Re: In My Bloody Hit Novel - Chapter 582

Chapter 582: The White Serpent King Visits the Battlefield
The battlefield was a swirling mass of chaos, an inferno of blood and rage where the line between life and death blurred with each clash of weapons and roar of beasts.

The stench of blood, sweat, and fear hung heavy in the air, mixing with the acrid smoke from the fires that raged across the torn landscape.

Orcs, humans, and demonic beasts clashed in a brutal symphony of violence, each side driven by their own primal instincts—survival, vengeance, and the thirst for blood.

Carla, the Orc Chief, stood at the forefront of the battle, her eyes glowing with a fierce crimson light as the orc female chief wielded her cursed weapon with deadly precision.

The weapon, a twisted, grotesque blade imbued with literally unknown energy, pulsed with malevolent energy. Each swing of the blade left a trail of darkness in its wake, and wherever it struck, the curse took hold, forming grotesque female genitalia-like holes on her unfortunate victims.

The curse was insidious, causing the wounds to fester and spread, consuming the flesh from within. Such was the weapon of the female orc chief, to carve a mating hole in whatsoever it touched.

Carla rode atop Hunter, The wild blue core beast whose eyes shone in a very dark blue light, evidently, it was on the verge of increasing in its core rank. This massive cat-like creature with a sleek, muscular body and fur as dark as the night.

Hunter moved with a deadly grace, his claws tearing through the demonic beasts that dared to cross their path. They fought in perfect harmony, a lethal duo that cut through the battlefield with unmatched ferocity.

Ahead of them, a horde of giant bloodhounds, formed from the blood of fallen soldiers, charged with snarling fangs and glowing red eyes.

Carla urged Hunter forward, and they met the beasts head-on. The first bloodhound lunged at them, its massive jaws snapping inches from Hunter’s throat, but the wild core beast was faster. With a powerful leap, Hunter pounced on the creature, his claws ripping through its blood-soaked hide.

Carla swung her claws, slicing through the bloodhound’s neck with a swift motion.

As the beast fell, another took its place, but Carla and Hunter were relentless. They tore through the horde, leaving a trail of cursed, mutilated bodies in their wake.

On another side of the battlefield, the human warriors that had joined the orc side fought valiantly against the demonic creatures, their spiritual energy crackling in the air as they summoned their totems.

The totems, mystical constructs of pure energy, took the form of powerful core beasts—bears, wolves, eagles—each representing the spirit of these creatures.

One warrior, a tall man with a totem in the shape of a massive bear, stood his ground against a giant tree-like demon.

The demon’s bark was as hard as iron, and its branches whipped through the air like massive clubs, trying to crush the warrior. But the man was undeterred.

His bear totem roared, charging at the tree demon with unbridled fury. The ground trembled beneath its massive paws as it slammed into the demon, its claws digging deep into the wood.

The warrior channeled his spiritual energy into his weapon, a gleaming axe that crackled with power. With a mighty swing, he cleaved into the demon’s trunk, the blade sinking deep into the cursed wood.

The demon let out a groaning roar, its branches flailing wildly, but the warrior and his totem pressed the attack. Together, they hacked at the demon until it toppled to the ground, its form splintering and dissolving into dark smoke.

High above the battlefield, the Demon cicada that had come for Chiron, hovered, a grotesque mass of blood in human form with multiple eyes scattered across its twisted face.

It waved its hands, commanding the demonic beasts below with its essence, driving them to cause more chaos. The creatures it had influenced were nightmarish abominations—mutations of fallen soldiers and beasts, their bodies twisted and reshaped into monstrous forms.

A group of orcs found themselves surrounded by these abominations. The creatures were a horrifying sight, their bodies dripping with blood and their eyes glowing with a sickly green light. They moved with unnatural speed, their limbs bending and contorting in impossible ways as they attacked.

One orc, a burly warrior with a massive hammer, swung his weapon with all his might, crushing one of the abominations into the ground. But as soon as it fell, two more took its place. The orcs fought desperately, their weapons cleaving through flesh and bone, but the abominations were relentless. Every time one fell, another would rise, driven by the demon cicada’s will.

It was at such a time that it happened.

Suddenly the air was pierced by an unsettling sound—a hissing, so loud and pervasive it seemed to resonate within every ear, yet felt close enough to touch.

The sound was unnatural, a noise that echoed not just across the battlefield, but deep within the minds of every creature present. It was as if the very air vibrated with it, a malevolent whisper that commanded attention.

Every being on the battlefield, whether human, orc, or demonic beast, felt an irresistible compulsion to stop fighting and turn toward the source of the sound. Even the bloodthirsty beasts, driven by the demonic cicada’s influence, paused in their frenzied attacks.

The fog that had settled over the battlefield seemed to part, revealing a lone figure emerging from the murk—Chiron, or rather, Manu Madayaki in Chiron’s skin.

His presence was otherworldly, an eerie calm in the midst of chaos. He walked with a slow, deliberate gait, as if he were merely taking a stroll through a park rather than a battlefield drenched in blood. His eyes, glowing a vivid yellow with slitted pupils like those of a serpent, held a terrifying power that seemed to freeze the very air around him. This was no ordinary man—this was a predator, a king among monsters.

Manu was using a skill.

*The Serpent’s Call to Prey,*

A power that radiated from him in invisible waves, drawing every gaze, every ounce of attention, toward him. He came to a stop in the center of the battlefield, his ragged appearance doing nothing to diminish the regal aura he exuded.

All eyes were on him—warriors and beasts alike were transfixed by the sight of this twisted figure who seemed to belong more to nightmare than reality.

Manu inhaled deeply, his chest expanding as if he were savoring the scent of the carnage around him. His hands flared out to his sides as he closed his eyes, letting the moment wash over him. Then, with a slow, deliberate exhale, he spoke, his voice carrying an unsettling mix of amusement and hunger.

“I’ve always enjoyed the pure scent of chaos,” he murmured, his voice dripping with a malevolent satisfaction. “And I am hungry.”

As he breathed out, a thick, yellow vapor flowed from his mouth, spreading rapidly through the air like wildfire. The vapor moved with an unnatural speed, swirling around the battlefield, its sickly color a stark contrast against the blood-soaked ground. It spread out in every direction, enveloping humans, orcs, and demons alike. There was no escape.

The moment the vapor touched skin, the effect was immediate and horrific. Those who inhaled it felt a searing pain in their lungs, their bodies convulsing as the deadly toxin took hold. In seconds, their skin bubbled and blistered, yellow pus oozing from every pore. The screams of the dying filled the air, a chorus of agony as soldiers, beasts, and demons alike succumbed to the poisonous mist. They burst open in grotesque explosions of yellow pus, their bodies collapsing into putrid heaps as the life drained from them.

Manu watched with a sadistic grin, his eyes glowing brighter with each death. He reveled in the destruction he had wrought, his heart pounding with exhilaration. The battlefield, once full of life and fury, was now a graveyard of mutilated corpses, all victims of his insatiable hunger for chaos.

With a chuckle that sent chills down the spines of any still able to hear it, he surveyed his handiwork. “Such fragile creatures,” he sneered, his voice thick with contempt. “All it takes is a little of my essence, and you crumble like the weaklings you are.”

He walked through the carnage, his boots splashing through the yellow sludge that had once been living beings. “This is the power of a king,” he whispered to himself, his voice echoing through the silence that had fallen over the battlefield. “The power to take life with a single breath.”

He stopped once more, raising his arms as if to embrace the death and decay around him. “I am Manu Madayaki, the White Serpent King,” he declared, his voice carrying a chilling finality. “And all shall kneel before me—or die.”