Re: In My Bloody Hit Novel-Chapter 666: The Clown Wants A Puppy

On the battlefield left behind by Barak and the Seer, chaos reigned supreme. The soldiers of the Zodiac families and the Holy Church clashed violently, resuming their war like lunch never happened.

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Their war cries echoing across the blood-soaked wasteland. Steel met flesh, and spiritual energies erupted, leaving craters and charred remains in their wake.

Neither side knew—or perhaps cared—that their masters had departed the scene, their attention drawn elsewhere. To the men and women dying by the thousands, this was a battle for survival.

But to their leaders, they were merely pawns on a much larger chessboard. In two words, ’Cannon Fodder’.

The Seer, seated regally in her golden chariot, turned to Thalus as they soared above the fray. "Take me to the gates of the Nether Realm," she ordered, her voice calm but carrying an edge of authority. "It’s time I disciplined my sister for her... transgressions."

Thalus’s brows furrowed at her words, but he gave a curt nod. "As you wish."

"And," she added, her gaze steady, "send word to the Uncrowned Clown. I require his... assistance."

The moment the name left her lips, Thalus’s expression twisted in distaste. He spat off to the side, his composure breaking briefly. "That lunatic," he muttered under his breath. Nevertheless, he obeyed, signaling the messengers with a wave of his hand and flaming birds rushed out to carry his message.

***

Far beneath the Holy Church, in a dark and dank chamber that reeked of blood and decay, the Uncrowned Clown danced.

His movements were graceful, almost hypnotic, as he pirouetted across a floor littered with corpses.

These bodies—mangled, mutilated, and broken beyond recognition—belonged to humans and beastmen alike.

A man’s chest was flayed open, his ribs splayed like grotesque wings. Another’s head was twisted at an unnatural angle, his face frozen in terror.

The bodies of beastmen were no less horrifying—one had his limbs arranged in a macabre star pattern, while another’s fur was drenched in congealed blood, his entrails forming an obscene mural on the walls.

Yet amidst this gruesome carnage, one body stood out. It was a small core beast puppy, its lifeless form untouched by the violence around it.

Flowers of every color were carefully arranged in a circle around the creature, and handwritten notes scrawled with childish affection adorned the area. Words like *"My beloved little star"* and *"You deserved better than this cruel world"* littered the ground, some smeared with blood as though written in a frenzy.

Despite the chaos everywhere else, this corner of the room was pristine, almost sacred.

The Clown twirled his way to the puppy and dropped to one knee. His painted face, smeared with streaks of blood, twisted into something heartbreaking—an expression of genuine sorrow. A single tear slid down his cheek as he bowed his head in silence. For a moment, the psychotic glint in his eyes dimmed, replaced by an emotion that felt painfully human.

The silence lasted only a heartbeat before he sprang to his feet, his mood shifting like a violent storm. He spun toward the far corner of the chamber, his long, jagged dagger glinting in the faint light as he danced forward. As he approached, the shadows receded, revealing a man tied to a chair, his face pale and drenched in sweat.

This man, trembling and gagged, wore the robes of a high-ranking member of the Holy Church.

The Clown stopped inches away, crouching so that his face was level with the prisoner’s. "Ahhh," he cooed, his voice dripping with mock sweetness. "The great sinner of the Holy Capital himself. Do you know what you’ve done, hmm? Do you understand the weight of your crime?"

The man tried to speak, his muffled voice trembling, but the gag silenced him. Tears streamed down his face, and he shook his head furiously, as if to say, *It was an accident! I didn’t mean to!*

The Clown’s smile widened, his head tilting at an unnatural angle. "Oh, but *everyone* knows, don’t they? The one rule. The *sacred* rule. The rule that even a worm like you should have known!" His voice rose, echoing off the bloodstained walls. "No one touches the dogs. No one *harms* them."

He leaned closer, his breath hot against the prisoner’s ear. "Do you know why, little sinner? Do you know why the dogs are off-limits?" He giggled, then whispered, "Because they saved me. They cared for me when no one else did. And you... you ran over a beloved puppy with your wretched chariot."

The Clown straightened, his laughter filling the room as he twirled in place. "Ah, but don’t worry," he said, suddenly serious. "You’ll make amends, won’t you? Yes, you’ll pay for your sin. You’ll *burn* for it if need be. After all, you are a member of the Holy church. One must be washed of their sin. One must repent. Don;t worry, I can help you do that..."

And with that, his laughter rang out again, echoing through the chamber of horrors. He reached for the gag and removed it, and then brought his ear close to the man’s mouth, "Yes... something to say? HUH! HUH!! i can’t hear you."

The Man’s tongue had already been cut and therefore could not speak a word. Then again, his words would still not have helped him in this case. After all, the uncrowned clown was any thing but normal.

The Clown’s grin widened as he took a step closer to the trembling man, his shadow looming like a grotesque specter. He tilted his head, his eyes brimming with twisted glee.

"And how are you going to repent?" he asked, his voice soft but dripping with malice. "Oh, don’t worry. I’ll tell you."

The mocking smile on his painted face deepened. "I am going to be taking things out of you," he cooed, a cruel glint in his eyes. "And I am going to be putting things into you. And then I’ll keep repeating the process... until it stops arousing me so much."

The man squirmed, his muffled cries growing more desperate, but the Clown wasn’t done. He suddenly smacked his own face, as though scolding himself, and shook his head dramatically. "And—oh, how could I forget—those poor kids at the orphanage! They’ve been asking for a puppy for so long." He paused, his tone dropping to a mockingly thoughtful whisper. "Well, that’s my fault. I just... I can’t seem to get the dentistry right."

The man’s eyes widened in horror, his sobs filling the room as the Clown continued, his voice bright and cheerful as though discussing a delightful hobby.

"I’ve got the surgery down—oh yes, I can make people walk on all fours, no problem at all." He mimed the motion of crawling, his movements eerily fluid. "But the snout! Oh, the snout!" He pointed to his own nose, tapping it as if revealing a grand secret. "That’s where I keep messing up. You see, I’ve been trying to make people look like golden retrievers—majestic, noble creatures—but then it hit me! I’ve been focusing on the wrong breed all along."

He spun on his heel, laughing maniacally, his voice echoing in the chamber. "The answer was right in front of me the whole time! I don’t need golden retrievers. No, no, no. I need pugs! Short snouts, wrinkled faces—so much easier to replicate!"

With a theatrical flourish, he waved his hand, and a set of gleaming surgical tools appeared on a bloodstained tray. The instruments reflected the dim light of the room, each one more terrifying than the last: serrated blades, clamps, and oddly enough, a bone saw.

"Now," he said, twirling a scalpel between his fingers like a baton. "Let’s get started, shall we? We’ll see just how well you can... fetch."

The man’s screams, reverberated in the room as the Clown began humming a jaunty tune, his every movement infused with a horrific glee. For the Uncrowned Clown, this was not punishment. This was art.

(Author’s note: I really worked hard on writing this Character... I really like him. I hope you guys like him too. imagine a clash between his crazy and Our MC)