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The deafening noise and escalating vibrations had already caught Tony and the others' attention. They exchanged wary glances, their expressions alert, and began to brace themselves. Their experiences in countless life-or-death battles told them that something terrifying awaited them ahead.
Tony was deeply worried. This abnormal change surely meant Deacon was performing a ritual. But he couldn't understand how Deacon was doing it without enough Daywalker blood.
The Blood God's greatest peculiarity was certainly not its inherent power. The Blood God's true uniqueness was its ability to overcome all vampire weaknesses, fearing neither sunlight nor silver weapons, and feeling no aversion, disgust, or rejection towards garlic. The Blood God was essentially an upgraded vampire, possessing even greater fighting strength, an indestructible nature, and no obvious weaknesses.
All of this depended on the presence of a Daywalker.
The birth of a Daywalker was a low-probability miracle born from countless impossible events! This might involve the level of life factors, requiring one to start from the very source of the genetic code.
Looking back over the past millennia, how many Daywalkers like Blade had truly been born? If it were that easy, Blood Gods would be all over the streets by now. A Daywalker could be bled repeatedly. As for sacrificing the lives of those twelve noble purebloods... a mere twelve, did they really think the Vampire Kingdom would care that much?!
The birth of a Blood God was extremely difficult. Special life forms like Daywalkers were too hard to find; otherwise, the method for creating a Blood God wouldn't have been lost. This kind of secret was actually deciphered by a talented Ghoul Tribe member.
The three followed the passage down to the bottom. Countless vampires scattered in a panicked escape, many of them wearing expressions of deep fear.
Tony grabbed a guy trying to flee past him: "What exactly happened?"
"Dead, skeletons are slaughtering everywhere, Deacon will become a god!"
This vampire was clearly somewhat insane. His numb pupils showed no glimmer of awareness, and even when grabbed by Tony, he remained unresponsive, merely repeating the same words over and over.
Blade stabbed the vampire to death with a single strike, his gaze behind his sunglasses somber. He had made the slaughter of vampires his lifelong creed, and no matter how difficult the process, it had never made him waver in the slightest; he would persist until death. But if, due to his presence, a terrifying creature like the Blood God were to appear, it would drastically increase the threat of vampires and bring immense disaster to the world!
"Don't worry so much. What kind of Blood God nonsense is this? No matter how strong he is, one stab will kill him," Tony said, patting Blade's shoulder reassuringly.
The three said no more and charged towards the Central Altar without hesitation.
His Transformers were quite large and very heavy. The sound of their metallic feet colliding with the ground was too loud, risking alerting the enemy.
Tony sensed his Transformers, knowing that as soon as the battle began, they would charge down with the utmost speed and brutality.
Underground, it was an open area. The most striking features should have been the twelve square steles arrayed around the perimeter and the round stele in the dome.
But at this moment, everything was overshadowed by the figure in the center. That seemingly tiny figure at the center of the Altar seemed to cast an all-encompassing shadow, burying all brilliance, leaving only the blood-red of his own being.
"Is that Deacon?!"
Tony and the other two stared at the humanoid creature whose body was constantly bulging and shifting, somewhat unsure. Was this strange thing Deacon? It seemed utterly illogical. How could something constantly changing without a fixed form truly deserve the title "Blood God"?
Blade scoffed, "I don't know what happened, but it looks like he failed." He let out a great sigh of relief. Deacon had not undergone a qualitative change due to his existence. This man, who prided himself on being a vampire hunter, slightly lowered the psychological burden he carried.
Deacon laughed maniacally. He could feel himself evolving. Though he didn't know why the progress was so slow, he was undoubtedly growing stronger. Deep within his body, countless life factors from ancient times were merging and recombining frantically. Deacon could also clearly feel this. Although he didn't know the reason, at this moment, he truly felt the secret of his ancestors.
"Tony! Tony, you've come! Quickly, give me your blood! Your blood can make me constantly evolve, becoming more noble and perfect!" Deacon glared at Tony with a single blood-red eye, wishing he could tear Tony to shreds and use his blood to elevate himself.
"My blood?"
Tony was bewildered. Blade and the Old Bartender were also a bit confused. Wasn't it supposed to be Daywalker blood? How did this get tied to Tony's mutant blood?
