Please get me out of this BL novel...I'm straight!
Chapter 77: ’Closing In’

Chapter 77: ’Closing In’

Florian’s scream ripped through his throat, guttural and raw, reverberating through the forest like a wounded animal’s final cry. His chest heaved as he gasped for air, but the sound twisted into nothingness in his ears. It was hollow, unreal—as though he weren’t the one making it.

Or maybe it wasn’t real at all.

Maybe it was just inside his head, tangled with the searing grief that gnawed relentlessly at his insides.

His knees buckled. The world tilted violently beneath him, and he crashed to the ground, dirt and jagged stones scraping his skin. Pain flared through his palms and knees, sharp and immediate, but it was a distant sensation compared to the storm raging inside his chest.

"No." His voice was hoarse, shredded. "No, no, no—"

This wasn’t happening.

This couldn’t be happening.

But it was.

Levi’s lifeless body remained seared into Florian’s vision—branches impaling him, blood soaking the earth in grotesque rivers. The light in his eyes, extinguished. Forever.

Florian’s stomach twisted violently, bile rising to the back of his throat. He doubled over, gagging, but nothing came. His body convulsed, wracked by grief, trembling uncontrollably. Hot tears streamed down his face, scalding his skin like acid.

’It’s my fault.’

The thought stabbed through him like a blade, unyielding and cruel.

’I hesitated. I stayed. If I had just listened to him... if I had just run when he told me to—’

A shudder tore through him, his breath catching painfully in his throat. The weight of guilt pressed down on his chest, suffocating. He clutched at the dirt beneath him, fingers digging into the cold, unyielding ground as though it could anchor him to reality.

Levi was gone.

Because of him.

A jagged, suffocating pain clamped around Florian’s chest, as though invisible claws were tearing into his heart. His ribs strained against the crushing force. It wasn’t just grief—it was rage, wild and untamed, searing through his veins like wildfire.

At Arthur.

At the gods.

At himself.

He wanted to scream again, to tear apart the very fabric of the world until it mirrored the ruin inside him.

But then—

Run.

The word sliced through the fog of agony in his mind, sharp and commanding.

Levi’s voice.

Desperate. Pleading.

"Run."

Florian’s survival instincts roared to life, clawing their way to the surface. Levi’s sacrifice couldn’t be in vain. He couldn’t let his death be meaningless.

Even if it tore Florian apart inside, he had to survive.

He bit down hard on his lip until he tasted blood. His legs trembled violently beneath him, but he forced himself to his feet. Every movement was agony, his muscles sluggish and battered, but he gritted his teeth and pushed forward.

The cold night air stung his skin, mingling with the sweat clinging to his body. His lungs burned with every breath. He stumbled, nearly falling, but sheer desperation kept him upright.

’Keep moving. Don’t stop. Don’t look back.’

The taste of blood and sorrow lingered on his tongue, but he swallowed it down. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms. Grief threatened to drown him, but he shoved it down into the pit of his stomach.

Levi was gone.

And Florian hated himself for it.

But he had to keep running.

Behind him, a maniacal voice shattered the night.

"You can run, Prince Florian! Run all you want! Boss be damned, I’m gonna fucking kill you!" Arthur’s laughter echoed through the trees, wild and vicious.

Florian’s heart raced, thundering against his ribs. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. His legs pumped harder, adrenaline surging through his veins, numbing the ache in his body.

Desperately, he pulled out the map he had stolen from Charles, eyes scanning its faded lines. The dead forest was vast, but there was a path—if he could find it—

His breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened.

Glowing dots littered the map, moving rapidly toward his position.

Rogues.

’What the hell? How did they get here so fucking fast—’ His stomach twisted in realization. ’Don’t tell me... they were waiting the whole time?’

A scream of frustration built in his throat. He should’ve felt it—should’ve known. Everything had gone his way too smoothly. His plan had worked too well.

Because Arthur had seen right through him.

They had expected him to run here.

And now Levi was dead because of his arrogance.

Florian’s mind was frantic, chaos ripping through his thoughts. The glowing dots were moving faster, closing in on him. His pulse thundered in his ears.

’Idiot. I’m such an idiot.’ Florian’s thoughts spiraled, venomous and unforgiving. ’I forgot they could use magic.’

His breath came in ragged gasps, lungs burning as he sprinted through the twisted, shadowed forest. Branches clawed at his skin, tearing at his clothes, but he barely felt it over the surge of panic pounding through his veins.

The realization hit him like a fist to the gut—he had been so focused on escaping, so desperate to believe his plan was working, that he hadn’t considered the one crucial factor.

The rogues could use magic.

Of course, they could.

And now they were most definitely using it to catch him—or worse, to corner him.

His suspicions were confirmed when something slammed into his back with brutal force—a rock, sharp and heavy. Florian was thrown forward, crashing to the ground with a pained grunt.

"Fuck!" he hissed, agony flaring through his spine. He struggled to push himself up, but before he could adjust, a powerful gust of wind sliced across his skin, leaving stinging, bloody scratches in its wake.

Florian’s scream tore from his throat, raw and desperate.

"That fucking hurts! Fuck, fuck—fucking!" he shouted, tears stinging his eyes from the searing pain.

His body screamed for rest, but he couldn’t stop.

Clenching his teeth, he forced himself upright. His legs shook, every nerve in his body protesting, but he didn’t care. He had to move.

With a guttural cry of defiance, Florian pushed forward, running again. His vision blurred from the tears and pain, but he refused to fall.

The rogues were closing in. Their footsteps pounded against the earth like a drumbeat of death, echoing through the dark forest. The air itself seemed charged with their murderous intent, thick and suffocating.

Every instinct screamed at Florian to keep moving, keep running—no matter how much his body begged for rest.

His lungs burned with every ragged breath. His legs were trembling, muscles straining to the breaking point. Blood trickled down his side from the earlier blast, each jolt of movement making the wound throb with searing pain. But he couldn’t stop. Stopping meant death.

’Keep going. One step. Then another. Until your legs give out—or until they kill you.’

A guttural voice cut through the night like a blade, sharp and venomous.

"Oh, little prince!" it jeered. "I have a score to settle with you, you fucking bitch!"

Florian’s heart stuttered. That voice—

’Charles?!’

A cold jolt of disbelief shot through him. His mind raced, scrambling to make sense of it. He had left Charles behind, wounded and humiliated.

There was no way—

But there he was. Somewhere behind him, crashing through the forest with the fury of a man possessed.

’How is he still chasing me? He shouldn’t even be standing!’