Re: In My Bloody Hit Novel - Chapter 382

Chapter 382: Chiron Challenges Divine Energy
In the aftermath of Chiron’s meticulous operation, the priestess was discarded on the cold earth, her form marred beyond recognition. Her skin bore the brutal testimony of the ordeal she had endured—a canvas of gashes and lacerations.

The agony she suffered was unmitigated by any form of anesthesia; Chiron had ensured she was acutely aware of each incision, every deliberate mutilation, and the relentless assault of pain. As her blood seeped into the ground, the loss of her limbs was not the end of her torment.

To cling to life, she had invoked her green aura, a desperate measure to stave off the embrace of death.

Chiron, ever calculating, allowed this. He understood the stakes—her aura runes were paramount, their preservation essential.

The demise of the priestess would mean the dissipation of these runes, their powers bequeathed to another deity’s progeny, an outcome Chiron could not afford.

Thus, he meticulously avoided the green aura rune until it was imperative, his surgical precision unfaltering despite the grim tableau.

As he extracted the final Aura rune, Chiron was acutely aware that time was against him. The essence of the runes, now tethered to his own Aura, was a fleeting sanctuary.

He knew well the ephemeral nature of this stasis. With the last rune liberated from its fleshly prison, the urgency of his next move pressed upon him. Chiron, the embodiment of calculated villainy, was already steps ahead, his mind weaving through the intricacies of his dark designs.

In the macabre silence that followed his grisly work on the priestess, Chiron turned his sinister intentions upon himself.

With a grotesque smile etched across his face—a harbinger of the horror to unfold—he began the ghastly task of carving into his own flesh.

His arms, legs, and chest became the canvas for his self-inflicted mutilation, each slice of his skin an act of perverse self-sacrifice to a darker cause.

The runes, pulsating with a stolen vitality, were then meticulously sewn into these fresh, bleeding wounds with threads of his black death aura, an energy so malevolent it seemed to corrupt the very air around it.

As Chiron wove each rune into his flesh, they began to merge with his being, sinking into his body with a sinister assimilation that defied the natural order.

These symbols of power, once part of the priestess, now claimed by Chiron, seemed to pulse with a dark life of their own, their essence intertwining with his. The sight was unspeakably horrific, a tableau of living nightmare that not even the beleaguered priestess could escape, her eyes wide with terror as she witnessed the abomination before her.

Chiron’s smile never wavered throughout this ghastly ritual, a smile so chilling it seemed to mock the very essence of pain and humanity. Blood was lost in copious amounts, flowing freely from his self-inflicted wounds, yet he showed no signs of concern for his well-being.

His focus remained unerringly on the dark rite he performed, each rune’s integration marking him further as a being beyond mortal ken—a villain transfigured by his own vile ambition and insatiable hunger for power.

As Chiron concluded his harrowing self-transformation, he rose to his feet, a laborious effort that belied the toll his dark ritual had exacted upon him.

His movements were unsteady, a visible testament to the significant blood loss he had endured in his pursuit of power. Yet, the gravity of his physical state did nothing to deter his resolve. There was a palpable sense of anticipation in the air, a culmination of Chiron’s nefarious ambitions drawing near.

With a deep, steadying breath, Chiron summoned the remnants of his strength and focused intently on the green aura rune now part of his own flesh.

This was uncharted territory for him, a foray into the manipulation of a power not born of his essence—a daunting task that demanded an unprecedented level of concentration and will. “IMAGE PERFECTION!” The words, barely more than a whisper, seemed to carry the weight of his unwavering determination, a command that breached the realms of possibility.

In response to his invocation, a vibrant wave of green energy surged from the rune, its luminescence casting an ethereal glow throughout the desolate temple.

This green aura, foreign yet forcibly made obedient, began to dance across the ruins like an orchestrated symphony of restoration. Each shard of stone, every fragmented pillar, and the myriad of runes that lay shattered and devoid of their former glory, stirred to life.

It was as if an invisible hand guided them, each piece levitating with a grace that defied the chaos from which they rose.

The air hummed with the power of the green aura, a vivid display of energy that wove through the ruins, threading them together in a reverse tapestry of destruction.

