Re: In My Bloody Hit Novel - Chapter 542

Chapter 542: Pull Of The Blood Contract
All of a sudden, Chiron heard the rushing sound coming from behind him. He spun around and saw it: thousands of white snakes of varying sizes, their eyes gleaming like rubies, hissing as they surged toward him.

Without hesitation, Chiron waved his hand, and his broadsword appeared. The Devil’s Touch blade, acting as a replacement for his severed hand, hummed with spiritual energy. He had a feeling he wouldn’t leave this place without a fight.

The first wave of snakes lunged at him. Chiron swung his broadsword in a wide arc, cleaving through dozens of them in a single stroke. The severed snakes hissed and turned into smoke, vanishing into the air. But more came, their fangs bared, eyes glowing with malevolence.

Chiron fought tirelessly, his movements fluid and precise. He parried, slashed, and thrust, his swords a blur of motion. He somersaulted over a particularly large snake, slicing it in two as he landed. Another snake, twice his size, attempted to swallow him whole. Chiron leaped inside its gaping maw, and with a powerful upward slash, tore through its stomach, spilling its smoky innards.

The air was thick with the scent of burning flesh and the acrid tang of sulfur. The heat from Chiron’s fire attacks filled the room, but no matter how many snakes he incinerated, more took their place. They bit at his skin, their fangs leaving deep puncture wounds that oozed blood. The pain was intense, but Chiron fought through it, his resolve unwavering.

He spun and slashed, his broadsword a whirlwind of death. The Devil’s Touch blade pulsed with dark energy, adding to the lethality of his attacks. He shot flames from his body, incinerating the snakes that got too close, but still they came, relentless and unending.

The ancient voice chuckled menacingly in the background. “You cannot escape, little one. Your strength is futile against the endless tide.”

Chiron gritted his teeth, refusing to be deterred. He performed a series of intricate sword techniques, his movements a deadly dance. He leaped high into the air, bringing his broadsword down with a powerful overhead strike, cleaving a massive snake in half. He rolled to the side, avoiding the snapping jaws of another, and plunged Devil’s Touch into its head, turning it to smoke.

The fight was exhausting, but Chiron did not stop. His muscles burned, and his breath came in ragged gasps, but he continued to fight with relentless determination. The room echoed with the clash of steel and the hissing of the snakes, creating a cacophony of battle.

A particularly large snake coiled around him, squeezing with crushing force. Chiron roared, summoning his inner fire, and the snake exploded in a burst of flames and smoke. He staggered, his body covered in bite marks and burns, but he refused to yield.

As he fought, the ancient voice continued to taunt him, its laughter echoing in the dark chamber. “You are strong, but strength alone will not save you. How long can you endure, warrior?”

Chiron’s eyes blazed with fury. “As long as it takes!” he shouted, his voice filled with defiance.

He continued to fight, his swords cutting through the endless swarm of snakes. The battle seemed to stretch on forever, each moment a test of his endurance and will

The snakes’ bites grew more painful, their fangs sinking deeper into his flesh, but Chiron used the pain as fuel for his rage. He fought with a savage intensity, his swords slashing and stabbing with unrelenting precision. He would not be defeated. He would not be broken…

……..

Meanwhile, within the new Beast Kingdom, someone else was also undergoing a test of his own. It was none other than Dylan, who was battling Maverick.

A few months had passed since the first time they trained together, and Dylan had learned the hard way that he was not as invincible as he once thought. Maverick, the fox-man, would come from time to time to train with him.

However, these sessions seemed more like an excuse for Maverick to beat him up. Dylan had dislocated his leg twice and even had an arm popped out of its socket. Each training session was a step higher in torture than the last, yet he was becoming better and better.

Today was particularly eventful.

They faced each other in a small clearing, surrounded by the dense forest of the Beast Kingdom. Maverick stood tall and composed, one hand behind his back, the other holding a wooden sword. A small bell hung from his chest, swaying slightly with his movements. Dylan, drenched in sweat, gripped his own wooden sword tightly, his muscles aching from the rigorous training.

“Ready, shithead?” Maverick taunted, a sly grin on his face.

Dylan nodded, his jaw set in determination. “Ready.”

They clashed, the sound of wooden swords striking filling the air. Maverick moved with effortless grace, his single-handed strikes precise and powerful. Dylan struggled to keep up, his movements more laborious, but there was a newfound intensity in his eyes. He was no longer the overconfident novice; he had been tempered by pain and perseverance.

Maverick’s strikes came swiftly, each one aimed to exploit a weakness in Dylan’s defense. Dylan parried and dodged, sweat dripping down his face. His muscles burned, but he pushed through the pain, focusing on the bell hanging from Maverick’s chest. He needed to touch it with his sword tip to win.

Maverick’s taunts continued, “Come on, is that all you’ve got?” He swung his sword, aiming for Dylan’s side. Dylan blocked it, gritting his teeth as the force of the blow reverberated through his body.

He feinted to the left, then quickly switched to the right, aiming for the bell. Maverick saw through the move and countered with a swift strike, forcing Dylan back. The fox-man’s movements were a blur, a testament to his superior skill and experience. But Dylan did not give up.

He tried another approach, dropping low to sweep Maverick’s legs. Maverick jumped gracefully, avoiding the sweep, and brought his sword down in a powerful arc. Dylan barely managed to roll away, feeling the rush of air as the wooden blade passed just above him.

Breathing heavily, Dylan got back on his feet, eyes locked on the bell. He knew he had to be smarter, quicker. Maverick lunged, and Dylan met him head-on, their swords clashing with renewed vigor. Dylan’s muscles screamed in protest, but he ignored the pain, focusing entirely on the rhythm of the fight.

He noticed a slight pattern in Maverick’s attacks, a tiny pause between certain moves. Using this to his advantage, Dylan bided his time, waiting for the right moment. When Maverick swung wide, Dylan ducked under the blow and sprang forward.

With a final burst of speed and strength, he extended his sword, the tip aiming straight for the bell. Time seemed to slow as the tip of his wooden blade made contact, and the bell rang out, clear and loud.

The match was over.

Maverick stepped back, a side smirk playing on his lips. “Not bad, shithead,” he complimented, a hint of genuine approval in his voice.

Dylan, panting and drenched in sweat, couldn’t help but smile. He had done it. He had finally touched the bell. It was a small victory, but a significant one, and it marked another step forward in his grueling journey.

Just then, he felt a pull in his chest, and he fell to the ground, Coughing Blood.