The deafening roar and increasingly intense tremors had already captured the attention of Donnie and the others. They exchanged glances, their faces wary, and began to take precautions. Their experience of life and death on the battlefield told them that something terrifying awaited them just ahead.
Donnie was worried. This abnormal change must be due to Dicken performing a ritual. But he couldn't figure out how Dicken could do it without enough Daywalker blood.
The Blood God's greatest uniqueness isn't simply his immense power. Rather, it's his ability to escape all vampire weaknesses. He's immune to sunlight and silver weapons, and he doesn't experience any aversion, nausea, or repulsion towards garlic. He's essentially an upgraded vampire, possessing even greater combat power, an invincibility, and no apparent weaknesses.
All of this is based on the existence of daywalkers.
The birth of a Daywalker is a low-probability miracle, born from countless improbable events! This likely involves the level of life factors, starting from the source of the genetic code. Throughout the past few thousand years, how many Daywalkers like Blade have actually been born? If it were that easy, Blood Gods would have been everywhere. A Daywalker could bleed repeatedly. As for sacrificing the lives of those twelve noble purebloods... a mere twelve, do you really think the Vampire Kingdom would care?!
The birth of the Blood God was very difficult. The special life form called the Daywalker was too difficult to find, otherwise the method of creating the Blood God would not have been lost. It was unexpected that such a confidential thing was deciphered by a talented member of the Hagui tribe.
The three of them followed the passage to the bottom, where countless vampires were fleeing in panic, many with expressions of deep fear on their faces.
Donnie grabbed the guy who was trying to escape from him and asked, "What the hell happened?"
"If he dies, his skeletons will be slaughtered everywhere, and Dickon will become a god!"
This vampire was obviously a little crazy. There was no light in his numb pupils. Even when he was caught by Donnie, he remained indifferent and just kept repeating the same words.
Blade stabbed the vampire to death, his gaze darkening behind his sunglasses. He had dedicated his life to slaying vampires, and no matter how difficult the process, it would not waver. He would persevere until his death. However, if, because of him, a terrifying creature like the Blood God were allowed to emerge, the dangers posed by vampires would increase dramatically, bringing a catastrophic disaster to the world!
"Don't worry so much. What a damn Blood God! No matter how strong he is, just stab him to death with one knife." Donny patted Blade's shoulder to comfort him.
The three of them stopped talking and rushed to the central altar in no particular order. It was an open area, and the most eye-catching thing was probably the twelve square tablets surrounding it and the round tablet on the dome.
But at this moment, everything was overshadowed by the figure at the center. The seemingly tiny figure at the center of the altar seemed to cast a shadow over everything, burying all the light, leaving only the blood-red of itself.
"That's Dickon?!"
Donny and the other two stared at the constantly morphing humanoid, feeling uncertain. Was this strange thing Dickon? It didn't make sense. How could a creature that constantly shifted without a fixed form deserve the title "Blood God"?
Blade sneered, "I don't know what happened, but it looks like he failed." He breathed a sigh of relief. Dickon hadn't changed because of his presence. The man, so proud of his identity as a vampire hunter, felt a sense of relief.
Dicken laughed wildly. He could feel himself evolving. Although 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 frantically merging and reorganizing. Dicken could clearly feel this. Although he didn't know the reason, at this moment he truly felt the secret of his ancestors.
"Donny! Donny, you are here, give me your blood! Your blood can make me evolve continuously and become more noble and perfect!" Deacon stared at Donny with bloodshot eyes, wishing he could tear Donny into pieces and use his blood to sublimate himself.
"My blood?"
Donny was confused, and so were Blade and the old bartender. Didn't they say they were going to use the blood of the Daywalkers? How did this have anything to do with the blood of Donny, a mutant?
Blade asked Donnie with a confused look, and Donnie shook his head blankly, saying that he had no idea what was going on.
The old bartender's eyes turned red the first time he saw Dicken. Although Dicken's appearance had changed a lot, he could still barely recognize that it was Dicken himself. This was the first time the old bartender faced Dicken directly, and his eyes turned completely red.
He'd spent most of his life on the run. It was so hard, so tragic! He'd been on the run since he was a child, his future completely shattered. He'd stolen and nearly been beaten to death; he'd robbed people and been wanted by the police; he'd had to spend every moment learning the art of killing and escaping. Others had a happy childhood, a smooth, orderly upbringing, but not him! All he remembered was escape, escape, escape.
At his age, the old bartender should have been enjoying a long retirement, surrounded by children and grandchildren, but to this day he is still alone. He has spent most of his life on the run, his entire life has been about fleeing, fleeing, fleeing.
His parents were members of the Hagui tribe, destined to die. This was something the old bartender would clearly reflect on in the dead of night. But his family had already paid the price for this. The entire clan, even innocent relatives from ordinary families, had been uprooted by their former masters, leaving him alone to survive.
This price is enough.
But who will pay for his life now?! Look at his life: escape, escape, escape...
He still remembered the stormy nights when he had nowhere to stay, shivering in the corner of a dilapidated, crumbling wall. He also remembered the snowy winter days when he was driven like a homeless stray dog, nearly freezing to death on the streets, and every day was a battle with death.
The old bartender had long since hated this boring life. If it weren't for the desire for revenge that kept him going, he would have committed suicide long ago. Why did he have to live such a miserable life? It was Dicken, who knew the secret, who had been secretly hunting him down. It was Dicken who refused to let him go. It was Dicken who would never give him a chance to live.
Finally, today! He had someone by his side who was willing to stand with him! He had been alone for most of his life, and until today, he finally had someone willing to join forces with him to fight the enemy!
The old bartender was nearly mad. He was panting, his red, trough nose twitching constantly, and his aged face was even more distorted than Dicken's current one. He was the first to fire, and with a bang, a silver bullet struck Dicken.