Re: In My Bloody Hit Novel-Chapter 739: Chiron Vs Divinity 2

Divinity descended.

It was not like spirit energy.

Not violent. Not loud.

It was absolute.

The monk lowered his finger—and the heavens answered.

A line of pure divine force crashed downward, invisible yet undeniable, splitting the air apart as if reality itself had been peeled open. The ground folded inward, compressing into a canyon that stretched for miles.

Chiron moved.

He somersaulted, body twisting midair with inhuman flexibility, Devil's Touch unraveling and reweaving around his limbs to propel him just ahead of annihilation. The divine strike brushed past him, and the mere aftershock tore flesh from his arm, blood spraying into the wind.

"Hm," the monk murmured.

"Reflexes honed by desperation."

Another finger fell.

Another line of judgment cleaved through the land.

Chiron flipped again—then again—his boots barely touching the earth before it shattered beneath him. Each dodge cost him blood, stamina, focus. His lungs burned.

"You dance well," the monk said lightly.

"But dancers tire."

The finger shifted.

This time, it didn't strike downward.

It struck sideways.

Chiron's instincts screamed too late.

The divine force detonated across the battlefield, a horizontal sweep that erased everything in its path. Dust, stone, blood, and faith all vanished into a single, blinding shockwave.

Silence followed.

Then—

The dust parted.

The monk frowned.

At the center of the devastation, Chiron still stood—knees bent, Devil's Touch embedded into the ground like an anchor. Around him, a yellow aura flickered, fractured, then dissolved into nothingness.

Fear.

Pure, conceptual fear.

The monk's eyes narrowed.

"…Interesting."

He studied the fading remnants carefully. "Spirit energy and aura in a single vessel?" His voice sharpened for the first time. "And not only that—"

His gaze snapped upward.

"That seal… the Runic Mark of the Rainbow Aura Gods. But you are not their Godchild."

His eyes widened.

After all, if chiron was their godchild, even if he strayed from the path of righteousness, heaven's will would not come for him like this.

Ot could only mean that chiron had stolen it.

Yes, he was a thief.

He looked at Chiron again, truly looking now.

"How is a mortal capable of this? You fraud."

Chiron smirked, though inside his chest something twisted painfully.

That almost killed me.

To dodge that strike, he had torn open one of the stolen rune seals—the runes carved from the corpse of a god's child, saturated with stolen divinity.

He had taken them when he challenged the aura Gods the last time.

He had gambled that their residual authority would resist true divine force.

They had.

Barely.

He wiped blood from his cheek with the back of his hand, leaving a crimson smear across his face.

Then he straightened.

"My turn," Chiron said calmly.

And this time—

He meant it.

However, before he coukd rven follow with hid threat, the monk moved again.

There was no warning this time—no descent of heaven, no drawn-out judgment.

He simply appeared.

A finger pierced forward.

Pain detonated through Chiron's body.

He was hurled backward, flesh tearing open as divine force carved through him like parchment. Blood exploded from his torso, spraying the broken ground. Chiron crashed through stone, skidding for dozens of meters before slamming to a halt.

He tried to rise.

His chest screamed.

Looking down, he saw it—

a gash so deep his ribs were exposed, pale and slick with blood, his lung trembling visibly beneath torn muscle. Every breath whistled wetly. The smell of iron filled his mouth.

His vision swam.

Still—he stood.

Chiron clenched his teeth so hard they cracked.

The monk halted, hands folded behind his back, and laughed softly.

"My, my… look at you," he said, amused. "Your body is already broken. Stop running. Accept it. Die quietly, and I may let your soul disperse peacefully."

Chiron spat blood.

Hell no, I can't die here. I do not accept this fate.

Then, in pure desperation, he raised both hands.

The air pulsed.

Once.

Twice.

Like a beating heart.

The ground shuddered as the atmosphere thickened, reality warping under a different law. Shadows twisted, and from them—snakes emerged.

Hundreds at first.

Then thousands.

They poured from the air, from the earth, from Chiron's own shadow, coiling and writhing in impossible numbers. Scales gleamed black, crimson, bone-white. Fangs dripped venom. Their bodies hissed with arcane symbols.

Chiron's eyes glowed yellow.

The monk's expression finally shifted.

"…Magic."

Yes.

Chiron had abandoned spirit energy.

Aura required death to fuel it—and there were not enough corpses.

So he chose magic.

Raw. Ancient. Hungry.

"If one path fails," Chiron rasped, blood running down his chin, "you take another."

The snakes launched.

They struck from every direction—above, below, behind—coiling around divine barriers, biting, constricting, detonating into clouds of venom and cursed mist. The monk moved, fingers flicking, divine force shredding dozens at once—

But they kept coming.

The monk was forced backward.

It was the first time since the battle began.

Chiron noticed this clearly.

Is he afraid of them?

He thought to himself.

The snakes slammed into him like a living tide. Some were crushed mid-air, others burned away by divine light—but many reached him, coiling around limbs, striking at joints, eyes, throat.

The monk countered with precision, turning each movement into destruction, but the battlefield became chaos—stone pulverized, magic screaming against divinity, the sky tearing open from the strain.

Then—

One snake slipped through.

It was small. Almost insignificant.

Its fangs sank into the monk's wrist.

The monk froze.

For a fraction of a second.

Chiron gasped.

He felt it.

A thread of power—thin, but real—flowed back into him.

Warm.

Alive.

His shattered chest tightened.

Muscle reknit. Flesh crawled back over bone. The exposed lung sealed, breath deepening as pain receded faster than it should have.

Chiron's eyes widened.

He stared at his healing wound.

Then at the monk.

A realization flashed across his face.

"…So that's how it works."

Then again, how coukd he not see the signs?

The magic he used was indeed magic. But Madayaki's magic was not from this world, but from the world of the gods...