Re: In My Bloody Hit Novel - Chapter 425

Chapter 425: Hyena-man’s son
Dylan’s eyes fluttered open, his eyelids heavy and reluctant. The first thing he registered was the hushed whispers and soft giggles of children.

Their voices floated around him, tinged with curiosity and a hint of mischief. He could almost feel their eyes on him, wide and inquisitive. As soon as they noticed he was awake, they scattered, their laughter and shrieks echoing off the walls as they fled the room, leaving a trail of giggles in their wake.

Dylan blinked, trying to make sense of his surroundings. The ceiling above him was a patchwork of decay, with sections of plaster hanging precariously, threatening to fall at any moment. Cracks spiderwebbed across it, giving the impression that a mere whisper could bring it all crashing down.

The walls fared no better, their paint peeling away in long, ragged strips, revealing layers of neglect. Yet, despite the state of disrepair, the room was meticulously clean. Someone had taken great care to ensure that, despite its crumbling state, the environment was as sanitary as possible.

Dylan’s gaze shifted to the medical supplies scattered about. Bandages, gauze, antiseptic bottles, and various other implements of wound care were neatly arranged around him.

He realized then that his body was a patchwork of bandages, each one snugly wrapped around injuries he could only vaguely recall receiving. A dull, persistent throb emanated from various points on his body, but it was the deep, gnawing ache in his muscles that was the most immediate.

Pushing himself up onto his elbows, Dylan winced as pain shot through him. His surprise was palpable, each movement a sharp reminder of the fight he had barely survived.

With a grunt, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet meeting the cold, unforgiving floor. He rose unsteadily, every muscle in his body protesting the effort.

He staggered towards the door, driven by a burning need to understand how he had ended up here and to find answers to the questions swirling in his mind.

After all, the last thing he remembered was that chaotic fight with the Hyena—man.

Just as he reached for the door handle, it swung open, revealing a small figure. A young child stood before him, barely up to his waist, with wide, intelligent eyes that sparkled with a curious blend of innocence and wisdom.

This child was, like the others Half core beast—half human.

The child’s hair was a tousled mess, and he wore a simple outfit that had seen better days. Yet, it was his eyes that held Dylan’s attention—they were unnervingly perceptive, as if the child could see straight into his soul.

The child smiled up at him, a genuine, heartwarming grin that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “You smell like my Daddy,” he said in a soft, almost lyrical voice. As his nose twitched a bit. “Are you friends with him?”

Dylan was taken aback by the child’s words, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. He had no recollection of meeting the boy’s father, and yet, the familiarity in the child’s eyes suggested otherwise. His mind raced, trying to piece together fragmented memories of the fight and how he had ended up in this strange, dilapidated sanctuary.

Before he could respond, the child’s smile widened, and he reached out to take Dylan’s hand. The gesture was simple, yet profoundly comforting. “Come on,” the child urged gently. “Aunt Momo will want to see you. She can help you.”

Dylan hesitated for a moment, then nodded, allowing the child to lead him. As he followed the small, confident figure through the doorway, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was on the brink of uncovering something crucial—something that might finally make sense of the chaos that had become his life or his mind state.

Dylan’s body screamed in protest with every step he took, each movement a symphony of pain that reverberated through his battered form.

Suddenly, the child beside him stumbled, his small frame collapsing partway to the ground. Instinctively, Dylan reached out, catching the boy just before he could hit the floor. The effort sent a fresh wave of agony through his already suffering muscles, but he held on, determined to keep the child safe.

As Dylan cradled the boy, he felt the small body convulse, shaking violently as if seized by an unseen force. Panic surged through him. He looked around the empty, dilapidated room, his voice echoing off the crumbling walls. “Help! Someone help him!” he yelled, his desperation growing with each passing second.

A nearby child, who had been playing in the shadows, saw what was happening and darted away to fetch help. Moments later, a figure rushed into the room—a young woman, her face familiar and filled with urgency. Dylan recognized her as the person he had glimpsed before losing consciousness after the fight. This was the same Rabbit woman.

Their eyes met briefly, an unspoken understanding passing between them, before she knelt beside the seizing child. “He’s having a seizure. His spiritual energy flow has gone wrong again. We need to redirect the flow back to his core,” she said, her voice a mixture of calm determination and underlying fear.

Dylan stared at her, shocked by her words. Spiritual energy gone wrong? In his experience, that could only happen during cultivation and not when a little boy like this was taking a stroll.

Yet the worry etched on her face was undeniably real. She placed her hand on the child’s chest, closing her eyes in concentration as she attempted to channel her spiritual energy into his small, convulsing body. Dylan watched intently, but he could see the strain on her face—it was clear her spiritual energy alone wasn’t enough.

He felt a surge of resolve. Though he knew little about the physiology of Beast people or their spiritual energy flow, he couldn’t stand by and do nothing. “Let me help you!” he urged, stepping closer despite the pain that flared with every movement.

The woman shook her head vehemently. “Your spiritual energy is not like ours. You can’t do this. If you link your energy with his, his core will drain you dry,” she warned, her voice edged with both concern and authority.

Dylan met her gaze, his determination unwavering. “Let me deal with that when the time comes. If I don’t help him now, he will die,” he insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument.

For a moment, the woman hesitated, then she nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the urgency and his resolve. She shifted slightly, allowing Dylan to place his hands over hers, feeling the faint, erratic pulse of the child’s spiritual energy beneath his palms.

Drawing a deep breath, Dylan closed his eyes and focused inward, reaching for the reservoir of energy within his Dantain. He felt a strange, unfamiliar sensation as his energy began to flow into the boy, mingling with the chaotic currents within the small body. The connection was immediate and intense, like plunging into a raging river. He felt the boy’s core tugging at his energy, the drain as palpable as a physical pull.

Dylan gritted his teeth, willing himself to stay focused despite the growing fatigue….