Blade questioned Tony with a puzzled gaze, and Tony also shook his head blankly, indicating he had no idea what was going on.
The Old Bartender's eyes turned red the moment he saw Deacon. Although Deacon's form had changed drastically, he could still barely make out that it was Deacon himself. This was the Old Bartender's first direct confrontation with Deacon, and his eyes became completely bloodshot.
He had spent most of his life on the run—it was so bitter, so tragic! He had been fleeing since childhood, with no future left. He had stolen things and almost been beaten to death; he had robbed people on the road and been wanted by the police; he had to spend all his time learning various techniques for killing and escape. Others had happy childhoods and could grow up normally, but he didn't! His memories were entirely filled with escape, escape, escape.
At the Old Bartender's age, he should have been enjoying his golden years, surrounded by children and grandchildren, but to this day, he was still alone. Most of his life had been spent fleeing; his entire existence was one of escape, escape, escape.
His parents were Ghoul Tribe members who deserved to die. The Old Bartender thought about this clearly in the dead of night. But his family had already paid the price for this; his entire lineage, even innocent distant relatives from ordinary human families, had been uprooted by their former masters, leaving him as the sole survivor.
This price was already enough.
But now, who would pay for his life?! Look at his entire life: escape, escape, escape...
He still remembered having nowhere to shelter on stormy nights, huddled in the corner of a dilapidated, crumbling wall, shivering. He still remembered being driven away like a homeless stray dog on snowy winter days, almost freezing to death on the street. Every single day was a struggle against death.
The Old Bartender had long hated this meaningless life. If not for the thought of revenge sustaining him, he would have committed suicide long ago. Why live such a desolate life? It was Deacon, the one who knew the secret, who had been secretly hunting him; it was Deacon who wouldn't let him go, who absolutely wouldn't give him a way to live.
Finally, today! He had people by his side willing to stand with him! He had been alone for most of his life, but today, finally, he had people willing to join forces with him against the enemy!
The Old Bartender was on the verge of madness. He gasped for breath, his ruddy, bulbous nose twitched constantly. On his aged face was a visage more distorted than Deacon's current appearance. He was the first to fire a shot, and with a bang, a silver bullet struck Deacon.
(end of chapter)
Tony was deeply worried. This abnormal change surely meant Deacon was performing a ritual. But he couldn't understand how Deacon was doing it without enough Daywalker blood.
The Blood God's greatest peculiarity was certainly not its inherent power. The Blood God's true uniqueness was its ability to overcome all vampire weaknesses, fearing neither sunlight nor silver weapons, and feeling no aversion, disgust, or rejection towards garlic. The Blood God was essentially an upgraded vampire, possessing even greater fighting strength, an indestructible nature, and no obvious weaknesses.
All of this depended on the presence of a Daywalker.
The birth of a Daywalker was a low-probability miracle born from countless impossible events! This might involve the level of life factors, requiring one to start from the very source of the genetic code.
Looking back over the past millennia, how many Daywalkers like Blade had truly been born? If it were that easy, Blood Gods would be all over the streets by now. A Daywalker could be bled repeatedly. As for sacrificing the lives of those twelve noble purebloods... a mere twelve, did they really think the Vampire Kingdom would care that much?!
The birth of a Blood God was extremely difficult. Special life forms like Daywalkers were too hard to find; otherwise, the method for creating a Blood God wouldn't have been lost. This kind of secret was actually deciphered by a talented Ghoul Tribe member.
The three followed the passage down to the bottom. Countless vampires scattered in a panicked escape, many of them wearing expressions of deep fear.
Tony grabbed a guy trying to flee past him: "What exactly happened?"
"Dead, skeletons are slaughtering everywhere, Deacon will become a god!"
This vampire was clearly somewhat insane. His numb pupils showed no glimmer of awareness, and even when grabbed by Tony, he remained unresponsive, merely repeating the same words over and over.
Blade stabbed the vampire to death with a single strike, his gaze behind his sunglasses somber. He had made the slaughter of vampires his lifelong creed, and no matter how difficult the process, it had never made him waver in the slightest; he would persist until death. But if, due to his presence, a terrifying creature like the Blood God were to appear, it would drastically increase the threat of vampires and bring immense disaster to the world!
