This time, it was much quieter outside the door; the knocking hadn't resumed for quite a while.
However, relying on grenades to kill vampires was still a bit lacking, as the opponent wasn't just one but a group, so the bleeding wasn't quite lethal.
It seemed the opponents were trying to figure out a solution, but even if they were to vandalize Santa's door with paint and feces, Su Ming had contingency plans. These vampires were no match for Deathstroke and were only playing around at the moment.
So he just nodded at Little Saint, indicating for him to be patient and continue drinking.
A moment later, light from outside shone into the room, and Su Ming had Strangulation peek out along the wall. The Symbiote's vision was relayed to the host.
There was a deep pit in the snow before the door, and on the other side were several figures in classical attire. Their faces were pale, holding torches as if they intended to burn something. Some even carried flamethrowers, currently being tested.
Su Ming sighed. These Blood Race members are restrained by fire and yet dare to play with it?
With a thought, Strangulation immediately pulled several assault rifles from the host's bag, skillfully loaded them, chambered rounds, and turned off the safety.
It then opened the window, and the assault rifles unleashed a burst of automatic fire at the vampires, with uncanny precision, targeting the fuel tanks of the flamethrowers specifically. In almost an instant, a series of firework-like bursts exploded on the snow.
Alongside the detonations were the vampires' screams and the sight of flaming bats wildly flying around.
It was like a firework warehouse explosion, with fireworks shooting off everywhere, making Santa's secluded cabin the best viewing spot for the spectacle.
Su Ming, witnessing this for the first time, found that burning bats flying around was quite beautiful, leaving intricate and dazzling trails in the sky, chaotic yet stunning, akin to Gotham's lights.
Especially as they sometimes transformed into human form, rolled on the ground, then morphed back into small animals flying chaotically, and finally flailed their limbs in vain, one by one collapsing in the snow, turning into immobilized blazing embers—smoke swirling around them beautifully.
Later, he might share this intel with Batman, suggesting a flame effect for his cloak.
For now, though, it seemed the Blood Race's assault plans had been thwarted again, with heavy losses. How would they play next? Did they bring nuclear bombs?
Strangulation closed the window, retreated back into the host's body, returning the firearms to the bag, and softly rubbed against Su Ming's face, feeling happy as well. It hadn't shot targets for days; moving targets indeed were more fun.
Both the man and the Symbiote couldn't help but feel expectant.
Compared to the men inside, the Blood Race outside, amidst the icy snow, weren't feeling as happy. Apart from the Blood Race noble as the leader desperately trying to remain composed, the subordinates brought along were all frightfully unsettled despite surviving, looking at each other in bewilderment.
They found too many things incomprehensible.
Why did Santa neutralize the grenade attack without moving a muscle? How did he unleash such formidable firepower despite being supposedly alone? Did he buy a Shile River anti-aircraft vehicle from the Fur Bear side and park it inside the house?
Yet nothing had been seen just earlier.
Nonetheless, time was limited, and they needed to capture Santa Claus, extract the location of this year's presents from him, and proceed to distribute them globally laced with additives.
Even though some subordinates had been swallowed by flames, the leading Blood Race had no intention of giving up. After all, above him stood more advanced nobles, not to mention the Duke Level Blood Race from the North American region involved in this plan.
Success was crucial, and failure wasn't an option.
So he thought, quickly switching to an alternative offensive tactic.
..........
Ten minutes later, Su Ming yawned, feeling slightly disappointed. These vampires really lacked imagination. Those tactical methods couldn't even be considered by some debt collection companies in his previous life.
Santa also transitioned from being nervous initially to later becoming calm, and if Deathstroke hadn't shot down the Blood Race's drone earlier, he might have even dozed off.
But the game had run its course. Watching the leader outside morph from a previously dashing noble with long flowing hair to a current bald, struggling for ideas, Su Ming decided to grant them a swift end.
That was a Blood Race Sorcerer, but its magic was completely stifled by the Magic Floating Cloak, leaving only hair-pulling.
The intelligence had been mostly gathered. Observing this Blood Race's manpower and resources suggested it wasn't a minor skirmish. Su Ming started having some suspicions about their elders behind them.
Especially considering a few Tomahawk Missiles had been launched, but they remained ineffective against this small cabin.
To use rifles to hit cruise missiles several kilometers away in a tail-end irregular movement—certainly not something Blood Race had ever seen as fantastical as this.
Though Su Ming mastered Blood Race intel similarly, they couldn't say they had made no progress—now they at least confirmed there wasn't just Santa inside the room; there was a mysterious individual persistently hindering them.
But knowing this didn't alter the situation—they couldn't capture Santa, not even approach the cabin.
Previously, they could at least peer through the window—now even knocking on the door meant death, feeling very aggrieved.
"Clan Leader, what should we do? Whether it's technology or magic, the opponent surpasses us; I'm absolutely out of ideas."
The freshly bald sorcerer was on a satellite phone call, and from his expression, he had clearly been scolded by his superior—it looked as though he'd eaten a lemon, all his facial features scrunched together.
It was unsure what the person on the other end said, only that the sorcerer's body began trembling as if extremely frightened.
Moments later, he hung up the satellite phone, issuing new orders with a stiff expression.
No more tactics; everyone charge forward together—no rules necessary, just break down the door.
At that moment, Santa's cabin door slowly swung open after producing a lengthy creaking sound.
"Squeak..."
Wind pushed the door into the wall, producing a light thud.
The scene suddenly resembled a time-freezing magic release; all the Blood Race members were momentarily unsure what to do—now that the owner's door was open; were they still to break the house? The cabin was very peculiar—was going inside truly wise?
Every Blood Race turned to their captain, awaiting his command.
The sorcerer tugged at his scalp before drawing a submachine gun from his waist, firing a burst into the sky: "Attack!"
Yet those rushing to the door were almost immediately sent flying back—better ones flew over a hundred meters and coughed up piles of visceral debris, while worse ones disintegrated mid-air.
The Blood Race, hundreds of years without breath, seemed to recall forgotten fear, with those behind halting in their tracks, sharply inhaling cold air with their shriveled lungs.
They merely saw a crimson dot instantly light up within the dark entrance of the cabin.