"Go ask your mother—then die!!"
Under crushing gravity, the tall vampire roared and erupted.
Blood mist exploded from his body. Muscles tore and reformed. Bones cracked and expanded.
In an instant, he transformed into a colossal bear-like monster.
Black fur bristled like steel needles. Scarlet eyes burned with feral hatred. Claws scraped through stone as if it were sand.
He howled and forced himself upright against the gravitational pressure.
Yorinobu watched calmly.
"…Impossible to communicate."
His voice cooled.
"And my mother," he added softly, "died a long time ago."
The reactor in his chest flared.
Light gathered in his palm.
A single pulse.
The beam detonated forward.
The vampiric bear was split cleanly in two.
For a heartbeat, the halves hung suspended—
Then disintegrated into ash.
The ground behind him carved open in a glowing trench hundreds of meters long.
Silence fell for half a breath.
Then the slaughter resumed.
"Did he just mount the Arasaka orbital cannon on himself…?"
A samurai-haired executive stared in disbelief.
Ever since the rise of the Mechanicus and the Dimension Chip, corporate elites had become walking arsenals.
But Yorinobu was absurd.
Plasma shielding.
Full-spectrum counter-hacking.
Electromagnetic isolation.
Even EMP resistance.
Assassination had become a fantasy.
He wasn't a man.
He was a mobile strategic platform.
Across the battlefield, the result was no longer in doubt.
It was collapse.
The bloodline descendants that Vampire Shaw had cultivated for over twenty years were being erased in waves.
Dozens of them died to bring down a single cultivator.
And even that was rare.
More Cyber Aura users poured in endlessly.
Mechanical priests advanced methodically.
The vampires were pushed backward step by step—until their backs touched the edge of the Arena's stone boundary.
No retreat.
Even Vampire Shaw himself was surrounded.
He did not fear silver like lesser bloodkin.
He did not fall instantly.
But under the coordinated assault of dozens of cultivators and cyber-enhanced elites, he had already "died" countless times.
Each time he reformed—
The Blood Pool within him shrank.
His internal reservoir was nearly dry.
Once it emptied—
That would be true death.
Worse still—
There was no blood to steal.
No living flesh to drain.
His enemies were steel, composite alloys, sealed energy circuits.
Even the cultivators' bodies felt sealed—immune to his siphoning magic.
His proud weapons shattered under artifact blades.
His blood magic splashed uselessly across mechanical armor.
Fire spells fizzled.
Lightning dispersed.
Ice cracked harmlessly.
Only illusion magic achieved any effect at all.
And even then—
The machine-augmented minds filtered it out in seconds.
This battle is unwinnable.
For the first time since his rebirth—
He felt it.
Despair.
Not frustration.
Not anger.
Despair.
He glanced toward the massive golden skull suspended within his Blood Pool.
Madness flickered in his eyes.
He screamed to the sky.
"I want to see him!"
"I demand a duel!"
"Let me face him like a king!"
"I will die—but not at the hands of his dogs!"
His magic surged wildly.
Blood rained upward.
Thunder cracked.
Ice formed crystalline spears.
He emptied himself in reckless defiance.
It changed nothing.
Vampire Shaw's origin was not romantic gothic tragedy.
It was darker.
Closer to the demonic lineage of old-world myth.
Centuries ago, when Dracula was cornered by the Holy Church, he summoned a storm of blood.
He infused it with his will.
That rain twisted life itself.
From it, the first Blood Clan were born.
Vampire Shaw descended from noble First Generation blood.
Born into chaos—where bloodkin, undead, beasts, and humans warred endlessly.
He had wealth.
Servants.
Power.
He had never been prey.
Until today.
Now—
He stood alone.
Surrounded.
His blood nearly exhausted.
His army erased.
And above the battlefield—
Somewhere beyond sight—
The one he truly wanted to face remained watching.
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