Read Novel Full Chapter 464: In Between The Mandibles Of The Centipede
Chapter 464: In Between The Mandibles Of The Centipede
Mrs. Fukushima strolled into her mansion, tossed her phone and bag on the couch, and collapsed on it.
Her housekeeper walked in, took the bag and shoes, then left with them.
Mrs. Fukushima’s phone rang, and she picked it up. "Mr. London," she said.
"Is Godfrey in that dungeon?" he asked.
"He’s not. I still believe we can deal with it. We’ve dealt with several others before he came."
"Not this one. You’re stubborn, Mrs. Fukushima. Too stubborn and proud about your country’s capabilities that you can’t see a free meal even when it’s served on your table."
Mr. London’s voice made her frown. "We tend to trivialize what we didn’t witness. It’s the same for almost every human on Earth. I just saw what they faced in that dungeon in Scotland..." Mr. London squinted.
He sat cross-legged in the same room he met Godfrey, staring at the scenes that came to life on his table. It had golden intricate threads that formed everything.
This was Ronald’s doing. After showing him what the House Of Order went through in the dungeon, Isolde told him that they would not be taking 700 million straight up, then she took the price straight to 3 billion.
They eventually settled for 2.4 billion. Mr. London had not felt a presence like Isolde in a while. She was a political menace, and Ronald...
The world was truly vast.
"What happened in Scotland?" Mrs. Fukushima sat up, her eyes sharp.
"Let me say, if I sent in an army and ten demigods, there’s an eighty-five-percent chance none of them would make it back alive."
"What?!" Mr. London’s statement made her gasp.
"I know we’ve seen gates that brought out powerful monsters, but whatever that boy Godfrey saw is different. Those dungeons don’t just have powerful monsters. It’s best you leave it to him. Best-case scenario, he dies with whatever is in there...."
Mr. London paused for a moment.
"I have to give it to him. If he didn’t intervene, Scotland might be a mess."
Mrs. Fukushima gritted her teeth. She ended the call and slowly dropped the phone before grabbing the hair close to her scalp tightly.
She clenched her teeth as her eyes widened to the limit. Her face looked horrible just because she couldn’t allow herself to scream.
It was all spiralling out of control. Even if she had managed to pin the blame on Godfrey, it was her fault.
Mrs. Fukushima scratched her head with such ferocity one would think there were a hundred head lice in there.
’Damn you!’
***
Meanwhile, in London, Isolde walked back into the Crimson Drawing Room with Ronald. She sat down and crossed one leg over the other. Her golden ornaments, which complemented her dress and perfected her skin, gleamed under the light.
She moved a good part of her hair behind her ear, then her lips lifted into a charming smile. "How did it go, Mr. London?"
Mr. London chuckled. "I spoke to her."
"Thank you. I don’t want my husband to work with scraps. He’s alone there, so the Japanese government should do well to aid him. Especially after the joke of a headline they pulled off a few hours ago," she responded with a calm yet sharp tone.
Mr. London looked at Ronald, who had a little smile.
"It shouldn’t be a problem."
"We’ll be on our way then. Thanks for your time." Isolde’s heels echoed as she left the room with Ronald.
’Dragons... always so prideful—!’
A loud bestial cry made him spring to his feet. He went straight to the window, and his eyes reflected the beasts circling the sky.
Over twenty dragons were dancing in the skies around the castle. Her biggest dragons weren’t there, and none of them unleashed dragonfire, but this silent show of power.
Everyone in the palace was at the windows staring at the sky. Those outside were quite frightened. None of them had ever seen anything like this. It hadn’t even been seen in the history books.
Mr. London slowly exhaled, then began to laugh. Then his laughter died, and his face became solemn.
***
On the other hand, Tokyo stretched endlessly beneath a forest of glass towers and glowing neon signs, where giant digital billboards bathed the streets in shifting colors.
Crowds flowed through intersections with uncanny precision, thousands of people moving without colliding.
Sleek trains moved overhead while vending machines glowed on nearly every corner. Between the towering skyscrapers hid narrow alleys packed with tiny ramen shops, paper lanterns, and the scent of grilled meat.
It was a city where centuries-old shrines stood quietly in the shadows of steel and glass, and every street seemed alive with light, sound, and relentless motion.
A city with millions, and at this moment, under the dark night sky, a silhouette appeared behind the red gate in the heart of Shibuya Scramble Crossing, a place where millions moved through every single day.
The agents outside were surprised when they saw Takeshi with an extremely pale, sweaty face. There were supposed to be agents inside the gate, so why did none of them follow Takeshi, who looked like he needed help to walk?
People who had to go around the place and avoid the barricade around the crossing began taking pictures. It was obvious this man was a survivor of this infamous crossing.
"Mr. Takeshi... is that you?" an agent asked, but his summon, a giant dog, began to growl aggressively while baring its fangs at Takeshi.
Seeing this, the agent lifted his gun. The other four followed suit.
"Don’t shoot... it’s me," Takeshi whispered. But then a soft flute rang and the agents’ eyes went down, and they saw centipedes falling off his trousers and scuttling toward them and the barricade.
In an instant, over a dozen centipedes were out, and more kept falling.
Gunshots rang. The bullets tore holes through Takeshi’s body and then, there was a loud screech.
Takeshi, whose upper body had tilted back like he was about to fall, suddenly stood up once more and screamed. Centipedes poured out of his mouth.
Shibuya Scramble Crossing became chaotic in an instant. People scattered as they screamed.
Right at that moment, the sound of a flute rang in the containment center far away, and suddenly about two thousand people began to vomit.
Some people held their throats, their eyes bulging out. Some jumped on those attending to them, vomiting centipedes on them. Some medical attendants were pinned down as centipedes found their way into their bodies.
Screams tore through the containment center as countless centipedes scuttled out. Gunshots rang. Beasts roared. An agent used Echo to manifest claws, and he dismembered those coming for him, but to his shock, they came back together.
His eyes widened. A woman held his head as others dragged him. She pried his mouth open, and a centipede jumped out of her mouth into his own.
They left him, but the agent stabbed his own head, killing himself before the infection could take root in his body.
In some homes, doctors began vomiting. It was the same for their families and those they and their families had met. In one night, at the sound of a soothing bamboo flute, thousands fell to the plague.
Shibuya was already in between the mandibles of the centipede.