The pungent stench of alcohol, the metallic scent of blood, and the corrosive odor of Black Mist blended together, filling the entire warehouse.
It was as if the place had been dragged straight into hell.
In Julius’s hand, the Holy Sword burst forth with a dazzling radiance.
With each swing, the blade sliced through the surging darkness, sparks and sacred light intertwining in the blackness.
But the Black Mist layered upon itself endlessly, without a hint of stopping.
His arm was numb from the shock, the web between his thumb and forefinger already split, fresh blood seeping down along the hilt.
Kyle roared, swinging his long spear, its flaming tip leaving a trail of crimson light in the air.
Each thrust carried a thunderous force, making the very air hum and tremble.
Yet the Black Mist surged as if with a will of its own, blocking the spearpoint tightly.
The flames clinging to the tip were devoured, bit by bit.
“Damn it, this bastard’s strength… wasn’t nearly this strong before!”
Kyle gritted his teeth, veins bulging at his temples.
He swept the long spear in a blazing arc, forcing the encroaching darkness back, but still could not completely tear through that suffocating barrier.
His gaze grew grim as a brief memory flashed through his mind.
It was in the Western Diocese, where they had once briefly crossed blades with this black-robed figure.
But compared to now, the opponent’s true power had clearly been nowhere near its peak at the time.
Selina’s form was like a specter, Twin Blades in hand, crimson light carving razor arcs through the gloom.
Her attacks were precise and cold, each strike carrying the intent to kill.
Twin blades forged of blood cleaved the Black Mist, erupting in a blinding scarlet flare—but at the cost of her own rapidly depleting vitality.
Her chest heaved, and her already pale face looked even whiter under the flickering light.
The black-robed man grinned viciously, his swollen claws slamming down again and again, shattering stone slabs and sending shards flying.
The Black Mist surged like the tide, swallowing the trio’s onslaught layer by layer.
“Kekekeke! Is that all you’ve got? You think you can resist the power of the Abyss?”
With a sudden sweep, several tentacle-like strands of Black Mist shot forth, laced with a stench of corrosion and death.
Julius bellowed, sweeping the Holy Sword sideways and severing two of the tendrils, but another lashed across his chest the next instant, slamming hard into his armor.
He grunted, stumbling back, the surface of his breastplate blackened and scorched by the corruption.
Kyle charged forward, his spear swirling with flames as he thrust upward at the foe.
The tip of the spear traced a crimson arc, aiming straight for the black-robed man’s heart.
The black-robed man sneered, snapping his claws shut and catching the spearhead directly.
Flames sizzled under the pressure, and the shaft groaned under the strain.
“Out of my way!”
Kyle roared, muscles tensing, as he yanked the spear back and swept it in a wide arc.
The air cracked apart, the shadow of the spear like a fiery dragon in the torchlight—but the Black Mist curled and surged, effortlessly swallowing it whole.
***
The next instant, a black tendril lashed viciously at his shoulder, sending him flying.
Kyle crashed through several wine barrels, liquor spilling out, the choking fumes even thicker than before.
“If things have gotten this far, why not just surrender quietly?”
“Cough—!”
Kyle spat a mouthful of blood, bracing himself on his spear, a stubborn grin still on his lips, “You’ve got a hard punch… but as for making me give up, it’s still way too soon!”
Selina’s eyes were icy, a cold gleam flashing in her gray pupils.
She crossed her Twin Blades, the crimson arcs weaving a deadly cross in the air.
The blades pierced through the Black Mist, closing in on the black-robed man in an instant.
But his claws swept out, forcibly blocking the Twin Blades.
Blood sprayed, the blades hummed from the impact, and Selina’s wrists went numb, the glow of her blood-forged weapons fading visibly.
The black-robed man sneered in a low voice:
“To use your own blood as a weapon… For a vampire to side with the Church—how foolish can you get?”
Selina’s face remained expressionless as she spat out coldly:
“Shut up.”
In the next instant, her Twin Blades flashed, blood-light erupting like a wild dance, tearing open a patch of the encroaching Black Mist by sheer force.
But the backlash made her body tremble, her steps faltering, her face even more deathly pale than before.
Her power was not ordinary magic, but driven by her blood—Blood Magic.
This was a secret art unique to vampires.
Blood Magic was infinitely varied, its power mysterious and unpredictable.
Because its very essence was tied to one’s life force, ordinary humans could not even touch it, much less resist it.
Yet this power was not without its price.
Especially for Selina, who was not a pure-blooded vampire—she could only rely on her own blood to fuel her Blood Magic.
Every slash consumed her very life.
As the battle dragged on, and the Black Mist’s corrosion took its toll, her breathing grew increasingly ragged, and the glow on her Twin Blades flickered, wavering unsteadily.
Seeing this, Julius immediately stepped forward to shield her, his sword cleaving away the lunging claws.
Sacred light clashed with Black Mist, erupting in a thunderous roar.
The shockwave whipped up a gale, extinguishing half the torches and plunging the warehouse into deeper darkness.
Under the last remaining flames, the three looked utterly battered.
Julius’s arm was streaked with blood, Kyle’s shoulder armor shattered, Selina gasped for breath, the blood-glow of her Twin Blades dancing erratically.
Yet the black-robed man still stood tall within the Black Mist, claws gleaming, scars writhing, and madness burning in his eyes.
“Weak…So utterly weak! You’re nothing but prey, struggling in the jaws of despair!”
He spread his arms wide, and the Black Mist boiled over completely.
Tentacles of shadow surged from all directions, bearing down on the trio like an oncoming tide.
Julius fought with all his might, the Holy Sword blazing fiercely as he forced back the darkness for the moment—but the blade trembled from overexertion.
Kyle roared, slamming his spear to the ground.
Flames surged up, carving out a narrow gap by brute force.
Yet, it was all they could do to barely hold on.
The Black Mist kept pressing in, devouring their attacks little by little, their breaths growing ragged, their bodies on the verge of collapse.
Julius’s heart tightened—if this went on, they would be utterly crushed.
The black-robed man laughed maniacally, claws raised high.
At his fingertips, the Black Mist gathered into a swirling vortex, distorting the very air with its pressure.
“It’s over! Your souls will become offerings to the Abyss—!”
In that moment, the three looked so small, their figures flickering in the waning light, as if they would be swallowed whole in the next breath.
But just as his vicious claws were about to strike down, a faint, nearly imperceptible sound reached his ears.
The black-robed man’s laughter halted abruptly, his head snapping toward the passage beyond.
There, he had personally set a barrier, sealing it completely—so tight that not even a mouse could sneak through.
And yet now, without any warning, a tiny ripple appeared on the barrier.
“Crack.”
A sound like shattering glass rang clear in the silent warehouse.
In the next second, the barrier at the passage shattered, and the Magic Array inscribed upon the iron door dissolved in an instant, scattering like shards of a broken mirror.
As the great door slowly swung open, a shadowy figure, ghostly and silent, appeared within his line of sight.
Helos destroys magic and a magician without magic is just a man.