socalfunplaces Page 599
Page 599
Although she has not yet reached the legendary realm of "magic," she possesses an astonishing talent that can be called a "living magical miracle"!
The magic circuits flowing within him, as dazzling and intricate as a galaxy, have already left those "senior students" who are merely nominal far behind, in a dust that is beyond their reach!
This talent, which transcends ordinary understanding, is the true essence of her name, "Noble Loreleia."
Just as the word "Queen" most directly describes, she rules the top of the clock tower with absolute will and power.
However, this flawless monarch harbored a fatal tendency that was difficult to eradicate and could even be described as an "obsession".
No, this is by no means a personal flaw of hers.
This is a curse branded deep within the bloodline of the entire Bartholomew family, passed down through generations! It is an undiluted dark instinct flowing in their noble blue blood!
The Bartholomew family, from the patriarch to the lowest-ranking member, without exception, has a deep-seated hatred for vampires—especially Dead Apostles.
— Harboring a deep-seated, unfounded, and absolute hostility!
Where does this overwhelming hatred originate?
Is it to defend the last dignity of the human form of existence? Or is it the pride, almost obsessive, that stems from the ancient aristocratic bloodline that cannot tolerate any "heretics" defiling its noble nature?
No one can truly understand it.
The only thing clearly visible is their actions: every head of the Bartholomew family has been a hunter who leads from the front! Like silver wolves that have caught the scent of blood, they are always at the forefront of the fight against vampires!
This "obligation" flowing in their blood was inherited by the current head of the Bartholomew family, Loreleia, with an almost pathological fanaticism!
No matter how much the mountain of administrative duties weighed on the Clock Tower Dean's assistant position, no matter how much precious time for experiments and research was squeezed out...
She will always, inevitably, as if performing a sacred ritual, "make time"—
Go and annihilate those vampires roaming in the shadows!
Her actions were more obsessive than any of her ancestors, and more morbid than any of her colleagues!
Sometimes, she would even temporarily set aside her duties as the dean of the Magic Association, which were crucial to the operation of the entire Magic Association, in order to devote her precious time to completely eradicating those vampires who were different from "Dead Apostles" but were also cursed!
What drove this madness was a cold, piercing fire of hatred within Barthezmello that she herself could not fully comprehend.
That hatred was like a glacier originating from the depths of the soul, radiating a chilling aura that froze everything.
However, the essence of this hatred—
It's not just simple hatred.
It is deeper and more distorted.
It is the almost addictive, absolute obsession that the successive heads of the Barthelon family have with "victory" itself!
It is that compelling will engraved in one's blood, demanding the complete crushing of any "inhuman" enemy and the proof of one's own supreme superiority!
This obsession, this will, has long since exceeded Barthezmero's own rational control.
At this moment, on the top floor of the castle, in that luxurious bedroom that once belonged to the Dead Apostle Rubarey, but has now become the final hunting ground—
Barthezmello encountered a pure "devil".
That's not just a description, that's the reality!
A pitch-black shadow, enveloped by countless churning and howling curses of resentment, seemed to break free from the deepest nightmare!
He held a longsword that gleamed with an ominous cold light and a strangely structured spear in his hands. A faint trace of human aura still lingered around him, but this aura was completely distorted and defiled by the morbid obsession with blood, especially the blood of his own kind, deep within his soul!
"Father...Father?!"
Right in front of this black vampire, the Dead Apostle Rubare, whose half-body had been completely shattered by Barthemello's power and who was barely maintained by his remaining magic, revealed his miserable form like a broken doll.
Although they were of different genders, the black shadow—after instantly confirming that the mass of remains before it belonged to the same kind of being as the prey it had just cornered—
"O wind!"
"—!"
Almost at the same instant!
Barthelon's crystal-clear yet deadly will and the vampire's burning rationality fueled by endless hatred locked onto each other in an instant!
They simultaneously realized that the other was their most powerful and only natural enemy in this dying castle!
Boom! ...
Within Loreleia's body, the magic circuits, surging like a galaxy, roared deafeningly!
The raging torrent of magic instantly transformed into a vacuum rift powerful enough to cleave through space, like an invisible giant's blade, slashing down at the shadowy figure!
“Ooooooooooooo!!!”
The black longsword in the shadowy figure's hand erupted with a piercing, mournful cry, like the screams of a thousand vengeful spirits! The sword, enveloped in a thick, tangible black mist of curses, fiercely met the vacuum blade that was powerful enough to split the ancient city in two!
*Sizzle!* *Boom!*
The vacuum fault and the cursed magic sword collided violently!
The vacuum pressure, powerful enough to tear steel, was forcibly repelled and torn apart by the sword blade, which was imbued with endless resentment!
