Chapter 101: Blood Sacrifice to the Blood God!

A terrifying iron fist, carrying the force of a collapsing mountain, slammed into Luo Shaotian.

Too fast.

Even in his corrupted state, facing such an attack left him only enough clarity to sigh inwardly.

Yet for some reason, he felt no fear—only a wild, pounding fighting spirit burning in his chest.

“Bang—!!!”

No dodging.
No blocking.

Flesh and steel collided head-on.

The ground shook violently, cracking layer upon layer under the sheer impact.

“Pfft—”
A beautiful, tragic bloom of blood mist scattered into the rain.

Luo Shaotian’s body was hurled several meters away, crashing into a pile of collapsed ruins and vanishing entirely into the rolling dust.

For a moment, even the sounds of heaven and earth seemed to disappear.

White steam rose from the scorched mechanical wreckage, silently recounting the carnage that had just occurred.

At the center of the battlefield, shrouded in mist and drifting smoke, Wu Jianguo’s massive body knelt in the mud.

The mechanical arm that had powered his revenge was completely destroyed; the overloaded energy had burned out every internal wire. Broken strands dangled from torn connections, occasionally sputtering weak sparks that the cold rain instantly extinguished.

“Cough… cough—”
He spat out a mouthful of rusty, black blood.
His breathing beneath the mask rasped like a failing blower.

“Heh… heh heh… heh—”
But he laughed.

He stared at the smoke-shrouded ruins before him—at the crater carved out by his own hand—and let out a shrill, unhinged laugh.

“Hahaha… hahahahaha—!!!”

It began low, then sharpened into something piercing and twisted, steeped in the ecstatic, distorted satisfaction of revenge.

“Dead… finally… dead…”

The laughter vibrated against the breathing mask covering his face.

Two streams of hot liquid slipped uncontrollably down his cheeks, vanishing into the cold rain—indistinguishable between tears and water.

Why…?
Why wasn’t he as happy as he imagined?

Without realizing it, his laughter grew hollow.
Then hoarse.

Finally, it broke into a suppressed sob at the back of his throat.

His wife’s and daughter’s smiling faces flashed through his mind, vivid as yesterday.

He could almost smell his wife simmering pork rib soup in the kitchen again, hear her nagging complaints.

He could almost feel the warmth of his daughter leaping into his arms after school, her tiny arms looped around his neck as she begged him to tell her about his day.

“Wife… daughter…”

He stretched out his one remaining left hand, reaching helplessly into the empty rain.

His fingers curled weakly, as though trying to grasp phantoms lost long ago.

“I avenged you… I killed the murderer… I killed so many people…”

“But… but how long do I have to keep killing?”

“How long… before you come back?”

“Hahaha… ugh… ah…”
The strength that had pulled him out of the flames, the obsession that had endured inhuman reconstruction, slowly drained away.

It felt as if all the bones in his body had been removed.

He collapsed into the cold, muddy water with a dull splash.

After the fierce battle, only calm remained.
Only confusion remained.

Where… should I go now?

Should I keep killing?

How many more must I kill?

Immortal…

Tell me.

Tell me!!!

“Crack… crack…”

A faint sound emerged ahead, cutting sharply through the rain.

Wu Jianguo’s dull, lifeless eyes widened instantly.

“Impossible…”

Through the rain, the man who should have had collapsed ribs and pulverized organs—who should have been unequivocally dead—was standing upright in a grotesquely unnatural posture.

Countless dark-red buds of flesh writhed, interlocked, and climbed rapidly across his body at a visible pace.

In just a few breaths, the horrific crater in his torso was completely filled with fresh flesh.

Then—

“Rip—!”

A layer of necrotic tissue was violently torn away, revealing smooth, flawless new skin beneath.

The man—who should have been nothing but a corpse—took a step forward.

Then another.

With each step, his wounds healed further.
With each step, the dark aura surrounding him deepened.
With each step, the oppressive force he exuded warped the very air.

“Ugh… ugh—”
Wu Jianguo slumped in the mud, staring blankly at the monster advancing toward him, his pupils trembling uncontrollably.

“You… why aren’t you dead yet…?”
He spoke brokenly, voice splintered by terror.

“No… I… I refuse to believe it!”

The instinct to survive forced his failing body into one final surge.

With a primal roar, he braced against the ground with his remaining left arm, trying desperately to move his shattered mechanical legs and launch an attack.

But it was far too late.

A blood-smeared hand closed around his torso.

A mountain-like force crushed all remaining resistance in an instant.

Luo Shaotian lowered his head.
His once-handsome features were expressionless.

One hand pinned Wu Jianguo to the mud.
The other slowly reached for his mechanical arm.

He grabbed it.

Tear—!!!

Metal screamed.
Flesh ripped.
Black oil, torn nerves, and spurting blood splattered like rain.

“Ah… ahhh—”
Wu Jianguo couldn’t even form a coherent scream.
Agony and blood loss hurled him toward shock, his consciousness drifting in and out of darkness.

Luo Shaotian tossed the grotesque, dripping mechanical limb aside as if discarding trash.

(…Well done…)
Deep in his mind, that voice—seductive, approving—resonated clearly.

(…A perfect masterpiece… a beauty forged of rage and power…)

(…But this is not enough…)

The voice softened, caressing.

(…The sacrifice must be whole…)

(…Use his head to crown your glorious victory…)

(…Come, child. Call my name. Sing the hymn…)

Luo Shaotian lowered his head.
His pitch-black eyes fell upon the faintly twitching “sacrifice” at his feet.

He raised his blood-soaked hand toward Wu Jianguo’s head.

His lips moved unconsciously, and from deep within his throat came indistinct, blasphemous syllables—sounds that seemed not of this world.

Ancient.
Evil.
Undeniably powerful.

The rain intensified.
The sky darkened.

“Blood God—”

“——————”

“Whoosh—!”

A sharp sound tore through the storm without warning.

A radiant beam of psionic energy streaked through the darkness—
and slammed into Luo Shaotian’s monstrous right arm!

“Boom—!!!”

The explosion of energy ripped outward.

It wasn’t mere kinetic force.
It was a concentrated psionic countermeasure—designed specifically to suppress contamination.

Luo Shaotian felt a surge of foreign energy invade his arm.

“Ugh—”
The power was so overwhelming it even managed to suppress the raging corruption within him.

His movements halted.
He staggered backward, barely regaining balance.

(…Impossible…)
The murderous hymn in his mind suddenly stopped.

Even more shocking—the wound from the psionic bullet didn’t heal.

Instead, a faint blue halo remained, clinging like frost.
It choked off regeneration, sending shards of icy pain stabbing into his nerves.

“Hm…?”
The killing intent in Luo Shaotian’s pitch-black eyes flickered—then wavered in confusion.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze.

Following the faint trail of blue light, he looked toward the distant scaffolding.

The rain fell harder.

And there—on a high lattice of abandoned metal frames and exposed steel bars—stood a figure.

A woman.

She stood still against the storm, merging seamlessly with the night.

Her waist-length gray hair was soaked through, clinging to her cheeks and neck, catching faint metallic gleams from the distant city lights.

The hem of her black-and-white Gothic maid dress whipped wildly in the wind, like a dark bloom unfurling.

A white mask concealed the upper half of her face, revealing only a pale jawline.

Through the mask’s eyeholes, her heterochromatic eyes—beautiful as gemstones—met his gaze in silence.

“Whoosh… whoosh…”

Rain slid down the edge of her mask like quiet tears.

Smoke curled from the dark muzzle of her weapon— a cold, resolute white.