When the city defense soldiers saw Claire, who was responsible for the surprise attack, have her heart pierced by the banshee, they nearly felt despair.
This meant the entire operation had completely failed.
Yet they suddenly heard something roaring from all directions, followed by the banshee’s wail.
White smoke rose from her entire body as she released the snake tail coiled around Claire.
They had originally thought Claire still had a final move and had fired one last shot at the banshee at the critical moment.
But when they saw Claire’s appearance they were completely stunned.
Her body suddenly began to swell and deform.
Sharp bone spurs abruptly protruded from the surface of her skin.
At the same time black scales interlocked with one another, producing loud sounds.
The scales that pierced out from her skin tore her coat and long skirt into countless fragments.
Eyes even more blood-red than the banshee’s ignited without sound, like a full moon in a bloody night.
Claire picked up the crimson arc-shaped sword “Gram” and also drew the short sword at her waist.
The face covered in black scales was expressionless as the twin swords spread open like wings.
That dual-wielding stance was not any of the Five Swords Under Heaven, nor did it even belong to any modern school of swordsmanship.
Although the city defense soldiers could not understand that form, those among them who had stepped onto the battlefield several times could vaguely smell the scent of blood within the sword stance.
The wounded banshee let out a long screech, wings flaring in rage as Claire’s figure was reflected in her scarlet compound eyes.
In the next moment the white bone wings carried a fierce wind as they lunged toward Claire.
Claire stamped the ground and charged forward in the same instant.
Her wrists produced explosive cracks as the two sharp swords cut and chopped in turn.
Claire flashed aside to avoid the sharp wing-claws.
In that brief instant she seized the opportunity to attack.
The twin swords howled as they swept upward, splitting the banshee’s snake body and sending large sprays of blood flying to the ceiling.
Yet the banshee’s spiked long tail also took the opportunity to stab into her ribs.
Under the violent stirring her internal organs suffered severe trauma.
The two sides continuously left wounds on each other’s bodies, all of them fatal injuries that reached the internal organs.
They simultaneously separated and staggered backward until they finally stopped at the walls on both sides of the hall.
They almost simultaneously crouched down and began to gnaw on the corpses of the sub-dragonkin.
That hunger originating from a shared bloodline drove them into madness.
A few seconds later a heavy and slow drumming sound came from within their bodies, like two competing drumbeats that gradually grew denser and higher.
It was their rekindled heartbeats.
They were bloodthirsty beasts of the same origin.
Flesh and blood were the source of their self-healing and regeneration.
The severed muscles and bones re-aggregated the instant they swallowed the flesh and blood.
In the next moment both sides simultaneously stopped feeding.
Twin swords and wing-claws once again tore through the air.
Every collision produced an ear-splitting roar.
At this moment the four city defense soldiers were completely unable to understand everything before their eyes.
In the gaps between the screeches and roars, the collapsing men cried out in alarm and fled toward the only place that could be considered a refuge—the cave.
***
Completely enveloped by fear, the city defense soldiers fled in panic along the corridor toward the underground like startled sheep.
Their eyes were full of terror, as if they had seen the most frightening nightmare of their lives, so much so that they completely ignored Liz and the other two who were right beside them.
They only hysterically shouted, “Monster! Monster!”
Anne could not help but frown, a wave of displeasure rising in her heart.
When her gaze fell upon the face of one of the city defense soldiers that had been twisted by fear into something nearly ferocious, she instantly understood that the situation in the hall had already spun out of control.
These soldiers who had personally experienced the battlefield and had never retreated when facing banshees and sub-dragonkin were now like a flock of startled sheep, fleeing with their heads covered and without any dignity.
Flora’s face instantly turned deathly pale. “The monster they are talking about… could it be Claire?”
“Claire… she has most likely fallen into blood frenzy,” Liz did not stop walking and replied with her head lowered.
A flash of determination appeared in Flora’s eyes.
She tightly clenched her fists, the knuckles turning white from the force, and raised her voice. “I am going to save her!”
Liz abruptly turned her head and seized Flora’s shoulders.
“Do you know that she willingly stayed behind to cover the rear for your sake? What right do you have to trample on her intentions!”
Tears welled up in Flora’s eyes, swirling in their sockets yet stubbornly refusing to fall.
She gently took Liz’s hands.
“I understand how important Claire is in your heart. I am the same as you. I will not leave her to live alone! Liz, tell me—what else can we still do for her?”
Liz took a deep breath, raised her head, and looked straight into Flora’s eyes.
“Claire’s Ability consumes a large amount of blood. She has probably already used up all the blood in her body, which is why she fell into blood frenzy. Only by replenishing her with human blood is it possible for a vampire in a state of blood frenzy to recover her sanity.”
“I will use my blood to make her regain clarity,” Flora’s clear blue pupils held not the slightest hesitation.
