Re: In My Bloody Hit Novel - Chapter 650

Chapter 650: Cleanse Of The Magicians
The man on the altar paused in his storytelling, his dark eyes lifting to meet the Seer’s hollow, dangling gaze. Slowly, he adjusted his glasses, a faint smile curling his lips—a grin devoid of warmth or humanity.

“Seer,” he drawled, his voice smooth but unnervingly detached, “you’re an eyesore. Either commit to losing your neck entirely or plug it into that lovely little hole in your chest. This in-between state? It’s so inelegant. Almost offensive, really.”

The Uncrowned Clown barked out a sharp laugh at the comment, as if it were the height of wit, while the Seer merely sighed, her expression cold and resigned. Her gaze drifted to the severed head resting on the man’s thigh.

“So,” she said, her voice weary, “the Magicians finally rebelled?”

The man—known as Thalus of the Broken Eye, one of the ten Fingers of Solitude and a member of the enigmatic Fate family—smirked, his hand lazily running through the Night Mistress’s dark locks.

“When you summoned me back from my lovely travels and begged me to sit here and watch your precious throne,” he began, tossing the severed head like a toy, “I thought I’d be dealing with the Demon Mother clawing her way out of the Nether Realm or perhaps a rampaging spirit of chaos. But instead, all I see is a little girl playing at queen.”

With a flick of his wrist, he flung the head toward the Seer. It bounced and rolled across the floor, leaving a faint trail of bloodless flesh until it stopped, its lifeless eyes staring up at her.

The Seer looked down at the head, a faint glimmer of irritation crossing her face. She sighed again. “So, it would seem the Magicians will no longer be a part of the Holy Church.”

Thalus nodded, his grin widening. “Correct. The Night Mistress sacrificed herself to ensure her precious little flock escaped to safety. Even the Magistrate managed to slink away. Shame, really. I had a few experiments I wanted to try.”

The Seer disentangled herself from the support of the Uncrowned Clown, standing tall despite the grotesque state of her body. With a slow, deliberate wave of her hand, she began ascending the steps to the altar, her movements stiff and uneven, but resolute.

Thalus watched her with an amused expression, stepping aside as she reached the throne. His voice was light but mocking. “Ah, the queen returns to her seat. Let’s see if the throne still recognizes you.”

The Seer lowered herself onto the throne, her body trembling slightly with the effort. The moment her form settled into the golden seat, threads of shimmering light, like woven strands of fate, surged forth. They wrapped around her injuries, mending the gaping hole in her chest, pulling her severed neck upright, and seamlessly stitching her head back into place. Her broken body straightened, restored to its unnerving, bloodless perfection.

She tilted her head from side to side, testing the repairs, and then rested her arm on the throne’s armrest. Her gaze, colder than ever, settled on Thalus.

He cocked his head, watching her intently. “So, Seer, was it worth it? Did you manage to steal his power?”

The Seer shook her head slowly, a shadow passing over her pale features. “No,” she said, her voice carrying an edge of frustration. “There is still much to be done.”

She straightened, her voice gaining strength as she continued. “Send word. All members of the Fate family must assemble. Immediately.”

Thalus arched a brow, his grin fading slightly. “Oh?

…..

The Seer’s voice carried across the ever-shifting glass halls of the cathedral, calm but laced with finality. “The Magician Lands are to be emptied of all living souls. Their possessions, books, artifacts—everything—is to be claimed by the Holy Church. Leave nothing behind.”

The decree echoed in the space, reverberating like a tolling bell of doom. Those gathered in the cathedral, whether clerics or knights, exchanged uneasy glances. None dared question the order.

—

In the lands of the Magicians, chaos reigned supreme.

Gold Knights, adorned in gleaming armor that reflected the carnage, stood tall amidst the trembling ranks of their subordinates. Before them, rows of knights in bronze and silver armor knelt with their helmets removed, faces pale with fear.

“Please, have mercy! We are loyal to the Holy Church. We have done no wrong,” one of the knights pleaded, his voice cracking as he dared to raise his eyes to the commander.

The Gold Knight, standing imperiously above them, gazed down with cold disdain. “The Holy Church has decreed,” he began, his tone unwavering, “that any who use magic are no longer part of its sacred fold. Magic is heresy, an affront to the Divine Path.”

Another knight dared to protest, tears streaming down his face. “We have been faithful! We have fought for the Church! Why—”

His words were silenced as the Gold Knight waved his hand. “Enough.”

At the signal, swords glimmered in the fading sunlight. A single knight, unable to bear the injustice, screamed in rage. “The Holy Church is nothing but a den of hypocrites! May the heavens—”

His curse was cut short as the Gold Knight’s gauntleted hand made another sweeping gesture. In an instant, every silver and bronze knight knelt before him lost their heads in a synchronized arc of crimson. Their bodies slumped forward, lifeless, staining the earth with blood that soaked the Holy Church’s judgment into the soil.

—

Further into the Magician Lands, the brutal purge continued. Innocents and the guilty alike were caught in the indiscriminate sweep of holy wrath. Villages were set ablaze, their thatched roofs crackling into fiery ruin. The wails of women, children, and the elderly filled the air as Core Beasts—massive, terrifying creatures controlled by the Gold Knights—rampaged through the territory.

One beast, a monstrous lion-like creature with scales running along its back, tore through a town square. It roared, the sound reverberating across the land, before pouncing on a fleeing group of villagers. Its claws ripped through their fragile bodies like paper, scattering limbs and entrails in its wake.

In another village, a massive serpent, its scales shimmering with a metallic sheen, coiled itself around a crumbling tower where a group of mages had taken refuge. The serpent tightened its hold, and the stone cracked and splintered before the tower collapsed in on itself, burying its occupants in rubble.

Fields were trampled, rivers turned red with the blood of the fallen, and the once-thriving lands of the Magicians were reduced to an apocalyptic wasteland. The screams of the dying faded into an eerie silence as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the Magician Lands in a darkness befitting its fate.

No soul would escape the cleansing judgment of the Holy Church.