Re: In My Bloody Hit Novel-Chapter 755: A Gift.

Chiron froze.

For a single, suspended moment, a million questions crashed through his mind at once. Calculations, memories, warnings from a past that refused to stay buried. This—this was not something he had prepared for. Not this.

Slowly, instinctively, he stepped back.

The Clown noticed immediately and burst into laughter, sharp and mocking.

"What's wrong?" he taunted. "Never seen a talking head before?"

As he spoke, his body bent in a way no living thing should. Bones shifted with wet, grinding sounds as he crouched, fingers closing around his own severed head. Casually—almost lovingly—he lifted it and placed it back onto his neck.

Black, seething marks spread around the wound, crawling like living ink. They pulsed, tightened—

—and sealed.

Chiron's eyes narrowed.

He recognized it instantly.

Aura.

No—

Death aura.

A power that did not belong to the living.

Chiron himself possessed aura, but among all of time that he knew, there was only one other being he had ever known who wielded death aura so naturally: the Undead General who once served the Demon King, ten thousand years ago.

A monster even history had tried to forget.

Chiron backed away further.

The Clown, however, failed to notice the thin streams of blood leaking from his own wounds, slithering across the broken ground. They crept silently, gathering, funneling toward the tip of Devil's Touch where Chiron had subtly anchored them.

Instead, the Clown stepped forward, tilting his head with exaggerated curiosity.

"What's with that face?" he asked, grin widening into something feral. "So shocked?"

He laughed again, then shrugged.

"Still—credit where it's due. Your swordsmanship has improved. A lot."

He opened his mouth to continue, but Chiron cut him off.

His voice was calm. Too calm.

"Tell me," Chiron said, eyes locked onto him. "When did the Seer—a woman who claims to be the living representation of the Goddess of Fate—start using death aura?"

The Clown chuckled, rolling his shoulders as if warming up for another round.

"Don't worry," he said lightly. "Once I drag your broken body back to her…"

His grin sharpened.

"…you'll find out."

The battle continued—but the rhythm had changed.

This time, Chiron was running.

He tore through the dead city like a shadow chased by madness, boots pounding across shattered streets and collapsing rooftops.

Behind him, the Clown pursued at an unhurried pace, each step accompanied by howling laughter and arcs of murderous intent.

Blades of distorted energy tore through the air. Some Chiron barely avoided, twisting his body at impossible angles as attacks shaved past his ribs or split buildings in half behind him.

Others he met head-on—Devil's Touch flashing as it intercepted strikes, or thick waves of blood ripping up from the ground to form temporary shields.

They shattered again and again.

The Clown followed relentlessly, vaulting over debris, running along broken walls, mocking him the entire time.

"Running already?" he jeered.

"After all that talk?"

"So this is the great Chiron? The church really hyped you up!"

In his mind, the conclusion was obvious.

Chiron was fleeing in fear.

Then—

Chiron stumbled.

His foot caught on a half-buried corpse, and he crashed hard into the ground, rolling once before stopping on his side. Dust and dried blood exploded into the air.

The Clown slowed.

He walked up leisurely, licking his lips as he raised his massive sword, shadow stretching across Chiron's fallen form.

"Any last words?" he asked cheerfully. "Once I turn you into my dog, you won't be able to talk anymore."

Chiron looked up at him.

At first, there was fear in his eyes.

Then—

it vanished.

Replaced by focus. Cold, razor-sharp clarity.

Chiron exhaled and spoke quietly, almost thoughtfully.

"Tell me something… how did someone smart enough to become a Finger of Solitude end up being this dumb?"

The Clown blinked, a brow lifting in mild confusion.

Chiron waved a single hand.

From his body, giant serpents of blood and magic exploded outward, coiling violently and surging toward the Clown like living siege weapons.

The Clown snorted and swung.

His sword flashed.

The serpents were shredded mid-air, reduced to drifting dust and scattered droplets.

He laughed again.

"Is that all?" he mocked. "Throwing worms at me is the best your magic can do?"

Chiron smiled. He looked below. The serpents had pushed the Clown to the right spot.

The spot Chiron had been aiming all along.

"Have you ever heard of," he said calmly,

"high jacking?"

The Clown's grin froze.

Beneath his feet, the ground ignited—

blazing dark aura surged upward, erupting like a trap finally springing shut.

The Clown reacted instantly.

He swung his sword, arcs of force screaming through the air as he tried to carve his way out of the black aura swallowing the ground beneath him. Again and again he struck—downward, sideways, in wide circular sweeps—but every blow vanished into the darkness as if it were cutting water.

The aura did not break.

It did not even tremble.

Chiron rose slowly to his feet, dust sliding from his coat, his expression calm—almost pitying.

"There's no need to fight it," he said evenly. "This formation was never meant to be broken from the inside."

The Clown paused, eyes narrowing.

"It was built with two things," Chiron continued, lifting Devil's Touch slightly. "Your blood—left on the edge of my sword when I cut your neck… and the death aura of every single person who died in this city."

The Clown let out a short, incredulous laugh.

"…And what exactly is this supposed to be?"

Chiron's gaze hardened.

"The Seer turning one of the Fingers of Solitude into an undead," he said, "was a very brave move. But she's been meddling with power she understands far too little about."

His eyes glowed faintly.

"I am the son of Death."

The ground answered him.

Tongues of black aura lunged upward, snapping around the Clown's legs and torso. He roared and swung his sword, severing several tendrils—but more surged up immediately, thicker, heavier, writhing with cold intent.

They wrapped around his sword arm.

The Clown snarled and unleashed his spiritual energy. Golden light exploded from his body—only for it to darken mid-flare, corroded and swallowed until it turned pitch black.

His laughter stopped.

Outside the formation—now spanning the entire city—Chiron began to speak in rune tongue.

Each syllable carried weight.

Blood lifted from the streets, the walls, the corpses, shaping itself into glowing runes that hovered in the air before falling neatly into place along the massive formation etched into the ground.

The aura pulsed.

Chiron smiled softly.

"I'll be sure," he said, voice calm and sincere,

"to thank the Seer for such a beautiful gift."