After speaking she took Liz’s hand and walked toward the hall above.
Anne grabbed the hem of Flora’s skirt, her voice growing sharp from anxiety.
“Have you gone mad? She may have already turned into a bloodthirsty monster who recognizes no kin. You will be killed by her!”
Flora stopped walking and turned around.
She gently stroked Anne’s head. “This is something I must do, Anne. Even if I cannot return, you must live on well.”
Anne’s lips trembled slightly.
She wanted to loudly question Flora—exactly what was she to you, and why was she worth a nation’s princess offering up her own life?
Yet when the words reached her lips she could not speak them no matter what.
Liz and Flora carefully walked toward the direction of the hall.
A pungent smell of blood permeated the corridor, as if emanating from the depths of hell—thick and acrid.
When they approached the hall the successive screeches and the sounds of metal colliding from above grew clearer and clearer.
Both of them could not help but feel a wave of intense pain exploding inside their brains.
They had already entered the banshee’s domain.
Flora covered her head and half-knelt on the ground.
Like Claire she was trapped by that burning summer palace.
Liz had originally thought her nightmare would be the charred church under the first snow or the all-night gambling bout with her enemy.
Yet what appeared before her eyes was the ball she had just experienced a few days earlier.
In the center of that dazzling dance floor the person she deeply loved was dancing with the golden-haired princess.
The princess held her hand and spun like the wind, applause thundering around them.
Liz sighed, a complex emotion surging in her heart.
Whether fortunate or unfortunate, her own nightmare turned out to be this inexplicable scene.
She quietly returned to the hall.
What presented itself before her eyes was a scene like hell itself—devils in hell biting each other.
At this moment Claire could no longer be considered a person, nor even the appearance a vampire ought to have.
Black scales covering the body, bone spurs ferocious—this was no longer something that could be explained by the mutation caused by blood frenzy.
That appearance… was exactly the same as the Stranger after he had dragonized!
The dragon-soul-devouring sword in Claire’s hands flashed with crimson light.
The wave-like inscriptions on the sword body were filled with blood, and whenever it chopped into the banshee’s limbs it produced a hissing like a dragon’s cry.
In the flash of lightning and the spark of flint the twin swords and wing-claws had already clashed back and forth many times, leaving countless afterimages.
Liz could not even clearly see their movements.
In the next moment Claire and Abigail both seemed to have exhausted their strength.
They separated and slowly crouched down, beginning to gnaw on the sub-dragonkin corpses under their feet.
That scene made Liz unable to suppress a shiver.
Black blood was flowing downward from Claire’s eyes, ears, and the corners of her mouth.
Abigail’s crystalline snake scales gradually fell away, and her silver long hair also grew dull and lusterless.
Neither of their conditions could be considered optimistic, for what they had eaten was the flesh and blood of sub-dragonkin.
That toxic blood mixed with dragon genes was eroding their bodies, and both were waiting for the other to be poisoned to death first.
Liz took a deep breath and resolutely stepped into the hall.
She quietly stood behind Claire, those red pupils tightly locked onto Abigail.
The banshee instantly sensed Liz’s presence.
She stopped feeding and let out an extremely piercing screech, yet that sound abruptly cut off in the next moment.
Abigail was astonished to discover that her tongue seemed to have lost control, and her body was also completely unable to move.
Liz had never imagined that casting a charm technique on a high-ranking demonkin would be so difficult.
She could feel the blood throughout her body burning at extreme speed.
The banshee might break free of the restraint at any moment.
She shouted toward Flora, “Now!”
At the same time Flora staggered out from the corridor and charged with all her strength toward Claire’s direction.
Although her footsteps were somewhat unsteady there was not the slightest hesitation.
Flora looked into Claire’s eyes.
Those once beautiful rubies were now like blood pools shrouded in mist—turbid and violent.
Both of her hands and her face were stained with blood, as if she had walked out of a sea of blood.
Yet in the midst of this bloody madness she suddenly froze.
She heard a voice—the call of a person who was incomparably important to her.
That voice seemed to come from the distant depths of memory.
That voice had once sounded in the garden of the summer palace, and had also echoed in countless dreams.
She stopped her gnawing and blankly raised her head, for she had smelled the fragrance of tulips.
Flora used every ounce of her strength to tightly embrace Claire.
Then she resolutely aimed those fangs at her own neck.
The instinct of a vampire in blood frenzy guided Claire.
Her fangs subconsciously pierced that skin as smooth as mutton-fat jade.
She greedily licked Flora’s fresh blood.
Yet from those pupils that had long been filled with deep red, two clear tears flowed down.
A surge of power poured into Claire.
Her silent heart once again began to beat.
The necrotic wounds rapidly peeled away.
Muscles and bones re-aggregated, producing sounds like a glacier cracking.