But the residual force of the wind blade still fiercely "bite" into the black figure, tearing a gruesome wound in the cursed black mist surrounding it!
boom!boom!boom!boom!
What followed was a seamless, precise, and deadly four-shot barrage! The shadowy figure's spear spewed out scorching magic bullets, aiming straight for Barthelo's vitals!
Zheng——!
The seemingly elegant mithril holy robe on Loreleia suddenly erupted with an absolute defensive radiance as dazzling as liquid silver! The holy light barrier, like a wall of sighs, deflected and annihilated all the magic bullets containing curses and destructive power!
Offense and defense!
It was completed in the blink of an eye!
The energy shockwaves generated when the two forces passed each other were powerful enough to cause the sturdy outer walls of the castle to collapse and shatter like sandcastles!
The entire luxurious bedroom was instantly reduced to a chaotic, open-air ruin by Barthelon's casually unleashed vacuum magic, as if the dome had been violently ripped off by an invisible giant hand!
"--magician?"
The shadowy figure—Ahwins—spoke in a low, hoarse voice, tinged with a chilling confirmation. He did so with a single, precise flick of his wrist.
With a "click," the magazine on the longsword was opened, the movement as fluid as breathing.
A special projectile, gleaming with an even more dangerous light, was inserted, and the shape of the demon sword underwent a subtle yet deadly change.
The curse that permeated his body was so thick it was almost tangible black mud, its filth and weight causing even Barthelon's frozen heart to furrow slightly.
however--
Through the cursed mist that almost blackened the soul, Ahvins' eyes gleamed with a cold, sharp, rational light, like tempered iron!
No, perhaps it should be said that the intense, all-consuming resentment was the only "rationality" that sustained his existence at this moment!
It's as if without this resentment, he would immediately turn into nothingness and dust—this attitude is a perfect match for his name, "the vengeful ghost"!
"—Ahwins. The vampire who hunts down abductors."
Rumors about him, like an ominous shadow, quietly spread within the Dead Apostles community.
A deadbeat who seeks to hunt down his own kind.
Fighting among themselves is nothing new in the long lives of the Dead Apostles.
The changing of territories and the childish power struggles were nothing more than entertainment to them to pass the time. Dead Apostles defeating Dead Apostles was, in most cases, just a common resource reallocation in the Dark Forest.
But the man in front of me is completely different!
What he seeks is the complete destruction of vampires themselves!
Crush the opponent's head, slaughter all their bloodline relatives, and burn their territory, along with all traces of their existence, into a barren wasteland with a blazing fire!
His methods were so ruthless, and his purpose so pure—that they were strikingly similar to those of Barthezello and the agents of the Church!
For the Dead Apostle society, a "fellow" whose only purpose of existence is to "destroy the Dead Apostles" is, even if they are both vampires, an incurable and ultimate traitor who must be eliminated!
That was the true name of the shadowy figure—Dead Apostle Ahavens.
A vengeful person who has appeared in the world as the twenty-seventh ancestor and murdered his own ancestors!
Ahvins's gaze swept over Rubare's remains, then returned to Barthelon, who radiated a pure, destructive light. A faint, almost self-mocking smile seemed to curl at the corners of his cursed lips.
"I thought I'd be the first hunter to arrive... Turns out, I'm the second one?"
However, even if the other party was that monster, it wouldn't make Bartheson panic.
Barthezmero knew Ahvins.
Although it has its strengths, it is still far inferior to itself.
Its strength is at most twice that of Rubare, and it does not possess the extraordinary strength of the Twenty-Seven Ancestors.
That level of ordinariness wouldn't have bothered Barthezmero.
If anything angered Barthezmero, it was simply that he wasn't the first one to arrive.
"never mind."
Ahavens's cursed voice rang out, low and hoarse, like ice scraping against rough rock.
"I'll allow you that minor incident."
He proclaimed a condescending "forgiveness," as if Rubare's life or death were nothing more than an insignificant pawn on a chessboard.
“This time, we arrived at roughly the same time. You should be thankful—thankful you weren’t stupid enough to get in my way before me. Vampire.”
Ahwins – did not wait for a response.
His gaze, burning with rational hatred, swept across every corner of the ruins like the most precise probe, searching for the prey he had just cornered—Rubarez's son.
Was it caught in the aftershocks of that devastating collision and completely reduced to dust?
Or... did they manage to seize that sliver of hope and successfully escape?
The answer, though displeasing to the vengeful ghost, clearly pointed to the latter.
"Hmph..." A chilling snort escaped his lips, like a venomous snake spitting its tongue.
“It seems that only the skill of escaping can be considered first-rate—” Ahwins’s voice was full of disdain.
"However, given the pitiful state of it, torn into rag dolls, even if other stray dogs offered a helping hand... it would be a futile struggle."
however!