novellhall Chapter 43: Pris's Attack, Senior Brother Richard
Chapter 43: Pris's Attack, Senior Brother Richard
Ivan braced himself against the cold wall, struggling to move forward.
With each step he took, the raging fire in his abdomen burned even more intensely.
Just then.
A light, airy figure appeared at the front of the alley.
Appearing and disappearing, like a silhouette seeping out from the darkness itself.
A slender figure.
A well-tailored black long shawl cape reached down to her ankles.
He and his entire being seemed completely out of place in this dirty alleyway filled with garbage and reeking of dampness and mold.
It was as if a meticulously retouched portrait had been mistakenly pasted into the crime section of a newspaper.
Pris.
"When the Demon Hunter traits are fully digested to the final stage, your blood vessels, bones, and internal organs will all be reconstructed."
Priss's voice remained calm and elegant, as if he were giving a regular anatomy lesson in class.
"Your liver will enlarge further and begin to produce dark blood."
"Your ribs will expand outwards, and your bones will thicken to provide space for a larger thoracic cavity to accommodate more internal organs."
"Your blood vessel walls will thicken. Your heart will beat faster. Your body temperature will rise. Your blood will boil due to the sudden influx of an excessive amount of supernatural substances."
A barely perceptible smile curved the corners of his lips.
"Thirty minutes of that was pretty tough."
With each word he spoke, his body slid forward one meter in a way that defied the laws of physics.
Without taking a step or swinging his arms, his figure simply swayed in place and appeared at a closer distance in the next second.
Like a ghost, like a projection, like the shadows in this alley themselves actively approaching.
Ivan knelt on the ground, his whole body drenched in cold sweat, his hair clinging wetly to his cheeks.
He raised his head and managed to squeeze out a low, hoarse sentence.
"I thought there was some kind of bond between us, teacher and student."
Priss lowered his head slightly to look at him.
Do you remember how many pieces of bread you've ever eaten?
His voice was so calm, as if he were asking about something trivial.
Do you develop feelings for the bread you've eaten?
After hearing this, Ivan chuckled softly.
The laughter was tinged with pain, so distorted that it didn't seem to come from the mouth of an eighteen-year-old.
He looked up, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.
"Professor, I don't want to be a human being anymore."
"Do you think I still have a chance?"
Priss's voice was filled with arrogance and contempt: "You lowly stray dog, you really have... no bottom line."
He simply raised his right hand, which was wearing a black leather glove.
The next second, the entire alleyway collapsed instantly around his fingertip, transforming into a living, textured, blood-red mass with a hungry, sucking force, surging towards Ivan.
In that instant, Ivan felt as if he had been pushed into the ocean depths of 10,000 meters.
All around were endless seas of blood.
Light, sound, smell, and temperature were all stripped away.
His lungs were filled with blood, and his eyes were completely bloodshot.
He was about to drown.
Before this crimson light, strength, anger, and physical constitution are all useless.
There was no room for resistance.
The blood was meant to strip him of his senses and thoughts.
Bang!
A dull thud.
The sound of the impact was not from metal, not from bone, not from any object he was familiar with.
It's more like... a living wall crashing into a living fog, causing a stun explosion.
The surrounding blood suddenly receded.
Ivan took a deep breath, the cold, real air filling his lungs again.
He propped himself up on the ground and opened his eyes.
There was a person standing in front of him.
A burly man.
He is nearly 1.9 meters tall.
His shoulders were as broad as two oak doors, his pectoral muscles stretched taut over the chest of his cheap leather jacket, and his arms were thicker than Evan's thighs.
only.
This body has the upper body of a bodybuilder, but the waist, hips and legs below are no different from those of a normal person.
She has a perfect inverted triangle body shape reminiscent of American comics, but in reality, she looks so strange and comical.
Evan stared at the bizarre combination of body parts for half a second, subconsciously worried that if this guy started running, he might break his back.
The man was wearing an old leather jacket that looked like it had been casually picked up from a secondhand store, faded jeans, and muddy construction boots.
He reeked of a strong, cheap whiskey smell mixed with tobacco and some kind of fishy smell.
In the darkness, his short, silvery-white hair stood out, each strand upright like a piece of metal wire being blown by the wind.
"Pris Kelling Bartluth".
A deep, resonant voice rolled out from the depths of his throat.
