The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 992: Chaos
"Who are you calling a prostitute?!"

Rose frowned and looked back with an unfriendly look: "You'd better keep an eye on him, if he runs away..."

She stared at the gangsters and ordered them to take care of the captured prisoner with a sack over his head - she had to find a quiet place to interrogate him.

"Is there any other woman here?"

Hans spoke up for his men.

"We are only responsible for work, girl, no one is born to listen to your complaints..."

In this narrow alley, women obviously have no right to tell men what to do - especially at night.

How dare she?
"Because I spent money, you idiot. What's your name, Hans? Three pounds isn't enough to keep your boot-licking mouth shut?"

The men's eyes suddenly became dangerous.

They exchanged glances, tied the prisoner with the sack over his head to a pipe exposed outside the wall, and then rolled up their sleeves and slowly walked towards Rose.

"It seems we have to teach you a lesson, girl - do you really think that your father spends this much money to let you be the queen for a whole night?"

One of them pulled a crude folding knife from his trouser pocket.

The handle of the knife was badly worn, but the blade had been sharpened again and again, and was so thin that the moonlight could almost penetrate it.

Rose subconsciously took a half step back.

His back was pressed against the wall.

She just remembered that she didn't bring the servants with her - it was an extremely irrational act for her to go into danger alone...

The buzzing of insects and flies' wings kept ringing in my ears.

As he approached, she felt her scalp itching, and beads of sweat appeared, soaking her hair and flowing down her face to her collarbone...

The girl swallowed carefully.

She was a little scared.

"My...my father...but..."

"We don't give a fuck who your father is, girl. You'd better apologize to my brothers... in a..." The leading thug made some extremely vulgar and obscene gestures, grinning and getting closer: "In the way we like."

Rose shrank back into the corner.

Of course she knew what the 'way they liked' was - she couldn't, and would never allow herself to do that...

and many more.

Why can't she?
she…

she…

No, that's not the problem.

The flapping sounds became more and more frequent.

In the cold, stuffy, humble dung bucket or noble ass, she seemed to hear the flapping of wings coming from all directions.

Countless brown-bristled tentacles gently stroked her exposed brain.

Her whole body was itchy, as if she was being pulled backwards away from the land that the sun was about to sweep on, along the line of day and night that never turns back before dawn. She didn't know why she had to struggle so desperately, and she fell into a blanket covered with fine fluff, and the more she struggled, the tighter it felt.

She was soaked.

"Gentlemen...I...I owe you an apology...I..."

It's too late.

In the cow eyes of those criminals through the moonlight, Rose saw a thought that was more natural than that of humans who had driven oxen for a lifetime: that was an instinct that every woman had, as sharp as intuition and engraved in her blood.

They are awakened from time to time, in pain or happiness.

This instinct has existed since time immemorial, and it only serves to remind females to prepare their pockets and flap their thin and fragile wings to remind them to use their pockets to catch the wingless tadpoles in the wind.

'Go install it.'

said the buzzing swarm.

"Go into the wind, holding the two corners of your bag, go into the wind, use your arms, waist, hips and feet, everything you are born with, everything you should remember even if you have forgotten it—"

Rose shook her head vigorously.

She felt something was wrong.

The humid and hot summer could not dry out her wet and twisted memories and thoughts, her skull-like head, the time that made people crisp and the rust that made metal admit defeat, the loose spring like the fatal spot of a man who had used up all his strength, and this long and annoying sentence -

She was like a cat lying on the wall, missing her husband who came to her with a bowl of food in the afternoon. The cat would remember.

She should remember...

She should remember that she was the ritualist.

For an instant.

The peacock in the darkness finally opened his eyes.

Like silk wrapped around his arm in the wind, the tiger's mouth lightly pinched the man's arm, which was shaking in a threatening manner, as he muttered in confusion.

To be exact: pinching the other person's wrist accurately and quickly.

This made the thugs stunned at first, and then they burst into loud laughter.

Roses made of paper.

Even if it is just pulled out of the soil, fresh and still has thorns.

What impact will it have on the soldiers?

The failure of the war was not because they encountered a rose that would bloom at night. "If you let go of my hand, I will take them and applaud you."

Hans concealed the ferocity in his expression and leaned in some milky white turbid substance: that was an expression that only appeared on the faces of people who had just entered the Red Street - generally speaking, people were very different after leaving.

They all have the faces of philosophers who are at peace with the world.

Rose still had time to think aimlessly, precisely because she had 'woken up'.

She is a ritualist.

How could she be afraid of mortals - even when she was still "Rose the Thief", the blade in her hand could kill these blind flies in an instant...

Flies are really annoying.

She shook her head, trying to shake off the insect smell that permeated her brain fluid: a smell that was hard to describe, but she just knew it.

"I never said I wouldn't kill anyone."

The evening breeze rhymed at the curls of black hair, and in the alley, at the entrance where they came in in groups, a golden coin stained with burning blood flashed like lightning.

It was flicked out by the thumb.

It rolled and pierced Hans' eyeball, passed through his brain, and broke the skull at the back of his head.

The whole process was carried out with only the slightest movement.

It was like the sound of a tiny crack opening in a wall: quick and unexpected.

The heavy body fell to the ground.

The dim night seemed to give people more courage. The thugs rushed forward with folding knives, daggers, or their fists, shouting - stepping over the body of their leader: they didn't even think it was a body, but that the girl had somehow sneaked up on Hans in the shadows.

They think so.

One by one they pressed forward.

After the explosions, one after another, a dull sound that shook the earth appeared in the cracks in the wall.

period.

Rose just leaned against the brick wall and flicked her fingers three or five times.

Just solve these disobedient idiots who deserve to be run over by wheels for a hundred years...

idiot…

蠢…

I…

Hans...Hans?!

The eggs in the brain hatched into fat-colored maggots, which crawled along the inner wall of the girl's skull and squeezed out from her peacock-colored eyeballs and bloodshot conjunctiva.

Rose sweated more.

Because she finally realized: they had fallen into a ritualist's trap.

bang——

The gold coin bounced again and pierced through the soft brick wall.

The girl, as nimble as a cat, stepped on the raised iron hook and the pull rope in a few steps, climbed over the wall, and ran back without looking back!

escape…

She has to get out of this trap first!

If the other party can silently influence her brain, they will also have the opportunity to twist it off.

escape!
Go back to Roland!
She ran wildly on the long, quiet street, but there was always a lingering stench in her nostrils:
The stench from the doors that are closed during the day and used at night, the smell of feces that flows through the pipes and sticks to the soles of shoes, the smell of stinky boils that have been held back for years and finally burst out with wave after wave of happiness that feels like reaching heaven.

No matter how she twisted, blew, or rubbed it.

The smell accumulated in her nostrils, seeping into her lungs with every breath, spreading the eggs to every oily hole in her flesh.

She ran slower and slower, and her steps became heavier and heavier.

The incessant beating of wings entered her ears, piercing her eardrums with their suction organs, preparing to play music somewhere happier.

She paused on the deserted street.

stop.

Hold your head.

She screamed in pain and fired the gold coins in her pocket one by one at where she thought the enemy was.

Panting and dizzy.

The worms that sprouted in billions of pores grew billions of pairs of wings. They flapped her soul, making her rage in madness and death, howling like a she-wolf in a hunter's trap.

She fell into the mire.

Like a butterfly caught in a spider's web.

"you…"

Rose raised her face with difficulty.

She saw a pair of empty eyes.

A shrunken shell.

And the damp, rotten soul hidden in the skin.

(End of this chapter)