Hacking the Game Didn't Go as Intended [Part Two]

CHAPTER 237: Theatrics and Transformation

SHLICK!

A sickening crunch echoed.

Neville's body lurched.

From behind him, a lance-like claw burst through his abdomen—its edge slick with blood. A monstrous raptor-like beast loomed over him, its second arm poised like a scorpion's tail. Its jagged teeth clacked in satisfaction.

Neville's head turned slowly to look at the Floor Guardian, his eyes dulling. A new wave of monsters poured in from the darkness behind the raptor. More beasts. More death.

The reptilian wrenched its arm free as it decided upon its next target. Neville coughed up a handful of blood. His blade slipped from his fingers and hit the ground with a heavy clang. Then he collapsed to his knees before pitching forward.

"NO!" Reneal screamed and ran forward despite the looming peril, dropping to his knees beside the man.

"Y-You're fine, right? You'll be fine," he gushed nervously. "I'll find a doctor—I'll get help!" His trembling hands fumbled to apply pressure to the gaping wound.

Neville looked at him with gentle eyes, the shadow of a smile ghosting his bloodstained lips.

Just as the raptor was about to impale them both—

"DON'T LOSE HEART!"

Stynx's voice boomed like a war drum across the battlefield as his blade flashed through the gloom. Several swift strikes culminated in a final sweeping blow that cleanly severed the Floor Guardian's head from its neck. The reptile's body lurched, then collapsed with a heavy thud, its head rolling to the feet of the stunned soldiers.

Silence fell for half a heartbeat.

Then came the gasps.

All eyes turned to him. Every terrified soul—soldier, slave, noble, and citizen—gawked at the bastard prince who stood defiantly atop the monster's corpse, his crimson cape fluttering against the ominous wind.

He had them. Right where he wanted them.

Let them watch, he thought with glee. Let them see me.

The council had voted in favor of his ascension, but naturally, there was a catch. To secure the throne, he had to sway public opinion—to turn the image of the royal bastard into that of a worthy heir.

This was his chance to rise above his circumstances, to earn merit in his mother's eyes, and to be seen—not as a mistake, but as a man worthy of the crown.

Stynx raised his sword high, the flames licking along the steel like an extension of his soul. "I am Stynx Cassian Ainsworth, son of King Ainsworth!" He roared, his voice layered with power and pride. "And I swear on my blood—on the gods themselves—none shall fall while I yet draw breath! Rally to me! This is not your end! This is your awakening!"

A crack of thunder echoed overhead and blue lightning fractured the sky like the world itself was coming undone. And yet—for one fleeting moment—hope sparked in the people's eyes.

"FORWARD!" he bellowed, his aura blazing. "I WILL INCINERATE THEM ALL!"

He thrust his free hand forward. A cyclone of fire roared from his palm, a wall of red and gold that hurtled toward the monstrous tide.

But as it collided—

FWOOOSHHH.

Nothing.

The flames bent around the creatures—snuffed out like candlelight in a storm. The monsters barely flinched. Their stony hides shimmered, immune to the searing heat.