Help! I Became A Guy In A BL Novel!-Chapter 341: Finish What He Started

Nicholas woke with a start, his eyes fluttering open to the faint glow of candlelight dancing across an unfamiliar ceiling. For a moment, his mind was blank—suspended between dream and reality.

He remembered snow, so much snow, endless white swallowing the world around him. The freezing ground beneath his body, the cruel bite of winter on his skin, and the ache that had torn through his bones. He remembered thinking he wouldn’t wake again, that the snow would be his coffin.

But this—this wasn’t snow.

He shifted slightly, expecting the brittle crunch of ice or the hard sting of frost, but instead he felt softness. A mattress. Sheets. A blanket—warm, heavy, suffocating. For one fragile moment, a flicker of relief ran through him. He was alive. Someone had saved him.

His relief shattered in the next breath.

Something felt wrong. Deeply, horribly wrong.

He raised his hand to touch his face, to assure himself that this wasn’t a fever dream, but when he commanded his fingers to move, but he could not feel what he wanted to feel. The air was empty.

He tried again, more desperately this time, straining his arm upward. He could feel the weight of it moving, the muscles trembling, but when his gaze followed the path of his arm, his breath froze.

There were no fingers. No palms.

Only a pale, bandaged stump where his wrist should have been, the linen wrapping ending abruptly, cruelly, like a sentence cut mid-word.

For a heartbeat, his mind refused to register it. He stared, unable to look away, eyes wide and glassy. No. No, this isn’t right. This isn’t me. This isn’t real.

But the truth was there, undeniable and grotesque.

Nicholas let out a strangled sound—half gasp, half scream—as panic surged through him. His other arm—he needed to check his other arm. He turned his head, tears already blurring his vision, and saw the same horror mirrored. A stump. Wrapped tightly, swollen beneath the gauze. His fingers—his hands—gone.

A cry burst out of him, raw and animalistic, his throat tearing with the sound. It wasn’t a scream a man would make—it was the howl of something broken, something gutted alive. The sound echoed through the room, bounced off the high walls of the mansion he didn’t recognise, and returned to him like a mocking chorus.

"No... No no, no, no, no—" His voice cracked and fractured as he kicked violently, the blanket sliding off his body. He needed to see. He needed to know.

His heart hammered against his ribs, his head pounded like a drum, but all of it dimmed when his eyes fell on his legs.

Or rather, what was left of them.

The space where his calves should have been was simply—empty. The sheets fell flat, a grotesque illusion that made it look as though half his body had disappeared into the mattress. His thighs ended in swollen stumps, bandaged thick, but the blanket had hidden the truth until now. His knees, his shins, his ankles, his feet—all gone.

Nicholas’s breath hitched violently. His lungs clawed for air that wouldn’t come. He tried to move them, to kick, to feel some phantom of motion—but the movement ended far too soon, a truncated swing that only sent waves of agony lancing through his thighs. He collapsed back against the bed, choking on his own sobs.

His body was trembling uncontrollably, sweat dampening his temples. The pain wasn’t sharp—it was burning, throbbing, unrelenting, like molten iron had been poured into the severed ends of his limbs. Every nerve screamed. His mind screamed louder.

I can’t move. I can’t fight. I can’t even crawl. I’m nothing. I’m nothing.

The room tilted violently. His vision blurred, stars dancing before his eyes as bile rose in his throat. His screams returned, hoarse and guttural, the sounds of a man flayed alive. He didn’t care if the walls heard him, if the world heard him. He wanted to tear the ceiling down with his voice, to make it collapse on top of him, to end this waking nightmare.

And yet, the nightmare persisted. No matter how much he yelled, screamed and poured out his agony, it would not end.

He writhed helplessly, throwing his body side to side on the bed, but his movements were clumsy, pathetic. Without limbs, without strength, he was reduced to flailing like a wounded animal. The sheets twisted around him, tangling with his body, suffocating him further until he couldn’t tell if he was dying or already dead. He wanted to die.

All the courage he had when he made his escape, his will to live to fight another day, his determination to avenge his love was all gone. All that was left was pure despair.

"No! NO!" His voice cracked, his throat raw from screaming. "Give them back! My hands—my legs—" His words dissolved into broken sobs. "Who... who did this to me? Why?! Why?!"

Tears spilt freely, hot and humiliating. Nicholas had always been proud—strong, commanding, unwilling to bow to anyone. But now, lying in this bed like some butchered carcass, he was nothing but a shell. A broken, mutilated shell.

Minutes stretched into an eternity as he screamed, whimpered, and sobbed. The sound ricocheted through the grand halls of the mansion until it seemed even the walls themselves were weeping with him.

Then—footsteps.

Soft, deliberate, drawing closer.

The door creaked open, and a woman stepped inside. She was calm, unnervingly calm, her movements unhurried as though his howls were nothing more than background noise. Her gaze swept over him—not pitying, not sympathetic, but cool, detached, like a nurse assessing a patient she’d already expected to find in this state.

"You’re awake. That’s good." She remarked coldly. She looked at the pathetic state he was in and had to stop herself from laughing. Oh, how the times have changed. The once arrogant and cold-hearted Nicholas found himself in such a sorry state.

Nicholas’s wild eyes locked onto her instantly. "You—" His voice cracked as he tried to push himself up, only to collapse pathetically back against the pillows. "You did this to me?!"

"Yes, well I finished what that young boy started I guess." She crossed her arms and stared at him like he was a mere worm.