"You broke the agreement; you crossed the line."
Pulis frowned slightly, a rare hint of impatience appearing on his porcelain-white face.
"Richard Tyson".
His tone carried the superiority complex of a scion of a wealthy family over street thugs.
"You lowlifes are really clingy."
It's clear that the two have clashed several times in the past two days.
Upon hearing Priss utter the word "lowlife," Evan's mind, churning with pain, finally grasped the clue.
This strangely muscular man, who looked like he stepped out of a comic book, was the senior brother Hill was talking about.
"Richard Tyson...inserted...inserted too deep?"
The intense pain threw his thoughts into a complete mess.
The 13% brain nerve damage remaining on the panel, under the manipulation of that invisible hand, made his brain seem to be missing a string.
Every nerve in his brain felt like it was being soaked in boiling salt water, and incoherent ramblings kept spilling out of his mouth, one after another, uncontrollably.
"Hehe, good job. Kill him with that."
"Hehe, I must survive."
"So what's the price, Dog Egg...?"
Richard glanced at Ivan out of the corner of his eye, a twisted look of helplessness flashing across his rugged face.
He raised a hand as big as a palm leaf fan and helplessly covered his face.
"Damn it. Another mentally unstable one."
In that moment of distraction.
Pris moved.
The elegant figure standing a dozen meters away looked as if someone had fast-forwarded through the video.
His entire body twisted, stretched, and teleported in a way that defied the laws of physics, appearing between Richard and Ivan in the next second.
His left arm has changed.
The arm, wrapped in a black silk sleeve, began to crack from the shoulder, its skin, muscles, and bones reshaped like shredded clay.
It transformed into a fleshy tentacle soaked in a dark red luster, its tip splitting into five petals, like a blooming carnivorous flower, and coiled towards Evan's neck.
"Yaua!"
A low syllable rolled out of Richard's throat.
That wasn't English, nor any language that Evan had ever heard before.
Priss suddenly stopped.
His light blue eyes were instantly covered by a layer of milky white mist, and he froze on the spot, as if someone had pressed the pause button.
"ierde!"
Richard uttered the second syllable.
Bang.
An invisible force, like an out-of-control train, pierced through Priss's chest.
Pris was thrown back and crashed into the moldy brick wall on the other side of the alley before disappearing into the darkness.
In the next instant, Richard's thick, oak-like arm had already precisely grabbed Ivan's collar, shielding him behind his broad back like a mother hen protecting her chicks.
"Junior brother, how is it?"
That handsome, somewhat arrogant face lowered and moved closer to Evan.
"Is he still mentally sound?"
He paused for a moment, then reached out and patted Ivan on the shoulder, his tone suddenly becoming somewhat unserious.
"Let's save face in public. Don't masturbate, don't take your pants down, and don't poke my butt. Everything else is negotiable."
Ivan stood behind him, his brow furrowed.
He punched his temple hard with his fist and then scratched his scalp.
He exhaled a breath of foul air, tinged with the smell of blood, and raised his head.
Richard saw the change in that instant.
Ivan's left pupil had contracted vertically, turning into the Witcher's signature golden vertical pupil.
A few glaring silver-white strands emerged from the jet-black hair, quietly spreading along the parting.
What's even stranger is his face.
The left half of his face was cold and calm, with taut muscles and eyes sharp enough to cut through the night wind.
The right half of his face, however, resembled a scrambled deck of cards, its expressions shifting every half second between joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness.
"Senior brother."
Ivan's voice was hoarse and broken.
"I'm starting to lose control of my mind."
As he spoke, Richard saw Ivan's head becoming increasingly pointed at a visible speed.
"Goodness."
Richard scratched the back of his head.
"Master, aren't the side effects of this Demon Hunter trait the loss of fertility and memory impairment?"
"Why is your head so pointy?"
Evan gripped his scalp with both hands, his fingernails already scratching several bleeding red marks on his scalp.
"Senior brother! It's so itchy! I feel like I'm growing a brain!"
As the skin was scratched, a few drops of blood seeped out.
Richard's bulbous nose twitched.
The next second, his expression completely changed.
"Master, please!"
He took a half step back and stared at Evan with the look of someone looking at a ghost.
"My little junior brother, is this even blood?"
"I said, how can your digestive side effects be so outrageous! How much of that supernatural stuff did you actually ingest?"