The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 350 Ch.349 The Surging Tide

The moment the cork is pried open.

Time seemed to stand still.

Three golden arcs were pulled horizontally by the arms to form a brilliant circular arc with the beginning and the end connected, quickly connecting into a perfect circle.

They burst out with boiling heat in mid-air, enveloping the life in the circle.

The sudden light was so strong that it did not need turpentine, as if a saint had once held the Holy Grail in her hands and kneeled on the scorched and cracked earth, waiting for the sun to shed golden blood.

It is like liquid fire, which, when released from the glass, can no longer be touched by mortal men.

Click.

The pointer started moving again.

The ring fell to the earth and collided with a vague spirit in the air. Every splash of golden liquid instantly condensed into a hot needle that pierced the snow wall, as if it was unobstructed and wanted to spread in all directions!
The blooming golden roses melted the spirits in their path.

They roared and shouted, for the sake of the Father of All Things or the eternal and immortal belief, and as they evaporated themselves, they took away every gloomy and cold soul.

A "little ritual" that any ritualist can perform, stored in a deep well and exposed to the midday sun.

They were hatched from clear springs and mercury just to fulfill the mission of a martyr.

The sizzling sound of hot oil splashing, accompanied by the sweeping of the golden blade, eliminated any staggering spirits in the circle centered on Randolph.

And in the other pile in the distance, there were almost no living people.

They had no guns or swords, only civilized canes and top hats, thick deerskin gloves and tight corsets that even spirits could hardly tear open.

The young man who had previously debated with others and claimed that "we should take more care of those at the bottom of society" is still alive.

The fat man who debated with him is long dead.

He held his wife's head - and only her head.

Then his head was twisted off in the same way.

"First... gentlemen! Why? We have given you what you wanted! 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, and pushing himself back with his legs.

There are ghosts everywhere.

Soon, he too was torn to pieces.

This is the end.

The entire group of heroes, led by Evans, died.

This is a fitting fate for a hero.

"It's our turn."

Randolph's palms were sweating.

The spirits looked over.

—If Roland Collins is like Evans, and doesn’t keep his word…

None of them will walk out alive today.

"…Have you figured out what they want?" The anxious businessman moved closer to Roland and asked in a low voice, his eyes constantly glancing at the gradually approaching and slowly shrinking 'circle': "They don't want holidays, they don't want the right to vote..."

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

"If you could take Beatrice away—"

Bang.

Blah blah blah...

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

Eyes the same color as gold pounds and the sun passed over the spirits' bluish, shriveled intestines, their rich resentment and stunned tears. The once warm blood and urine, now the only warm things were the irregular but golden cute little things scattered on the ground.

Gold Pound.

Roland calmly looked at them one by one, and under the gaze of the spirits in all directions, he spoke 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 Jin Pound inside to reveal more of his body.

"In the name of the Queen: you are allowed to take what is due to you..."

"Sevenpence." "Sirs, ladies, and all—take them, and go wherever you please."

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

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

"Roland!"

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

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

Of the three ritualists, only one picked up Beatrice, while the other two came to Randolph and also drew their pistols.

Behind the collapse of the sluice gates is a force that is enough to destroy civilization.

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

He growled.

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

Bang-!
Gunshots were fired.

One of the ritualists pulled the trigger.

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

They came rushing over.

They are here.

they…

Are they gone?
Randolph subconsciously opened his eyes wide. In his pupils, which were dilated with excitement or fear, he saw spirits rushing towards the gold pound in the mud, but they became fainter and lighter after touching the metal. A cold mist spewed 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 just a moment of freshness.

Then, it disappeared completely.

One by one, row by row, streams of water poured in from the cracks of each building, sniffing and touching 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, and less and less.

They seemed to be standing at the bend of a waterfall, with surging white waves in the distance and a flat road that suddenly broke off and fell with great fanfare nearby.

They probably fell into another world, another world he couldn't see.

Randolph clenched his still shaking hands. His uncontrollable emotions made his teeth chatter and his flesh rub against his flesh. He was almost shattered into pieces and his internal organs were about to be vomited out by the madness of his death.

"How can it be…"

Before I knew it, there was no moisture left in my mouth.

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

"Mr. Collins..."

Bronte murmured, calling out the name as her husband did, and looking at the owner of the name.

In her previous brief breath, in her heartbeat as she silently recited the Book of Eden, she thought that the end of the world was coming, and it would definitely come in this way - if they were drowned by the tide of ghosts, it would just fit what the Book of Eden said.

but now…

Also in line with.

'The Almighty Messiah...the Anointed Savior...'

She addressed her prayers to some unknown god in ungodly words.

Gods are destined not to come to the mortal world.

But His Son, to whom all the souls in the turbid waters of the womb were entrusted, spared no eyes in showing mercy to the ruined world and to the people of the world who were covered with sores.

Bronte squeezed Randolph's hand.

Silently watching the back of the person with black hair like wings.

(End of this chapter)