"Don't worry so much. What kind of Blood God nonsense is this? No matter how strong he is, one stab will kill him," Tony said, patting Blade's shoulder reassuringly.
The three said no more and charged towards the Central Altar without hesitation.
His Transformers were quite large and very heavy. The sound of their metallic feet colliding with the ground was too loud, risking alerting the enemy.
Tony sensed his Transformers, knowing that as soon as the battle began, they would charge down with the utmost speed and brutality.
Underground, it was an open area. The most striking features should have been the twelve square steles arrayed around the perimeter and the round stele in the dome.
But at this moment, everything was overshadowed by the figure in the center. That seemingly tiny figure at the center of the Altar seemed to cast an all-encompassing shadow, burying all brilliance, leaving only the blood-red of his own being.
"Is that Deacon?!"
Tony and the other two stared at the humanoid creature whose body was constantly bulging and shifting, somewhat unsure. Was this strange thing Deacon? It seemed utterly illogical. How could something constantly changing without a fixed form truly deserve the title "Blood God"?
Blade scoffed, "I don't know what happened, but it looks like he failed." He let out a great sigh of relief. Deacon had not undergone a qualitative change due to his existence. This man, who prided himself on being a vampire hunter, slightly lowered the psychological burden he carried.
Deacon laughed maniacally. He could feel himself evolving. Though he didn't know why the progress was so slow, he was undoubtedly growing stronger. Deep within his body, countless life factors from ancient times were merging and recombining frantically. Deacon could also clearly feel this. Although he didn't know the reason, at this moment, he truly felt the secret of his ancestors.
"Tony! Tony, you've come! Quickly, give me your blood! Your blood can make me constantly evolve, becoming more noble and perfect!" Deacon glared at Tony with a single blood-red eye, wishing he could tear Tony to shreds and use his blood to elevate himself.
"My blood?"
Tony was bewildered. Blade and the Old Bartender were also a bit confused. Wasn't it supposed to be Daywalker blood? How did this get tied to Tony's mutant blood?
Blade questioned Tony with a puzzled gaze, and Tony also shook his head blankly, indicating he had no idea what was going on.
The Old Bartender's eyes turned red the moment he saw Deacon. Although Deacon's form had changed drastically, he could still barely make out that it was Deacon himself. This was the Old Bartender's first direct confrontation with Deacon, and his eyes became completely bloodshot.
He had spent most of his life on the run—it was so bitter, so tragic! He had been fleeing since childhood, with no future left. He had stolen things and almost been beaten to death; he had robbed people on the road and been wanted by the police; he had to spend all his time learning various techniques for killing and escape. Others had happy childhoods and could grow up normally, but he didn't! His memories were entirely filled with escape, escape, escape.
At the Old Bartender's age, he should have been enjoying his golden years, surrounded by children and grandchildren, but to this day, he was still alone. Most of his life had been spent fleeing; his entire existence was one of escape, escape, escape.
His parents were Ghoul Tribe members who deserved to die. The Old Bartender thought about this clearly in the dead of night. But his family had already paid the price for this; his entire lineage, even innocent distant relatives from ordinary human families, had been uprooted by their former masters, leaving him as the sole survivor.
This price was already enough.
But now, who would pay for his life?! Look at his entire life: escape, escape, escape...
He still remembered having nowhere to shelter on stormy nights, huddled in the corner of a dilapidated, crumbling wall, shivering. He still remembered being driven away like a homeless stray dog on snowy winter days, almost freezing to death on the street. Every single day was a struggle against death.
The Old Bartender had long hated this meaningless life. If not for the thought of revenge sustaining him, he would have committed suicide long ago. Why live such a desolate life? It was Deacon, the one who knew the secret, who had been secretly hunting him; it was Deacon who wouldn't let him go, who absolutely wouldn't give him a way to live.
Finally, today! He had people by his side willing to stand with him! He had been alone for most of his life, but today, finally, he had people willing to join forces with him against the enemy!
The Old Bartender was on the verge of madness. He gasped for breath, his ruddy, bulbous nose twitched constantly. On his aged face was a visage more distorted than Deacon's current appearance. He was the first to fire a shot, and with a bang, a silver bullet struck Deacon.
(end of chapter)
