The battle had gone so smoothly, Allen could hardly believe it.
He had mentally prepared himself for a frustrating beatdown, kited around and pummeled, since compared to the other heroes who had long mastered their inherited abilities, the vampire skills he possessed were crude and clumsy at best.
But "clumsy" didn't mean "weak." Just like how even the worst marksman can still kill if a bullet hits the right spot, the power of the blood sorcery, something Allen had never used before, was undeniable.
And the enemy had basically handed him the gun, placed the barrel on their own chests, then said with a grin: "Go on, pull the trigger!"
Simple. Direct. Brutally effective.
When Allen reformed from a puddle of blood, pale and staggering, the enemy mages had already assumed he had botched his attack and were preparing to vaporize him with their next spell, though, of course, they were doomed to fail.
Because before they could act, a wave of terror swept over them.
Blood Plague, the vampire's ultimate move.
True to its name, it was a devastating ability comparable to a literal plague.
It was infectious, clinging to any who stepped onto the contaminated ground. The violent blood-poison would instantly latch on and begin spreading, like a twisted form of pyramid marketing, recruiting new victims with every touch.
Why pyramid marketing? Because just like one, it promised absurd returns.
Forget that it severely reduced the enemy's resistance to blood magic. Just the delayed explosion alone, which inflicted massive damage and then healed the caster by siphoning lifeforce, made the spell worth every drop of blood.
Visible bursts of red light began to bloom on the enemy mages, then erupted with a pop, detonating violently. At the same time, a red aura engulfed Allen. But instead of hurting him, it revitalized him. While the enemies collapsed like they'd just gone through a dozen exhausting climaxes, Allen's once-dead complexion now glowed with life, as if he'd just finished chugging some absurdly potent magical energy tonic.
In truth, the life feedback didn't just recover the massive energy drain from casting magic, it even healed the leftover wounds that hadn't yet been fully cured by his previous prayer spell.
All in all, Allen felt fantastic. Other than his mana still running on empty, he felt as if he'd just been juiced with raw vitality and cuteness.
Whether or not he was literally juiced up, the enemy mages were in full despair. When they first saw him, he had been a half-crippled wreck. Then he suddenly stood up. Okay, fine, they could live with that. But now? Now he stood there full HP, glowing with life.
If they could speak, they would've said, "This guy's deep. We're totally out of our league." But they didn't even get the chance.
They hadn't realized how deep his power ran. All they could do now was sweat cold bullets and feel their bodies going hollow from blood loss.
Allen's performance had been so monstrous, they no longer saw him as human, but as something else entirely: a vampire.
Who else could manipulate blood with such terrifying control?
In recent years, vampires had completely disappeared from Europe, and this area was no exception. To the mages, vampires were just legends.
Unlike the romanticized tales among Muggles, the magical world painted vampires as terrifying monsters, on par with werewolves, used to scare disobedient children, much like the "big bad wolf" in Muggle fairy tales.
Forget gentle blood-drinkers; vampires here were eternal beings with youthful faces and bottomless hunger. They were said to drain a young wizard's sweet blood dry in mere seconds the moment they got close.
Quirrell himself used the excuse of having been attacked by a vampire to explain his trauma, a reason widely accepted among British wizards.
And now, facing Allen, the enemy mages were literally trembling, half from fear, and half from the aftereffects of losing too much blood.
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Meanwhile...
Regov was drowning in regret. Of all the places they could've fought, why here, where this monster happened to be?
He no longer believed Allen was just some ordinary kid. If he really was a vampire, then who's to say he wasn't some immortal freak who had lived for thousands of years?
Just look at that healing magic, it looked exactly like something fueled by moonlight. And that ghastly pale complexion earlier? Regov now imagined it was just a side effect of being sealed underground for centuries without ever seeing the sun.
Maybe Allen had originally wanted to ignore them, but now that they'd drawn blood in battle, they had likely awakened the hunger he had tried to suppress.
The only thing keeping Regov from completely breaking down was a lingering hint of cruelty, leftover from tormenting mortals, that gave him just enough rage to strike back.
A streak of fire shot from his wand. Besides sunlight, the two things most lethal to vampires were fire and silver.
"What are you all standing around for? He's just one man! We outnumber him! Kill him, destroy this abomination!"
His words were weak, but still managed to rally the few mages left. After all, the fear of death was far greater than the fear of some possible vampire.
Unfortunately, it was futile.
Their spells were blocked instantly by a blood-red shield, not even a sound came from the impact.
Earlier, Allen would never have dared to waste so much blood recklessly. But sadly for his enemies, they had kindly delivered the gun and the bullets straight to his doorstep.
A blood mage's true power lies in controlling blood. Even without defensive spells or shield magic, he could still form protections just by burning extra blood.
A flickering red light danced among the resisting mages. Each time it passed someone, they turned pale as paper, it not only caused massive internal damage, it drained them of blood as well.
By the time the third mage collapsed from a despair-inducing blood explosion, the others finally cracked, they turned and fled.
But they didn't make it far. A few steps in, their legs gave out, and they crumpled to the ground, the price of massive blood loss.
Allen approached the last man, the leader, who was now kneeling, ghostly pale, frantically trying to speak:
"взрослые… отпустите меня…" ("Adults… let me go.")
Allen had no idea what he was saying, and didn't care.
What greeted the man was Allen's final strike.
And with that, the last of the enemy mages fell. The battlefield returned to silence.
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