A Variant that the Priest had been searching for had finally appeared before him. This brought a certain amount of joy to the Priest, who had already downed quite a few drinks.
As the only vampire in the Bloodkin guard who had lived since the last century, the Priest, who had experienced so much, always had a somewhat drunken, dreamlike state of mind. He preferred drinking to killing. After more than a century, the passion in his heart had essentially been worn away. Unable to obtain what he wanted, he could only search for it in the illusions created by alcohol.
He had only joined the Bloodkin guard because of the experience he had accumulated over a long time. Compared to other elite warriors, he was more like a placeholder. After all, Bloodkin were not like humans; their base number was too small. So small that even talent was pitifully scarce.
The Priest's experience had always helped him survive. But this time, his experience did not help him at all.
Silver bullets spewed forth from the submachine gun in his hand. His precise shooting skills allowed him to miss almost no bullets. This was something only a highly skilled old gunfighter could achieve, but it was useless against his opponent.
The dense bullets, aside from opening a few wounds on the Variant that oozed pus, had almost no other effect on them.
With a running start, the Variant had already charged in front of the Priest.
The Variant's speed surprised the Priest. He didn't have time to adjust his gun, so he simply swung the butt of his weapon towards the Variant's head.
The butt connected, as he'd intended, but it didn't cause the damage he expected. It didn't even stun the opponent, let alone knock it down.
The savage, beast-like Variant stiffened its neck and held the Priest's gun butt in place. At the same time, it swiped a hand, knocking the submachine gun from the Priest's grasp.
Losing his weapon so suddenly made the Priest panic a little. However, he was a highly experienced warrior. Taking advantage of the Variant's hand still being outstretched, he punched it in the temple.
Methods that were lethal to humans had some effect on Bloodkin, since their physiology wasn't too different from humans. But for the Variants, these methods were completely useless. Their bodies had already mutated into something else entirely.
The Priest's lethal punch only made the Variant tilt its head slightly. Then, the Variant grabbed his fist. It gripped the Priest's neck and flung him with a force that far exceeded the Priest's expectations. He was lifted up and sent flying like a ragdoll across half the dance floor. He even crashed through a thin wall before landing on the ground.
This exaggerated commotion immediately caught the attention of the Snowman, who wasn't far away. He gripped the hilt of his sword, lowered his body, and ran towards the Priest. But another Variant blocked his path. Unable to break through, the Snowman could only watch as the first Variant jumped into the hole in the wall, agile as a monkey.
At this moment, the Snowman could only pray that the Priest could find a way to save himself. Because he now had to focus entirely on the creature in front of him.
After witnessing the Priest being knocked away, the Snowman certainly didn't think these Variants were the same as the ones they usually hunted. The power the Variants displayed was enough to shock him. This was a dangerous fight.
Steadying his mind, the Snowman initiated the attack.
He took a few steps, then accelerated when he was less than ten meters from the Variant. At his pureblood vampire speed, a charge from this distance was like an arrow released from a bow, incredibly fast.
But the Variant's speed was not inferior. It also charged at the Snowman from the same distance, and its speed was even faster.
This surprised the Snowman, but it didn't cause him to panic. He was a true elite warrior who practiced Samurai Swordsmanship. The fact that he could join the Bloodkin guard with only cold weapon close combat skills among so many vampire warriors was enough to prove his skill and mentality.
Directly drawing his samurai longsword from his waist along with its scabbard, the Snowman, using his momentum, slashed down at the Variant that had already charged in front of him. No one wanted to be hit for no reason, and the Variant was no exception. Facing the Snowman's strike, the Variant reached out to block it, its five fingers like hooks, firmly grasping the Snowman's scabbard. Seeing this, a hint of mockery flashed in the Snowman's eyes, but his hand twisted and pulled, and the gleaming longsword immediately left its scabbard. Then, with both blade and body, he spun around, and the blade slashed down.
Like a hot blade cutting through butter, the gleaming blade felt almost no resistance. Amidst the Variant's roar, a forearm had fallen to the ground with the blade's light.
The pain of losing an arm caused the Variant to unleash its beastly ferocity. It roared, its jaw splitting into a shape like an insect's mouth, vaguely revealing a petal-like tongue inside. Then, with its mouth wide open, it lunged at the Snowman.
The movement was like a predator hunting, but the horrifying maw gave the terrifying feeling of facing a monster. It made it clear that he wasn't facing an animal, but a monster.
