square, the entire Thames River Square, all the spirits moved.

They rushed to the center like crazy, to the box in the crowd on a street in the building complex under the vast river under the dome - as fast, violent and unstoppable as an avalanche.

"Roland!"

Randolph pulled Beatrice out of Roland's arms, ignoring her screams, and pushed her to the ritualist behind him.

Then, he turned around and pulled out his gun, pulling Bronte behind him.

Among the three ritualists, only one picked up Beatrice, and the other two came to Randolph and also pulled out their pistols.

Behind the collapsed sluice gate was a force that was enough to destroy civilization.

Randolph didn't know whether the soldiers on the real battlefield had to face such a terrifying and desperate scene every time, but he dared to guarantee that they would not be more desperate than him - at least the enemies of the soldiers were also soldiers, flesh and blood that could cry and scream.

He roared.

However, Roland just watched the tide approaching like lightning quietly, and gradually saw their facial features from their clothes, and then the wrinkles, hideousness and maggots on their facial features.

Bang——!

The gun went off.

A ritualist pulled the trigger.

The bullet soaked in holy water pierced through the two shadows, causing them to shrivel and wither like punctured balloons - but a few shots could not stop the continuous flow of water.

They rushed over.

They arrived in front of them.

They...

They disappeared?

Randolph subconsciously opened his eyes wide. In his pupils, which were dilated due to excitement or fear, a series of spirits that were catching fire rushed towards the gold pounds in the mud, but became lighter and lighter after touching the metal. The cold mist sprayed out of his breath, as if he had regained temperature. His whipped heart twitched again from suffocation and swallowed the breath of life.

It was only a moment of freshness.

Then, it disappeared completely.

One by one, in rows, and in streams, they rushed in from the gaps of various buildings, sniffing and touching in front of the pile of gold pounds. After a few breaths, they exploded silently like broken bubbles, collapsed invisibly, and disappeared silently and invisibly.

More and more, but also fewer and fewer.

They were like standing at the bend of a waterfall. In the distance were the surging white waves, and in the near distance was the suddenly broken smooth road, falling vigorously.

They probably fell into another world, another world he could not see.

Randolph tightened his still trembling hands, and the uncontrollable emotions urged him to make his teeth clatter and his flesh shove against his flesh. He was almost shaken to pieces by the madness of dying, and his internal organs were vomited out.

"How could it be..."

Unconsciously, there was no moisture in his mouth.

He seemed to have swallowed a mouthful of sand, and his throat was hoarse.

"Mr. Collins..."

Bronte murmured, calling the name like her husband and looking at the owner of the name.

In her previous short breath, in the heartbeat of silently reciting the Book of Eden, she thought that the end of the world was coming, and it would come in this way - if they were drowned by the tide of ghosts, it happened to be in line with what the Book of Eden said.

But now...

It also fits.

'Almighty Messiah... Anointed Savior...'

She gave the prayer to the unknown god with impious words.

The god is destined not to come to the earth.

But His Son, the one entrusted by all souls in the turbid water of the womb, spared no eyes and showed mercy to the ruined world and the people full of sores.

Bronte held Randolph's hand tightly.

Silently watching the back of the black-haired figure.