The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 380 Ch379 The Language of Addiction

Chapter 380 Ch.379 The Language of Addiction
It is exciting to witness the space breaking apart bit by bit with the naked eye.

Because you can't describe in words what you saw - for Lillian Rose Vansittart, this was the first time she felt the wonder of the mysterious world beyond flesh and blood.

This should be called a 'miracle'.

Those broken 'blades' that continue to multiply and grow.

"Your miracle will soon kill us." Roland moved quickly, like a duck floating on the water, with his upper and lower bodies not in the same world.

"How come you don't have any sense of adventure at all?"

"If you have one, 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 adventure."

"You mean, the name I came up with is worse than a pig's nose?"

"You are no match for a pig's nose." Rose curled her lips, but the person in front of her suddenly stopped.

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

"…You did it on purpose." Rose rubbed her sore nose: "You——"

She stared at Roland's shoulder, and her subsequent words were cut off by her throat.

The two stared in silence.

The sight before me was truly astonishing.

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

But apart from the spider webs and dust that we were used to seeing along the way, there was a cult smell everywhere:

Inverted cross.

A huge cross, red in color and pitted with rotting flesh, hung upside down at the end of the room.

The walls are covered with blasphemies:

The saint with a silver cross on her chest was redeemed by the soldiers and taken to a sweaty camp. The filthy things that happened afterwards made Rose open her eyes wide.

Behind the saint who opened his arms and shed golden light on mortals was another evil face gnawing at skulls.

The candlelight of the Holy Cross no longer dispels 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 angel's wings were red, and a thick, fishy yellow juice was flowing down.

The priests were content to enjoy themselves, with circles of naked children crawling at their feet.

The nuns were covered in wounds, holding up sharp thorns and whipping their kneeling counterparts who were weaker than them.

The seats of these people were piled with gold pounds, adorned with precious stones, and the crowns on the tops of the chairs were painted with pearls and silver.

——And on the other side of the wall, at the other end of the room, the mural is even more interesting.

The messenger who manipulated the blood stood at the bottom, like an unyielding hero, with his head held high, staring angrily at the high seat, and shouting loudly at the "holy" who were enjoying themselves and destroying people -

There were no words on the mural, so Roland didn't know what he shouted.

Maybe 'Let me save them'.

Maybe 'Let me sit in that chair'.

“Interesting drawing.”

Rose commented dryly.

The story that follows is not as attractive as the one about the saint and the military camp at the beginning.

She cared nothing for the Holy Cross or the Cradle of Flesh and Blood, nor did she believe in the gods whose teachings were tyrannical and overbearing.

"Roland."

She touched the scratches on the wall, reminding Roland that they were running out of time.

The constantly shattering and multiplying red blade 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 yet difficult puzzle... Give me some time..."

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

Riding, facing the corridor.

She rested her arms on the back of the chair, but her eyes were fixed on the direction she was coming from.

Before they died, she wanted to run over and do to Roland what she had never dared to do and had never had the 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 was the best ritualist, the best man, the most fascinating lunatic.

He would never die inexplicably in this bizarre dream.

But actually…

Just as Rose thought.

Too many ritualists died in this way. Those who explored dreams, loved adventure, and guessed that their fate was smooth, believing that they were born extraordinary and surrounded by luck, and that they could always find the key to the top of the tower in one dream after another.

But the decreasing number of explorers proves that fate has disappointed these conceited people.

These candlelit houses floating in the Black Sea are also traps with sharp teeth.

"Reverse cross."

Roland suddenly spoke:
"Rose."

"Ok?"

"Give me your blood."

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

And to make a sound in Fuchino, 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 and painful death - the blood of ancient angels made his blood appear light golden, and they 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 powder magazine?
"Blood?"

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

"I need to find a ..."

Rose didn't ask too many questions. She looked around the small prayer room. Soon, she found a black iron candlestick, took out the candle, wiped the tip with her shirt, and asked:
"Just a few drops?"

"Just a few drops."

Roland explained to her how to use Fuchino.

A few seconds passed.

A cold finger pressed against Roland's lips.

Pressed down.

"But how are you going to drink it?" The girl tilted her head back slightly, feeling the tingling and heat from her fingertips.

Obviously.

The execution ability of green eyes is much stronger than that of golden eyes.

…………

……

'upside down.'

The word "upside down" in Fucino is similar to "unique", and they have thirteen identical syllables: After a few drops of blood were rolled into his 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 are all unstressed syllables.

Roland couldn't explain how he did it.

He just can.

It's like having one more mouth, or maybe one more him.

This simple yet complex way of pronunciation does not consume the throat and does not require any superb skills.

It only needs blood to cover throat and lips:

The sound is 'eating' them.

"upside down."

Roland said softly.

The squirming cross began to melt into thin strands of scarlet spider silk, and gradually, a crimson arch slowly appeared in front of them.

"what did you say?"

"upside down."