Claire slowly stood up.
She shielded Flora behind her and once again assumed the dual-sword stance.
Those eyes no longer held only residual brutality and killing intent.
Abigail, who had broken free of the charm technique, roared and spread her bone wings to pounce.
Those pale wings swept back and erupted with unprecedented speed.
Yet the banshee’s surprise attack turned into slow motion in Claire’s eyes.
The blood of her beloved allowed her to drive the Ability that stagnated time even while in blood frenzy.
When time resumed its flow Abigail suddenly fell from the air.
She crashed heavily onto the broken tiled floor.
Claire stood upright on her spine, both hands driving the blades deep through her membranous wings.
She could no longer fly.
Abigail screeched as she swung her snake-like long tail, the bone spike at the end gleaming with a blade-like pale white.
Yet the attacks of the long tail fell empty in vain.
Claire leaped into the air like a ghost, her figure disappearing once more.
In the next moment blood-red eyes ignited behind Abigail.
That winding snake tail had already been severed, the disconnected tail still twitching as it remained connected by nerves.
The banshee let out a mournful screech.
She had lost her final weapon.
Claire coldly looked down at the banshee struggling on the ground, as if a tyrant appreciating the punishment of a criminal subject.
Gram in her hand stabbed upward from below into the banshee’s jaw, piercing through that tongue that sang of disaster as well.
The banshee’s voice abruptly ceased.
She could no longer let out that soul-captivating screech.
Abigail unwillingly raised her head.
She was still trying to make a sound.
Her own blood had dyed every sharp tooth in her mouth red, yet she continued attempting to contract every muscle that could still move in order to escape.
Just as Claire was about to swing the sword one final time to take Abigail’s life, the piercing deep red in her eyes suddenly faded, and then she collapsed without strength.
The scales on Claire’s body rapidly receded like an ebbing tide.
The bulging muscles also slowly subsided.
The newly formed skin recovered the delicacy of a young girl.
Flora disregarded the banshee who was still convulsing and struggling and ran toward Claire, catching her in her arms before she fell to the ground.
Just like a mother cradling an exhausted child, Flora pressed her face against the top of Claire’s head and gently stroked her hair with one hand.
In Liz’s field of vision that scene was simply a religious painting—the Holy Mother holding the Holy Child in her arms and tenderly stroking his cheek.
Liz lightly sighed, her gaze lingering for a moment on the Holy Mother and the Holy Child, yet in the end she chose not to disturb their peace at this moment.
Out of the corner of her eye she suddenly noticed that Ophelia was still pinned to the ground by the broken claws.
She therefore quickly ran toward Ophelia, preparing to offer rescue.
***
Abigail dragged her damaged snake body and fled at high speed.
Every inch of movement left broken traces on the ground.
The oppressive aura radiating from Claire filled her with fear—even while asleep that tyrant still made one tremble.
She could no longer endure that destructive rage.
The broken tiles cracked apart beneath her, producing harsh sounds.
“Abigail…”
A weak call came from the depths of the forgotten ruins.
Talen was laboriously crawling forward, pursuing the direction in which the banshee had departed.
His hand groped for a discarded blade—perhaps left by a Dragon Worship Cultist, perhaps belonging to some dead guard.
On this bloody night too many people had died.
Talen’s eyes were unfocused, the blood of life almost completely drained, yet some will was supporting this tottering body to continue forward.
“Abigail…”
He softly murmured this name again and again, as if reciting a spell that could bring deliverance.
He suddenly erupted with his final strength, raised the blade high, and fiercely stabbed toward the banshee’s vital point.
The blade pierced through Abigail’s chest.
She let out a cry of pain and turned to bury her sharp claws deeply into Talen’s flesh and blood.
Blood sprayed and dyed her cheeks red.
Yet Talen did not scream, did not retreat.
He continued forward and tightly embraced his blood-soaked daughter.
If one ignored the fatal wounds on each other’s bodies, this was simply a long-separated father and daughter sharing a final embrace in the darkness.
There ought to have been gentle moonlight scattering silver radiance upon them.
Talen gently stroked Abigail’s hair that shone like the stars. “That place is very far, very cold… but Father will accompany you as you walk there…”
Abigail’s struggles abruptly ceased.
With her final shred of strength she pressed close to her father and deeply inhaled that familiar scent.
Then came a long silence as blood-red tears silently slid from her compound eyes.
The terrifying monster and the father who deeply loved her tightly embraced each other and together collapsed onto the cold ground.
Their blood converged and bloomed into a mournful blood flower upon the broken tiles.
Consciousness gradually faded.
In a daze Talen saw a grassland bathed in sunlight.
Abigail was happily running through a sea of flowers, that long hair as beautiful as the Milky Way dancing in the clear wind.
Then everything returned to eternal stillness.