Help! I Became A Guy In A BL Novel! Chapter 342: Not Worthy

Nicholas had thought the pain of losing his limbs was the worst tornt he would ever endure. But when Seraphina walked into the chamber, calm, collected, with that slight air of disdain curling around her every movent—he realised there were deeper agonies than physical ones.

"I am here to finish what that young boy started," she said, her tone flat and rciless. The words slid across the air like a blade against his throat.

Nicholas scowled, though it cost him strength he didn’t have. "Seraphina..." he spat her na like a curse. "You saved just to revel in the sorry state I ended up in? Is it the anger that no one chose you? Hah."

His voice cracked with mockery, an attempt to cling to the one weapon he still had, his tongue. The one tool not yet stripped from him.

Her eyes narrowed, "You choose ? Are you even worthy?" she retorted, each word deliberate, carrying venom suppressed over the years. "She was a stupid one to associate herself with the likes of you."

Nicholas barked out a hollow laugh. He laughed because if he didn’t, the despair would devour him whole. He laughed because he wanted, needed to remind himself that he was still a man, still soone who could provoke. "If she was stupid," he wheezed, "what are you? We chose her, we chased after her, but you chased after us, though we made it clear that we did not want you."

It was ant to sting. A desperate dagger thrown in the dark. But Seraphina did not flinch. Instead, she tilted her head, her dark blond hair slipping forward, catching the dim light of the chamber like tarnished gold. Her gaze bored into him, unblinking.

"You still think you’re desirable?" she asked softly, as though she were humouring a child.

The words hit harder than his amputations. His laughter died instantly. His lips clamped shut. He could not muster a reply because her words had stripped away his last thread of illusion. He was nothing now. Not a man with power, nor a rival, nor an object of pursuit. Just a broken husk bound to a bed.

He swallowed against the dryness in his throat. His pride, however battered, clung stubbornly to him. "Did you save just to kill ?"

A cruel smirk tugged at Seraphina’s lips. "Kill you? Oh no. That would be rcy, and you are not owed that." She leaned closer, her voice a hiss. "You have to live. Live and witness the fate of each one of you. Lucian already rots in prison, being tortured. And I’d say you’re better off."

Nicholas’s eyes bulged with fury. His scream echoed through the chamber, cracking against the high ceilings like the wail of a beast. "How am I better off?! I don’t have my hands! I don’t have my legs!"

The sound was raw, pathetic, but it was the truth of his misery. He twisted, struggling against his own useless body, as if by sheer force he could grow them back. But there was only agony and the sickening reminder of absence.

Seraphina scoffed, the sound sharp enough to cut. "Would you rather stay in prison? I can have that arranged, you know. You are a wanted man, Nicholas. Perhaps the only ti you’re wanted by anyone."

Her words flayed him. Wanted. But not in the way he once had been—admired, envied, lusted after. No, now he was wanted like a rabid dog, a dangerous thing better chained or put down.

"You self-righteous witch," Nicholas snarled, teeth bared. He tried to sit up, but the effort only sent fire through his broken body. His arms flailed—stubs grasping at nothing. "You think this makes you strong? You think I’ll crawl at your feet? You’ll get nothing from ."

Seraphina’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it grew colder. She folded her arms across her chest and looked down on him as if he were an insect pinned to the ground. "Oh, Nicholas. You never understood, did you? You never were in control. Not then. Not now."

Her voice softened, but the softness was crueller than any shout. "Do you know why you’re still alive? It’s not because you’re valuable. It’s not because you’re dangerous. It’s because you amuse . That’s all you are now—a source of entertainnt. A pitiful relic of a man who thought himself untouchable."

Nicholas’s face burned red from sha. He hated her more in that mont than he had ever hated anyone. He hated her for her calmness, for her ability to strip him bare with words alone. He hated that he could not silence her, not with fists, not with power, not even with the weight of his reputation.

His lips trembled, searching for a retort, but his mind was empty. Rage and humiliation clogged his throat. All he could manage was a low growl, like a wounded animal.

"Gosh, you shifters are pathetic, but I am curious. Now that your hands and legs are gone, would your shifted form be crippled too?" Her words were filled with amusent and curiosity, she did not care that her words only pushed him further into the depths of hell.

Nicholas jerked his head away, his breath ragged. "Shut up," he rasped.

"Ah," Seraphina whispered, savouring the word, "there it is. The first admission of defeat. The first of many."

He could only glare, helpless in his fury. His teeth ground together until his jaw ached. But deep down, beneath the anger, he knew she had won.

Seraphina turned to leave, her steps unhurried, deliberate. At the door, she paused and looked back over her shoulder, her gaze glinting like steel. "Sleep well, Nicholas. Dream of your glory days, if you can. It’s all you have left."

The door shut with a decisive click, leaving Nicholas alone in the silence. His breath ca in ragged bursts, his chest heaving. He wanted to scream, to curse, to claw at sothing, anything—but there was nothing left to claw with.

Lucien was in prison? What about the rest? Have they failed?