Stones aligned with an almost sentient precision, pillars reconstructed themselves, rising from the ground to reclaim their place in the heavens. Broken runes, their magic long since faded, reignited with a newfound brilliance as they resumed their sacred positions along the temple’s walls.

This spectacle of rejuvenation unfolded under Chiron’s watchful gaze, the temple healing itself under the command of the borrowed aura.

The ruins, once a testament to devastation, now mirrored the grandeur of Chiron’s imagination—a vision of what the temple once was, restored to its pristine condition.

It was a sight to behold, the ancient edifice reborn, its walls standing tall and proud, bathed in the rejuvenating green light that pulsed from within, a heartbeat of restoration that echoed Chiron’s triumph over the forces of decay.

In the eerie aftermath of Chiron’s dark ceremony, the priestess, now devoid of her hands and stripped of her divine aura runes, found herself in a state of paradoxical clarity. Bereft of her sacred gifts, she had, ironically, gained an unprecedented vision. Her gaze fell upon Chiron, and in that moment, she perceived a terrifying spectacle—a dense, dark miasma enshrouding him, a manifestation of death’s aura that clung to him like a shadowy cloak. This was not merely an aura; it was an embodiment of darkness, a palpable manifestation of malevolence that swathed him in an ethereal garment of night, shaped like the wings of a bat, proclaiming him master of a dark domain unseen by any before.

Throughout her tenure as a priestess, she had communed with the divine essences of seven gods, each corresponding to a hue of the rainbow, a spectrum of divine power. Yet, before her now was a revelation of an eighth divine essence, one that defied the sacred spectrum—a dark divinity that wrapped around Chiron, marking him as a being of unparalleled power and dread. This vision, fleeting as it was, imprinted itself upon her mind, a terrifying epiphany that filled her with a visceral fear.

Amidst her horror, Chiron, absorbed in his triumph, remained oblivious to her gaze.

His attention was fixated on the mirror egg, an artifact of immense power. With a display of brute force, amplified by the divine runes now integrated into his very being, he shattered its shell, revealing the milky substance within—divinity distilled from the essence of fallen Vandorian soldiers and the body of Barbara.

The priestess, despite her despair, found the strength to voice a desperate warning, her scream a futile attempt to deter Chiron from a path that could lead to his own destruction. “No! Don’t do it. You will die!” she cried, her voice echoing with a mix of fear and pleading.

Yet, Chiron’s response was one of chilling amusement. “That is what makes it fun,” he retorted with a malevolent chuckle, his smile a grim testament to his insatiable lust for power and the thrill of courting death itself.

His actions were not those of a man blinded by ambition but of a being who reveled in the very brinkmanship of existence and annihilation.

This moment encapsulated the dark journey Chiron had embarked upon—a path that led him to usurp divine powers, defy the natural order, and challenge the very limits of mortality.

As the priestess bore witness to this unfolding tragedy, she was caught between the horror of what had been done to her and the terrifying spectacle of a man physically challenging the power of gods.

The priestess’s warnings, steeped in the profound understanding of divine equilibrium, proved to be ominously prescient. As Chiron greedily consumed the milky essence, a surge of unbridled power cascaded through him, a tsunami of divine energy seeking dominion over its new host.

Initially, this influx invigorated him, endowing him with a euphoric rush of strength and vitality. Yet, this euphoria was short-lived, quickly giving way to a cataclysmic realization.

Chiron’s veins bulged, grotesquely pronounced, as if the very lifeblood within them sought escape from the confines of his flesh.

Each cell within his being became a battleground, overwhelmed by the divine power that now threatened to tear him apart from the inside.

An eerie luminescence enveloped him, a chaotic spectacle of light as the runes embedded in his flesh flared with intensity. They fought valiantly to assimilate, to tame the divine essence that flooded Chiron’s mortal shell, but their struggle was in vain.

The runes, symbols of stolen divinity and power, glowed with a fierce desperation, each attempting to contain and harness the overwhelming force that now threatened to consume their bearer.

But Chiron’s body, a vessel of flesh and blood, was ill-equipped for the godlike energies he had so recklessly usurped. The very fabric of his being was not wrought for the burden of divinity, especially not one acquired through such unnatural means.