Chapter 484: Blood Arts - Necrotic Dome of Annihilation!
Killian’s body was dragged across the solid floor, tearing his cheek and beneath the eye, which gushed disgusting green blood. Thick and coagulated, nothing like fresh blood. He glared from the ground, cupping his ugly face.
"You foolish child, how dare you go against the Patriarch!"
"Spare me your bullshit, Alucard started this. I am just going to finish it."
Nikolai’s words vibrated along the steel, his guttural werewolf’s voice deep and devilish. The threat of Killian meant nothing to him because he would fight. No matter what he might face, he couldn’t lose anymore.
"Hah....haha.....hahahahahaha!"
"Hm?"
Killian broke into hysterical laughter, his fingers clawing at the stone beneath him, cracking, tearing and breaking his flesh. As if entrance, he gouged and dug, the stone slowly eroding from the hissing blood that poured from his hands.
"Child, you might have achieved the physical form of a Great Elder." He looked directly into Nikolai’s eyes. Surprisingly, there wasn’t the same hatred or anger, but almost a sense of peace lingering in his red orbs. "But... let this old man teach you the true power of a Great Elder! You have just stepped through the doorway."
Crackle!
Before Nikolai could respond or react, the arena shook with the crackle of what seemed like static electricity.
Then, despite his wounds, Killian stood up straight, his suit neat and tidy as he spread both arms to the sides with theatrical flair.
"Blood Arts!
Necrotic Dome of Annihilation!"
A low thrum spread through the arena as a dark green sphere devoured it whole.
"What the!? Is this truly..." The announcer’s voice cracked, no longer the bright and melodic voice but tinged with concern as if she fell out of character. "Spectators! Move back, Boss we need more space!"
Her shout echoed through the microphone as dozens of muscular men who worked for the arena rushed to the front rows and began to escort people back into the upper stands.
At first, people were angry, shouting at the men with vile words.
"I paid for this seat, you cannot move me!"
However, the power of a Great Elder could change the very physics of the world. Once the green sphere grew, metal became liquid, gas became solid, and the world warped completely. People soon started to flee like cowards.
"Run!"
"Ahh... my hand... My hand!"
A person’s hand melted in seconds.
The curious young adult with a camera phone on him, touched the green barrier, only for his entire arm to bubble, rot and suffer rapid necrosis.
Meanwhile, inside the Arena, Killian’s body returned to a youthful, handsome male with shiny black hair and a pretty face, nothing like his former self.
He gazed at Nikolai with a faint smile.
"How is it child, do you understand the difference now?"
"W-What the hell is this?" Nikolai asked because he couldn’t hide the confusion as his skin tingled with a sharp ache.
The surface of his flesh bubbled and started to rot, barely regenerating thanks to his black blood, but even then, the damage was agonising, like millions of bullet ants chewing his flesh continuously without rest.
"I see, did your father never show you?" Killian’s face showed a frown, but the glee in his gleaming eyes never faded. "A pity."
Killian’s aura exploded. Inside this green sphere, it almost seemed his nature, power, and aura didn’t have limits like outside.
"Then die."
In the crowds, a woman hiding her face watched silently, her shimmering blue eyes focused on the young werewolf. From the moment he transformed, her chest pumped faster, and her body became hot as she sought to quench a phantom thirst.
"What are you going to do... Nikolai?"
***
The moment Killian wished death upon him, his attack was instant. A blade of corruption, sickly and green, tore through the air, almost cutting through Nikolai’s sternum in the time he blinked once, the vampire’s speed more than doubled.
"Fuck!"
Nikolai threw himself back, trying to parry the blade. His claws melted with a disgustingly sour stench as the necrotic blade danced through the air.
It made a strange, almost mnemonic sound of chanting as it moved.
Before he could adjust, another blade flashed in the corner of his eye.
Nikolai twisted aside at the last heartbeat, but the sickly green edge still carved across his chest. Flesh hissed, bubbling away as the smell of rot filled the Dome.
He staggered back, black blood streaming, his claws twitching as he fought the urge to tear the wound open just to stop the burning.
"Haaaah..." He exhaled raggedly, steam pouring from his fanged jaws. The black flames on his body flickered, unstable. "This... this isn’t normal aura..."
