Chapter 89: I Am the Terminator T-800
Blood poured from the gaping wound in Eric's body, flowing down the grooves carved into the altar, guiding it toward the center of the ritual below.
The gathered vampires wore expressions of frenzy—they had finally reached their moment of glory.
Once Frost completed his transformation into the Blood God, he would lead them in overthrowing the rule of the purebloods and establishing a kingdom where hybrids reigned supreme.
Thirteen pureblood viscounts, bound around the ritual altar, stared in terror at the unfolding scene. They struggled desperately, but the silver shackles held them fast.
The Blood God Ritual was no secret among purebloods, but it was strictly forbidden—no one was allowed to conduct it in secret.
Purebloods were already few in number, and each ritual required the sacrifice of thirteen of their kind. Worse yet, the resulting Blood God would be a threat to the purebloods themselves. Allowing such a ritual to proceed would be courting disaster, which was why it had been outlawed. If ever discovered, it had to be destroyed at all costs.
Blood from the rocky grooves dripped onto the foreheads of the purebloods, signaling the start of the ritual. Their deaths were now inevitable.
"Damn you, hybrids! You will bring death upon yourselves!"
"Filthy hybrids! The Thirteen Princes will never let you go!"
"You dare violate the vampire taboo? Her Majesty Lilith will crush you, you mongrel!"
The thirteen purebloods cursed furiously, trying to mask their fear.
The longer one lived, the more one feared death.
Especially the proud purebloods, who treasured their lives above all else.
Of course, there were always a few vampires who lived so long they ended up mentally shutting down.
Allen watched the ritual unfold with patience. Now that it had begun, there was nothing he could do to interfere. An indescribable force had settled over the scene—if he tried to intervene recklessly, he would no doubt suffer terrible consequences.
Thirteen drops of blood landed on the foreheads of the thirteen pureblood viscounts, intensifying their growing sense of dread.
Suddenly, fierce winds howled, as if the ritual had reached a critical threshold.
A single drop of blood dripped from the apex of the conical stone pillar.
It landed squarely on Frost's forehead.
In that instant, time seemed to freeze. A suffocating pressure spread through the air, as though an otherworldly force was invading reality.
Frost suddenly threw his head back, his eyes snapping wide open, as if he had just received the Blood God's divine gift.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Bolts of lightning crackled through the air, striking the thirteen pureblood viscounts.
For a brief moment, they were stunned—the lightning vanished into their bodies without causing any harm.
Then, their expressions twisted in agony, as if something was trying to burst forth from within.
In an instant, skeletal creatures with bat-like bone wings emerged—Blood God Apostles, now wandering the ritual site in search of a host.
The surrounding vampires recoiled in horror as the apostles passed them by.
Allen, too, was powerless to intervene.
The Blood God Apostles were clearly not creatures of this world. Without a physical host, they could not be killed by conventional means.
And Allen wasn't a mage—what could he possibly do against magical entities?
One after another, the Blood God Apostles passed through Frost's body, signifying the ritual's final stage.
At the same time, Eric lay on the ground, forgotten.
Having served his purpose as a sacrifice, his survival was no longer of any concern to the others.
Besides, with so much of his blood drained, death was inevitable.
Yet, behind his sunglasses, Eric's eyes remained clear and focused.
His ordinary-looking glasses concealed countless hidden functions.
"Toxins in the target's body have been neutralized. Preparing to inject Bloodburn Serum."
As the notification ended, a hidden needle emerged from the temple of his glasses and injected directly into his bloodstream.
The frames of his glasses were hollowed out to store the serum, which Allen had prepared in advance.
Eric's life force had been fading rapidly—but now, his vitality surged back, surpassing even his normal state.
Ahhh!
With a powerful struggle, he broke free from the restraints, gritting his teeth as he yanked his limbs from the iron spikes impaling them.
His open wounds began healing at a visible speed.
"Frost!"
With a furious roar, Eric leaped onto the altar.
By now, the Blood God Ritual was complete. Frost, his eyes glowing blood-red, exuded an aura of pure terror. He gazed at the newly freed Blade Warrior with a mocking smirk.
"The real show is about to begin," Allen grinned, speaking bluntly. "That was worth the wait."
Then, without a care in the world, he pulled a bag of sunflower seeds from under his cloak and began casually snacking.
"Daywalker."
A disheveled vampire leaped onto the altar, wielding Eric's silver longsword with a smug grin. "Let me deal with you."
Perhaps he believed the weakened Blade Warrior wasn't worth Frost's attention and that he could handle him alone.
In the blink of an eye, Eric flicked his wrist. A silver wire shot from his waist, slicing through the air.
The vampire's head separated cleanly from his body before he even realized what had happened.
Eric caught his returning weapon mid-air.
"What an idiot," Allen scoffed, spitting sunflower seed shells onto the floor. "I seriously suspect he was a blood traitor—he just gave the guy his weapon back."
Frost's face darkened. He could tell Allen was deliberately stirring up trouble.
"Kill him," he ordered.
At that moment, Eric seized the opportunity to strike. His blade slashed cleanly across Frost's neck.
But in less than a second, Frost's head snapped back into place without a single sign of injury.
"I am now the vessel of the Blood God. No vampire weaknesses remain."
In an instant, he moved at blinding speed, his fist slamming into Eric's chest and sending him flying.
At the same time, the surrounding vampires lunged at Allen.
They had long had enough of the lunatic's antics.
Allen pointed toward the sky and shouted, "Look! Iron Man isn't wearing any underwear!"
…Iron Man?
He wears a full suit of armor—how the hell could anyone tell if he's wearing underwear?
Still, the vampires instinctively glanced upward. Through the glass ceiling, all they saw was the pitch-black night sky.
By the time they snapped back to reality, Allen had already bolted toward a side passage.
"After him! Torture him to death!"
"That damn lunatic—I've had enough of him!"
"Drain him dry and make him into a specimen!"
…
After a chaotic chase, Allen found himself trapped in a dead end.
He jumped against the walls a few times, then gave up with a sigh. "Next time, I'll cosplay as the Four Hundred-Pound Aunties. At least they can climb walls."
The vampires surrounded him, blocking all escape routes. Their leader smirked coldly. "Why aren't you running anymore?"
"I'm part of the Ha Ghost Clan. You believe me?" Allen said seriously.
The vampires burst into laughter.
"You? Fit to be one of our dogs?"
"I say we lock him in a cage and play with him every day."
"Make him our pet—it'd be more fun than whatever the hell a Ha Ghost is."
…
Allen was furious.
And the consequences were severe.
Reaching behind his back, he retrieved two objects and snapped them together, forming a sleek, futuristic firearm.
"I tried to get along with you guys," Allen said, dramatically flipping his bangs. "But all I got was mockery."
His voice turned cold.
"No more pretending. I am the Terminator—T-800."
With that, a beam of ultraviolet laser shot out, instantly disintegrating the loudest vampire into ash.
Silence fell.