Did his brain short out? I didn’t even touch his head.
Whatever—go for the throat while he’s reeling.
“Ice Prison.”
A massive spike of ice clamped down like winter’s talons, pinning the still-prone Edgar Warren.
I knew plain ice can’t leash a Vampire. I wasn’t caging him; this “prison” is a fuse.
“Ice Burst!”
As Edgar Warren blew skyward, a spear of ice—winter’s harpoon—shot out and nailed him to the distant earth.
Panic pricked. Don’t let him close.
If memory serves, a Vampire’s speed and strength break mortal limits like a storm snapping trees. Everything they do rides on the Blood Reservoir and their brutal flesh. To fight one, avoid a brawl; slip the net and bleed the Reservoir dry. Every step they take spends from that well. When it’s empty, they’re just a tanky husk, like a shield with no arm behind it.
Whatever—set a trap first. I braided mist into a weapon’s mold, then froze it into steel-cold form. Water affinity is sweet; want a shape, and the air kneads it into your palm.
As expected… the icicle can’t hold him. His blood is seeping in, red veins creeping like cracks.
In a few breaths, ice-blue blushed scarlet. Spiderweb fractures crawled across that “unbreakable” spear.
Whoosh—air tore. A blood-red wraith slid behind me like a shadow at dusk.
“…It’s over.” A scarlet claw flashed; everything before Edgar Warren split in two. He stared, disappointed, at my shocked face.
Then the face twisted.
Because before I turned into water-shadow, I’d given him a confused look—and flipped him off.
“You wanna die!”
Edgar Warren exploded, arrowing like a shot toward where Qingsheng Tangxue appeared.
I only smiled, thin as frost. If he won’t go all-out, I’ll play along.
The air went brittle-cold. A spear and a one-handed sword, sized for me, blossomed from frost at my side.
The spearwork Dreamsound taught me has no name even to her, but it’s perfect for dumb brutes who only swing hard.
Yield to advance, guard to strike. Weave left and right like water circling stone. Stab the soft ribs.
But I hate endless retreat. Find an opening—and spear his kidney.
Edgar Warren raged like a rabid beast, pounding at Qingsheng Tangxue. Each blow slid past on the river-flow of my spear, and I pricked him with quick, needling thrusts. To the other three, he looked like a clown raging at the sky.
Yanfengle huddled in a corner, shivering like a leaf in rain. What monsters are in this party? A Queen of the Blood, a Holy Maiden with absolute defense, and a blue-haired, pint-sized terror who can solo a Vampire King…
Feels like I’m the only trash here. I’ll just crawl over and spam “let’s go”…
“You little psycho! Can you do anything besides stab my waist?” Edgar Warren, at his limit, clutched his side, stomped the floor, and shockwaved me back like thunder through stone.
“Blood-Soul Bolt!”
That move? So familiar it bores me. I didn’t even bother to dodge. I stood there, disdain cold as ice, as his skill closed in—then a blue shell snapped around me like a bubble of sea-glass.
The Blood-Soul Bolt hit the shell and bounced straight back.
Dreamsound’s necklace is mostly for protection. It reflects attacks, a clean 100%, about ten times—so long as they don’t exceed its cap. Useless against top-tier monsters, but fine as a charm or a monitor.
Startled, Edgar Warren swerved. The bolt slammed the ward behind him with a thunderous boom.
“…”
“No way. Is that it? Do you Vampires loop the same two tricks? I’m about to puke.”
He choked down the fire under his ribs and asked low, smoke under a lid. “What do you mean… you’ve seen other Vampires besides me?”
Back then, the royal storm should’ve swept Edgar Warren away with the rest. A year before the purge, though, he was sealed in a blood coffin for his crimes, buried like a red stone and forgotten. By sheer accident, he dodged the scythe. Only recently did someone pop the lid, and he learned both Vampires and Blood Elves had vanished.
“Who knows. But that Blood-Soul whatever—you’ve thrown it a few times already. Don’t tell me it’s your only ranged move, yeah?”
“…” Truth was, that was the only one he had. No way he’d say it.
“Tch.” Edgar Warren scowled, teeth grinding. “Still pecking at the ward… I’ll take you out first.”
Qianya… I need to buy her time.
“Holy Maiden, bind him for me!”
“O-okay!”
“O holy light…”
Blood Fury, Third Stage: Boiling.
“Crap!” Ice ran down my spine. He actually jumped straight to Blood Fury’s third stage.
Edgar Warren’s speed multiplied by dozens; he smeared into a red blur like lightning in fog. Even I couldn’t track him.
From memory, Blood Fury has five rungs on that burning ladder. Each step spikes power and cost like a wildfire finding wind, until at the end they can slay gods with flesh alone. The last Vampire King I met hit only Fourth—Burning Blood—and styled on me. At Fifth, I almost died more than once. Lucky I’m good at hiding; he burned himself out like wax wings in the sun.
His target’s the Holy Maiden. At this speed, I can’t catch up. Only a blink will do.
“Careful, Ye Muhuan! He’s coming for you!”
“Waa—!” Faced with a crimson-drenched Vampire, Ye Muhuan dropped to the floor, frozen like a deer in torchlight.
I can’t blame her; I’ve been there. It’s the Vampire’s Blood-Gaze, eyes that drown you in fear for a breath.
I steeled my gaze, roots digging in. Left hand on the necklace; right hand open, gathering force. I’d tank one hit.
Edgar Warren steamed like overcooked meat, white vapor boiling off. Eyes bulged, a daylight demon.
In a blink, his pale right hand sheathed in blood-red. With a boom, it cannoned toward the blue shell.
The blue shell didn’t last a second; it shattered like thin ice. As it broke, I loosed the necklace and shot my small hand forward, a tiger’s claw for that incoming red iron fist.
The impact churned my blood like boiling water. Iron-sweet rose in my throat. I swallowed it and rode the force, turning with the tide and slamming a palm back at him.
