Re: In My Bloody Hit Novel - Chapter 668

Chapter 668: Confrontation In The Nether Realm
As the word *”disgusting”* escaped Thalus’s lips, he flicked his fingers with an effortless motion, his disdain practically radiating from him. Then, with a voice cold and sharp, he uttered, *”Ignite.”*

The air itself seemed to tremble as an infernal light erupted from Thalus. “you flit should know your place in the dirt.”

The demons, devil riders that had swarmed the skies were immediately engulfed in an unholy blaze. But these flames did not merely burn—they tore.

The fire slithered through the air like sentient serpents, piercing their bodies and tearing them apart in grotesque displays. Flesh boiled and bubbled, splitting open in gory bursts, revealing bones that blackened and cracked under the heat. Wings disintegrated mid-flight, their tattered remains spiraling down in ash-laden arcs.

Some of the demons screamed—a high-pitched, guttural wail—but their cries were quickly drowned out by the sickening crackle of flesh rending and bones snapping.

Others didn’t even have the chance to scream as the flames ripped through their torsos, spilling charred organs onto the ground below. The sky became a rainstorm of grotesque carnage, as blood—burning with devil energy—fell like molten drops, sizzling and searing the already blighted earth.

Through it all, Thalus’s expression remained a portrait of cold contempt. The flames reflected in his glasses as he watched the carnage unfold with a critical eye, almost as if inspecting his own work.

Each demon destroyed seemed to satisfy his sense of balance, but only momentarily. For no sooner had he obliterated one wave than another surged forward to replace it, their numbers seemingly endless.

Finally, with a sigh of exasperation, Thalus rose from the chariot. His immaculate robes fluttered in the oppressive wind as he stepped forward, the aura around him crackling with suppressed energy.

Slowly, deliberately, he raised his sleeves, revealing arms marked with jagged, intricate lines etched deep into his pale skin. These marks glowed faintly, pulsating with an eerie, otherworldly energy.

The sight of the marks twisted his expression into one of visible annoyance. He stared at them for a moment, muttering under his breath, “I despise having to use this.” His fingers twitched, his irritation evident. “But for filth such as this…” He glanced up at the horde of demons, his lip curling in disdain. “You don’t deserve restraint.”

With that, the marks on his skin flared to life, glowing with an intensity that seemed to defy the oppressive red gloom of the Nether Region. The energy around him condensed, and the air vibrated with a malevolent hum as his power began to manifest.

“Remember this moment,” Thalus said, his voice cold and deliberate. “It is the precise instant your existence became a blemish I can no longer tolerate.”

As the oppressive red sky of the Nether Region churned above, an eerie, childlike laughter suddenly echoed across the battlefield. It was high-pitched, distorted, and bone-chilling, freezing the moment in place. Thalus paused, his flames dissipating as he turned his sharp eyes toward the sound.

From the swirling air, a figure began to materialize—a distorted apparition, androgynous in appearance but leaning toward feminine. Its mocking smile stretched unnaturally wide as its head tilted at an odd angle. The figure radiated an aura of malice, its translucent body flickering like a twisted lantern in the dark.

“Ah, visitors,” the figure cooed, its voice dripping with venomous delight. “We in the Nether rarely get guests. It’s nice to see the outside world still remembers us.” Its mocking laughter bubbled up again, sending shivers through the atmosphere. Then, with a sneer, it added, “But Thalus of the Holy Church… you’re playing with children. Why not try picking on someone your own size?”

Thalus’s gaze narrowed as he scrutinized the figure, his irritation barely masked by his calm demeanor. “A Commander of the Dark Legion…” he muttered, his tone flat but laced with a hint of contempt.

The apparition, evidently amused, offered no response beyond its unnerving smile. But before Thalus could act further, the air shifted violently. From the ground below, a torrent of blood erupted, surging toward him like a crimson tidal wave. It moved with malevolent intent, enveloping him in its putrid embrace.

Within the mass of blood, Thalus’s expression twisted with pure disgust. “How dare something so filthy touch my skin,” he spat, his voice venomous. From his core, a fiery explosion erupted, incinerating the blood around him. He emerged unscathed, his pristine form a stark contrast to the grotesque carnage.

