QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)
Chapter 177: Not like this

Chapter 177: Not like this

Chapter 177 – Estela POV

I find the bastard.

There—darting between trees, wild-eyed, panting, coat torn, limping slightly. Valentino fucking Castellano.

I don’t hesitate. I raise the gun and fire.

The warning shot slices past his shoulder and smashes into the trunk beside him, sending bark flying.

He stumbles. Looks back.

He sees me.

And the expression on his face? Oh, it’s not fear—it’s recognition. He knows I’m not going to miss next time.

I break into a sprint.

My breath is steady, even as branches claw at my clothes. He veers left and I follow, my feet pounding against the underbrush, gun raised, finger steady on the trigger.

"I’ve got you now, you slimy, slippery piece of shit!" I call, voice slicing through the forest like a blade.

"Ha!" he shouts back, wild with adrenaline.

"It’s just you? Where’s the other bitch—she dead?!"

That laugh—deranged, echoing off the trees like some dying hyena. He doesn’t even know if Daphne survived. He just shot her and ran. He ran like he always does.

"Why don’t you die and find out?" I shout, and pull the trigger.

The bullet punches into his leg. He screams, topples to the ground, and scrambles like a roach, hand searching for something—his gun.

Shit. It’s still there.

He rolls and fires—too quick. I throw myself behind a tree as bark explodes around me. Splinters bite into my shoulder. I hiss but don’t slow.

The sun is low now, bleeding orange across the sky, its warm light painting the forest gold. It would be beautiful—serene, even—if it weren’t for the thunderclap of gunfire tearing through it.

He shoots again. Wild. Desperate.

I respond with two shots of my own, one embedding into a tree an inch from his head. The other misses entirely, ricocheting off a rock with a sharp ping. My breath comes in short bursts. Sweat clings to my temple, stinging my eyes.

I hear his heavy breathing. He’s limping, dragging himself behind cover.

"You’re persistent," he rasps. "I’ll give you that. Why not leave that man wannabe and come be with a real man."

"I’d rather gorge out my own eyeballs," I spit. The very idea of it, being so vile I physically gag.

Then I move.

Flanking left, silent as I can. I’ve hunted men before, but this is different. This is personal. He shot Daphne. He hurt my beloved.

He’s the last thing standing between us and a life without this endless spiral of blood and betrayal.

I see his shoulder. Pop off another shot.

He ducks too slow. I graze him—his arm jerks and he screams, high-pitched and feral.

I rush him now. No more bullets. Just rage.

He tries to fire again, but the gun just clicks. Empty.

I kick it from his hand.

He’s on his back, clothes torn, blood leaking from too many places to count. He coughs, spraying red. His hand twitches near his side—but I step on it. Hard.

Then I raise my gun and press it directly to his forehead.

We’re both breathing heavy. The forest is dead quiet now. Just the wind and our hate.

"Go on. Kill me!!!" he screams, spittle and blood flying from his cracked lips. Eyes wide, face stretched into something inhuman.

Gross.

"Gladly," I say, and pull the trigger.

*Click.*

I blink.

What?

I check. No. One bullet left—definitely one. But the gun jams. The chamber stutters. The mechanism sticks. I try again.

*Click.*

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Is Daphne right? Did this bastard sign a deal with a devil? A curse? Because what the fuck are these odds?

He starts laughing. Full-on, maniacal, throwing his head back like a stage actor in a tragic play.

"The world itself wants me to live in power!" he howls.

"I’m chosen! Don’t you see it?! You’ve noticed it too, haven’t you? I never die!"

He grins with bloody teeth.

"Seems like today’s not your day either."

And then he throws dirt.

Straight into my face.

I scream, stumble back, eyes burning, vision blurred to hell. I wipe at them furiously but it’s too late—he’s lunged.

His hand swipes for my ankle—knife glinting in his grip. But I react on pure instinct, kicking off and rolling away. The blade misses by an inch, slicing air instead of flesh.

I regain my footing. My eyes sting. I can barely see, but I feel him coming.

He charges. I duck.

We crash together in a flurry of limbs and fists.

I knee him. He elbows my ribs. We break apart and slam back together, tangled in fury. I grab his wrist and twist—the knife drops. I punch him across the face. He headbutts me in return. Pain ricochets through my skull.

He tackles me.