Although his evil god’s blood and the black aura could resist it for a moment, Nikolai found that the green corrosive aura could erode it.
Their difference was qualitative.
Killian strolled forward through the swirling miasma as if he were walking across a ballroom floor. The corrupted air clung to him, feeding into his armour of living blood, his wounds closing faster than before.
His youthful face glowed with cruel beauty, aristocratic perfection.
"Very astute for a beast. This is the true form of Blood Arts, the pinnacle of our mastery a domain. The Great Elder’s birthright. It bends the laws of the world to our will. Your regeneration, your black fire, even your precious hearts—they all mean nothing here."
"Why the hell are you explaining like a third-rate villain!?"
Nikolai snapped back, mocking the vampire, but the corrosion started melting his clothes, the skin on his back now burning, as if he had touched acid.
The announcer’s panicked voice crackled through the muffled speakers outside the barrier. "Lords above—viewers, this is beyond what the arena can take! If you value your lives, step back—further back—now!"
There was a massive panic. Normally, it was unheard of for Great Elders to fight in public. For this reason, the nature of their battles wasn’t like a bar fight or even a gunfight. It could change the very shape of the world.
Screams echoed in the dome as lashes of green necrosis snapped out like whips, warping the steel barriers, liquefying the seats like wax under a blowtorch.
Inside, Nikolai’s knees almost buckled.
The weight pressed him lower, every muscle burning, every vein itching with rot. His claws dug into the soft steel, gouging pits as he forced himself upright.
"I don’t care what you call it... Peh!" Nikolai spat back, clenching his teeth and muscles to form a small layer of black aura across his flesh. "I’ll crush anything that steps in my way, and anyone that threatens my happiness."
Killian’s laugh was sickly and confident, like velvet, smooth and poisonous. "So stubborn. Fine then—let us test whether your defiance can outlast inevitability."
His figure vanished.
"You won’t get me with this!"
Nikolai barely caught the flicker of movement before another series of blades carved down, but he forgot and raised his arm on instinct.
Szzzzt!
His forearm nearly dissolved on contact, skin and bone peeling back in wet chunks before his aura wrapped around the wound, barely holding it together. Pain exploded through his nerves, but Nikolai didn’t cry out. His eyes blazed black, pupils narrowing as he swung with his remaining strength.
Killian’s face swept past Nikolai’s guard as his talons tore a crude line across Nikolai’s ribs. The sharp claws ripped his flesh, allowing the corrosive fluids to spread into the wound instantly, bubbling his flesh until it became half rotten.
He staggered but stayed upright. His three hearts thundered.
Ba-dum.
Ba-dum.
Ba-dum.
After each beat, he forced the black aura deeper into his wounds, burning out the corruption. It wasn’t perfect—every step still seared his flesh. But gradually, he found a rhythm. He couldn’t stop Killian’s strikes, but he could endure them longer, buying precious seconds.
"Oh?" Killian’s eyes brightened. "You still persist? Perhaps you can endure if I raise the tempo."
The dome darkened with a heavy pressure; the dark veins increased in number each moment, from dozens to hundreds, then thousands. These veins dripped small beads of green ’blood’ that formed tiny blades as they fell.
"Necromancy Blood Arts: Thousand Blade Funeral!"
It almost sounded like a torrential downpour of rain as they rained down on Nikolai.
"Another!?"
His pupils shrank; the sheer number of dark green, hissing blades meant he couldn’t escape this attack. "I won’t lose!" Nikolai roared, black flames detonating outward in a storm. He tore the first wave apart, claws ripping blades to shrapnel, but a dozen more cut through his shoulders, thighs, and chest, pinning him in place. The rot overflowed, eating into muscle, bubbling his black blood into tar.
The pain was like someone pushing a Bunsen burner against his flesh and sinew.
Yet he still glared at Killian through the haze, lips curling into a savage grin.
"You’re throwing everything at me already? What’s wrong, leech? Afraid I’ll tear down your little dome?"
For the first time, Killian’s smirk faltered.
The crowd outside recovered in the outer ring and VIP booths, once again enjoying the fight, torn between awe and horror.
However, the beautiful blue-eyed woman had long since vanished.