The Snowman was truly calm now. He wasn't moved at all by the Variant's terrifying display. Facing the Variant's pounce, he only retreated with his long knife, while staring fixedly at the Variant, silently calculating the distance between them.
This was a quality possessed by only the most skilled swordsmen, because they held everything in their hearts. Under the Snowman's deliberate control, the Variant's pounce clearly became a wasted effort. The powerful attack simply vented its kinetic energy onto the floor, nothing more.
Failing to connect with its pounce, the Variant instinctively looked up to find its target. And the moment it looked up, a blade flashed through the air. In an instant, half of its maw, along with a small portion of its jaw, was sliced off by the blade, making the Variant's face even more hideous.
Repeatedly suffering heavy blows, the Variant subconsciously felt that something was wrong. But it stubbornly pounced forward, a pounce that could be said to be an explosion of hidden power born of pain. The speed and power were both startling to the Snowman.
But because it was a burst of pain, precision was difficult to guarantee. The Snowman easily rolled to the side, and the Variant had already passed over him, causing him no harm.
But as an experienced warrior, the Snowman didn't want to lie on the ground for even a second, because that meant another layer of danger. He quickly did a backflip to stand up, but even at this speed, he was a bit late. The sound of a harsh wind was already coming from behind.
Without even turning his head, the Snowman knew that it was the Variant that had pounced again. He still remembered the surrounding terrain, and he could even deduce which points the Variant had used to launch its counterattack after the pounce.
This insight, this feeling of seeing everything, stilled his heart, his blade as cold as frost. He reversed his grip, holding the blade behind him. The sensation immediately told him he'd struck a vital point, likely piercing the stomach. A roar of pain confirmed it.
He spun, elbowing the Variant in the chest. The force of the impact pushed them apart. The Variant was hampered by the blade lodged in its body, but the Snowman was not.
A flurry of elbows followed, quick and powerful, forcing the Variant backward, unable to defend itself. Soon, the Snowman had cornered it. When the assault ceased, a considerable distance separated them.
The Variant now appeared weakened. Its injuries were severe, but not yet fatal. This surprised the Snowman, but only momentarily. It was time for the killing blow.
He accelerated, using the momentum to leap. Three consecutive flying kicks slammed into the Variant. It lacked the strength to dodge or parry, forced to endure the onslaught.
The first kick struck its head, throwing it off balance. The second landed between its shoulder and chest, the impact lifting it off the ground. The third hit the hilt of the blade lodged in its abdomen. The blade was forced deeper, tearing at its insides, and with a metallic screech, it pinned the Variant to the wall.
This sequence of attacks was devastating for the Variant, especially the final blow, which was almost certainly fatal. It let out an unprecedented shriek, the sound of a creature on the brink of death.
The Snowman expected it to die then, but the reality proved the resilience of this unprecedented Bloodkin Variant was terrifying.
In a state of severe injury and near-exhaustion, the Variant still displayed remarkable vitality. With a screech, it used its remaining limbs to cling to the wall and swiftly, eerily, climbed away to escape.
This frenzied action tore open its lower abdomen, with its entrails spilling out onto the ground. Even in this state, it hadn't died, vanishing quickly into the shadows atop the wall.
The bizarre sight made the Snowman's skin crawl. He drew his longsword, staring at the blade for a moment before spitting on the ground. He quickly ran towards the Priest.
However, when he reached the Priest, it was clear he was in bad shape.
A Variant had opened its maw, biting into his neck. As a Bloodkin, the Snowman could even smell the blood, but this time, the blood belonged to his teammate, who was being devoured by a monster.
The Snowman clenched his sword, slowly approaching. But the Variant was alert. It heard the movement and looked up, seeing the filth on the Snowman's blade. It roared a few times, then, like a beast, scrambled up the wall on all fours and quickly disappeared from sight.
Clearly, having finished its meal, it didn't want to fight a dangerous opponent, choosing to flee from the Snowman. From this, the Variant's animalistic instinct to seek advantage and avoid harm was perfectly evident.
The Snowman couldn't and didn't want to chase the seemingly unkillable monster. He simply looked at the convulsing Priest and spoke into his earpiece, "The Priest is injured! Repeat, the Priest is injured."
"Damn it!" The Light Axe ripped off his headset, blaming his teammates for his missed shots. Glaring at the Variant that seemed to be smiling at him, he roared and slammed his great hammer down.
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