We hit the forest floor hard, rolling through leaves and mud. He’s on top—hands around my throat. I claw at his arms, elbow his side, kick upward with everything I’ve got.

I throw him off.

He lands with a grunt. I scramble for the knife.

He dives at me again. I flip him. Straddle him. Slam his head once into the dirt. Then again. And again.

"I will make sure you die today!!!" I scream, rage coating every word like poison.

And the bastard—he just laughs, right in my face. Blood streaks down his cheek, mingling with dirt and sweat, his eyes wild, almost luminous with delusion. He’s smiling—smiling like he’s won, like I’m a joke.

"Try it, sweetheart!" he cackles. "Try!"

Then he lunges.

He shoves me off with a burst of adrenaline-laced strength, and I hit the forest floor hard. Wind knocked out of me. Pain flares across my back, but I barely register it before he’s on me again—straddling me, pinning me, his hands wrapping tight around my throat.

I can’t breathe.

My nails dig into his arms, clawing, scraping, anything to get him off. His grip only tightens.

"It hurts me, you know," he says with faux sadness, voice trembling with theatrical regret.

"That it has to end like this. It’s not too late. Join me. We can rule this world together—"

I spit straight into his face.

That does it.

His expression twists, mouth curling in rage. He slaps me hard across the face. The sting rings out, sharp and bright. But it buys me a second—a single breath.

I inhale, suck in the oxygen like a drowning woman, and then slam my forehead into his nose with all the force I can muster.

He howls.

"Ow!!!"

Good.

I twist beneath him and flip us—my training kicking in, fluid and instinctive. We crash again into the dirt, my knee in his ribs, but the bastard never stays down.

***

Valentino Jr. – POV

I’m losing my patience with this bitch.

Every second I waste rolling in the mud with her, the weaker I get. The gunshot wound in my leg is pulsing now—hot, wet, the kind of pain that turns your thoughts to mush.

I shouldn’t be struggling like this.

Not against her.

It’s embarrassing.

My hand scrabbles around in the dirt until I find it—a rock. Not big, but heavy enough. I grab it and slam it into the side of her head.

*Crack.*

She gasps and reels back. Her balance wavers.

Finally.

I crawl to my knees, sucking in air, vision spinning. She’s bleeding from her forehead now—red dripping down the curve of her cheekbone. Dazed. Hurt. Weak.

The hit I landed was solid—good enough to throw her off. Her balance is fucked now. Her eyes are wide, pupils blown. Dizzy. Hurt.

Vulnerable.

I drag myself forward. My whole body aches like it wants to shut down, but I ignore it. I force myself up, knees in the dirt, then straddle her. Pin her under me with what strength I have left.

She groans beneath me. The way her body moves—it’s intoxicating and infuriating, her chest heaving making her breasts bounce. She’s beautiful. Too beautiful. Women like her think they’re untouchable.

They think they’re clever.

Superior.

Holy.

But I’ll show her.

There’s only one way to teach someone like this. One way to make her remember.I deserve to take something from her. Just one thing. One moment of control. One—

I lean in.

Pain.

Sharp.

Sudden.

Explosive.

It blooms through my neck like fire.

My whole body jolts. I reel back, choking, reaching instinctively. My hand slaps over my neck—and comes back wet.

Blood.

No.

I stumble off her, coughing. I try to hold the wound shut with my palm, but it’s pouring through my fingers.

My knees hit the ground.

I look up at her—she’s already standing. Solid. Steady. Unbothered.

She played me. The bitch was fucking acting.

My vision blurs. My chest is heaving. The trees tilt around me, like the forest itself is leaning in to watch me fall.

"No—" I croak, but my voice is all blood.

This isn’t right.

It’s not supposed to end like this.

I was going to rebuild everything. I had allies. Money. Influence. I had a plan.

If I just leave this place, we have Castellano over, they thought my only plans were the war? No, I had other subtle underground plans, complete I just needed to do it.

This?

Dying in the dirt?

It’s insulting.

I look down at my own hands. Covered in blood. Trembling.

No, way.

This is not how it ends.

God? Devil? Universe? Fucking anything?!!!

You can’t let this happen!!!

No.

No.

I’m Valentino Castellano, I’m supposed to rise.

Rule the world, not like this.

But I feel it.

My vision is going.

My legs give way.

I fall to the ground, twitching.