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Chapter 83 – Duel with the Blood God
🕑 Added 2025-10-29 16:02:11 +0000 UTCAs the rubble crashed down, the ancient stone coffin split open. Inside lay Blade—his body shriveled and pale, every drop of blood drained away, his life stolen to feed the newborn Blood God.
Frank reacted instantly, rushing forward to catch him before he collapsed. Blade’s arms and legs were riddled with open wounds that still oozed dark blood, showing no sign of healing.
“Give him the blood in that vial—now! He’s on the edge of death!” Matt shouted. His sharp hearing picked up Blade’s faint, faltering heartbeat.
Frank uncorked the small bottle and tilted it to Blade’s lips. The half-vampire’s fangs shot out on instinct, shattering the glass. The blood spilled into his mouth, and at once, his body convulsed.
Blade’s eyes snapped open. His pupils dilated, and the wounds across his body sealed shut in seconds.
“Ahhh—!” he roared, his entire body trembling as the blood raced through him, veins glowing faintly red. Within moments, all traces of injury vanished.
“Haa… you two really know how to make an entrance,” he gasped, catching his breath. “A few more seconds and I’d have been a corpse.”
The sensation of warmth flooding back into his limbs, of his heart pounding again—it was intoxicating. The memory of having his blood drained dry made him shudder.
Frank handed him his sword—its silver edge gleaming—and six specially-designed serum darts.
“Lucas is up there alone,” Matt said grimly. “We have to move—now.” His senses could already feel the storm of energy raging above, where Lucas was facing Deacon Frost.
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At the top of the tower, the newly reborn Blood God reveled in his strength. Red energy rippled around him like living flame.
Then—
“You look like hell,” Lucas’s voice rang out lazily. He leaned against a shattered column, sword resting casually on his shoulder. “All that power, and this is what you turned into? You think you’re some kind of cosmic egghead?”
Deacon Frost’s golden eyes snapped toward him, narrowing in fury.
“Insolent insect… I know who you are. The Daywalker’s little pet. No matter—both of you die tonight!”
Lucas smirked. “Please. You got the power-up, but none of the style. Where’s your ‘Egg-blade,’ huh? All bark, no badass.”
He twirled the Ultimate Divine Blade in a flourish, its azure edge humming as he pointed it skyward—directly at the floating Blood God.
“Come on then, god-boy. Let’s see what all the fuss is about.”
“Wretched mortal!” Frost’s hands flared crimson. Two curved blades of solidified blood materialized in his grasp, glowing like molten iron. With a snarl, he dove toward Lucas like a streak of red lightning.
Lucas met the charge head-on, slashing upward. Steel and blood collided, sparks scattering in a shower of light.
The impact rang through the chamber. Lucas twisted his blade, shoved Frost’s twin sabers aside, and kicked upward—his boot connecting with Frost’s chin in a clean arc.
But Frost vanished mid-air, reappearing behind him in a blur of speed. His twin blades slashed horizontally, aiming to cut Lucas clean in half.
At the last instant, Lucas spun in midair, one foot landing squarely on Frost’s blade. Using it as leverage, he pivoted—then brought his sword down in a vicious overhead strike.
Frost growled and raised both sabers to block, but Lucas shifted again, planting his sword against a wall for momentum—
BANG!
The blue muzzle flash of the Judicator pistol split the air. The bullet tore through one of Frost’s leathery wings, blowing a ragged hole through the membrane. Blackened edges smoked where the silver-infused round had burned through.
Lucas landed lightly on his feet.
Frost hissed in pain, his wing already regenerating, the damaged flesh knitting back together. The smoking wound sealed as though time itself reversed.
He glared at the gun in Lucas’s hand. Even through the haze of rage, he could sense its danger.
Lucas didn’t hesitate—three rapid shots.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Frost’s body blurred, weaving through the bullets like a phantom, his speed doubling as he shot forward. He was on Lucas in an instant.
There was no time to aim. Lucas ducked back, but Frost was faster.
CLANG!
Their weapons collided again, the clash echoing like thunder. Sparks flew as Lucas struggled against Frost’s unnatural strength.
“Fine,” Lucas muttered. “Let’s see how you handle this.”
At point-blank range, he pulled the trigger again—three more times. The silver bullets tore through Frost’s abdomen, exploding inside him. The Blood God staggered back, his torso shredded open, internal organs exposed.
If not for his spine, he would’ve been cut in half.
Frost roared and retreated, clutching the wound as countless crimson tendrils erupted from his flesh, stitching the gaping hole closed.
Lucas’s eyes narrowed. The healing was fast—but not instant.
He raised his sword, green wind swirling around the blade. “Your move, ‘god.’”
The air split apart.
“Wind Rend!”
A storm of spectral claws exploded outward, raking across Frost’s body. Each slash carved deep grooves into his flesh, shredding him into ribbons. Blood fountained from every wound, splattering across the ruined chamber.
When the attack ceased, Frost was barely standing—his body a mangled mess of blood and torn muscle, wings in tatters.
And yet… he laughed.
“Ha… hahaha! You think this can kill the Blood God?” His voice twisted into a shriek. “Foolish mortal—you cannot destroy what is divine! I am eternal!”
Lucas frowned, lowering his sword slightly. “You talk too much.”
In one clean motion, he stepped forward and swung.
Blue light flashed.
The Ultimate Divine Blade sliced through Frost’s neck with a whisper. Lucas landed behind him, sword leveled forward, not a drop of blood on the blade.
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then—a thin red line appeared across Frost’s throat. Blood began to seep out… then gushed, raining in a crimson halo.
But his head didn’t fall.
Lucas’s brow furrowed. He had felt the clean separation. The blade had cut through. Yet Frost’s head stubbornly clung to his shoulders.
So this was the Blood God. Tough enough to withstand a killing strike from the Ultimate Blade itself.
Frost’s laughter grew louder, more deranged.
“What’s wrong, little insect? Weren’t you so proud a moment ago? Can’t even take my head?”
He dragged his claws across the wound. Blood threads spilled from his fingers, weaving across the gash like stitches until it sealed completely.
In seconds, the wound was gone—only faint crimson lines remained, pulsing with divine light.
The Blood God smiled.
“Didn’t I tell you? I am immortal.”