He raised his hand, flames gathering around him in a swirling inferno. The fire surged forward, a tidal wave of cleansing destruction aimed at the apparition. But before it could connect, a thin, glimmering film of bones materialized, blocking the attack. The flames hissed and sputtered, extinguished by an unknown force.

From above, a chilling feminine voice echoed through the blood-red sky. “Now, now, let us not ruin my realm with petty squabbles.”

Descending from the sky was a figure on a chariot entirely made of bones. Her form was regal and commanding, exuding an aura of malevolence that seemed to dominate the realm. She bore a striking resemblance to the Seer—her face breathtakingly beautiful yet cold as death itself. Her hair was a stark, ghostly white, her veil and robes as black as the void. Her eyes, completely white like most demons, were hollow yet piercing.

By her side stood a young girl, nearly identical to her but younger in appearance. The girl’s beauty was no less striking, though her expression carried a playful malice.

The apparition, now identified as one of her underlings, bowed deeply in respect.

“Winter,” the Demon Mother said, her voice calm yet commanding. “What is the meaning of this disturbance in my domain?”

Winter, the apparition, pointed with a long, skeletal finger toward the golden chariot in the sky, her mocking smile never wavering. “The Holy Church sends its love, Mother. Shall we return the favor?”

The Demon Mother turned her gaze toward the golden chariot, its blinding light cutting through the oppressive darkness of the Nether Realm. The golden radiance illuminated her skeletal chariot and the crimson skies above, clashing with the eerie, blood-drenched landscape. Her white hair shifted slightly in the ghostly wind as her hollow, white eyes locked onto the figure standing tall within the light.

The Seer stood silently, her expression unreadable but for the ice-cold disdain that seemed to emanate from her presence. Her veil fluttered gently, untouched by the oppressive atmosphere of the Nether Realm.

A slow, mocking smile spread across the Demon Mother’s lips as she spoke, her voice laced with condescension and amusement. “Sister, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? Surely, it can’t be that you miss the days when we both shared the same womb?”

The Seer stepped forward, her movements elegant and deliberate. Her form shimmered with divine power, and it seemed as though she walked on the very air itself. The golden light followed her as she moved, casting long, flickering shadows across the skeletal trees and barren ground below.

When she reached the Demon Mother, she came to a halt, her cold eyes narrowing. “A particular ritual has reached my ears,” the Seer began, her tone sharp and cutting. She began circling the Demon Mother slowly, her voice ringing clear and authoritative. “Bodies have been found, carved with the rune markings of the late Demon King of ten thousand years ago. Tell me, sister—do you have a hand in this?”

The Demon Mother maintained a straight face, her smirk fading into a look of feigned innocence. “I deny it,” she said calmly. “But it is hardly a new occurrence to find demons nostalgic for the old days when the Demon King ruled. It is only natural, after all,” she added with a hint of slyness in her voice. “That was, undeniably, a great era.”

The Seer halted her pacing, her expression darkening as her frown deepened. “The Demon King is dead,” she said, her voice low but filled with finality. “And he will never be again.”

The Seer turned sharply, as if to leave, her light trailing behind her. But before she could take another step, the Demon Mother’s voice rang out again, slow and deliberate, carrying a weight that stopped her in her tracks. “And what if he was?”

The words hung in the air like a storm cloud, their implication laced with challenge. The Seer’s composure shattered in an instant. She spun around, her divine energy flaring to life. In a blur of motion, she reached out, her hand gripping the Demon Mother’s neck with crushing force.

“You forget your place,” the Seer hissed, her voice trembling with rage as her divine light grew harsher, burning away the shadows around them. “Do you need me to remind you?”

The Demon Mother, however, didn’t flinch. Instead, she smirked, her expression mocking despite the Seer’s grip. Her voice, though slightly strained, carried its usual venomous charm. “I am not the one who broke the accords, Sister. That sin belongs to you… You and your fear Of Manu Madayaki. If you were willing leave your glass city for such a matter, I wonder how it will move your heart if it were… My King.”