A massive surge of Ethereal suddenly erupted from underground, rendering any attempt at sealing the area meaningless. The thirty vampires Bern had brought quickly regrouped at his side. The handsome vampire Phaga had met earlier lowered his head, speaking in a frustrated tone:
"Sorry, Uncle. We didn't detect them."
Bern shook his head and waved it off. "They appeared from underground out of nowhere. Even I didn't sense them. It's not your fault."
Looking at things now, Black had most likely lured them here on purpose before calling in an army of Ethereal. The Ethereal forces descended through spatial rifts like divine soldiers falling from the heavens, instantly turning the tide.
But… this tactic might work against humans who couldn't fly. For vampires who could? Wasn't that far too optimistic? Sure, the sheer number of Ethereal made it difficult for Phaga's group to attack. But nothing stopped them from simply retreating to make new plans.
Phaga shook his head, unable to understand. Suddenly, he sensed a gaze on him and turned. It was Bern, watching him from afar. At some point, a considerable distance had opened between them—more like a chasm than a gap. Calling it "spying" felt wrong; Bern was gazing from afar, almost deliberately distancing himself.
And he wasn't the only one. The other thirty vampires, too, had withdrawn from Phaga as if avoiding a plague.
Phaga frowned, sensing something wrong. "What's this supposed to mean?"
"Dawn is approaching. We're retreating."
Bern finally pulled his gaze away from Phaga, looking toward the horizon where pale light rolled in. A brilliant golden line cut across the sky. Beyond it lay the deep black of night. Within it, warm golden radiance spread outward, steadily dispelling the night's cold as sunlight opened its arms to the darkness.
The vampires sensed it immediately: the night had already been swayed by the sun's blazing light. It was no longer their shield. They had to flee before it fully succumbed.
Phaga still frowned deeply, lowering his gaze toward Black. The creature was currently latched onto a goblin, draining it, and its wounds were healing at an astonishing pace.
"Mm. Black's recovered. There's no point continuing the fight. We should retreat for now…"
He began flapping his wings, ready to withdraw.
But halfway into the air, a stabbing pain shot through Phaga's left arm like a needle pricking his skin. Instinctively, he swung his blade, slicing the incoming icicle into glittering powder.
Clang!
The shattered ice burst into a cloud of mist. Through the drifting shards, Phaga saw thirty vampires lined up at least ten meters away, stepping through a spatial rift—Bern at the very end.
Just as Bern was about to cross, he suddenly turned back:
"Sorry, Grandpa. We're leaving you here to face Black alone. This is part of the plan."
Phaga stared coldly at him, eyes narrowing. "What plan?"
"The vampire clan's reputation is already ruined. But yours must remain spotless to carry the plan… Look behind you!"
Bern had been explaining calmly while floating before the rift. But in the next instant, his eyes bulged wide, calmness shattering into ferocity as he roared the warning.
Phaga hadn't even turned before icy cold stabbed straight through his back—a sharp gleam of killing frost.
Damn—no time to counter!
Unwillingness surged in his chest, but he still swung his blade backward, catching the spear of light. The blow launched him forward, forcing him to fly over ten meters before the force dissipated.
Turning slowly, he finally faced his attacker and murmured:
"A Thracian? So it can fly this high?"
Indeed—the Ethereal: Thracian. A white, combat-mech-like Ethereal wielding a long spear, capable of hovering freely in midair. Phaga had always assumed such creatures could only float near the ground. He never expected it to reach this altitude.
But that wasn't the priority.
He shifted his focus back to Bern, who could slip away any moment. Fine—so a Thracian could fly. Despite being named after the legendary warrior race of Old New Eridu lore, its fighting style was wide and aggressive. Being ambushed once was one thing—it wouldn't happen again.
Phaga continued to glare coldly at Bern. "What plan needs my reputation? And don't expect me to work for the vampire clan."
"You won't be working. At that point, it won't even count as work…"
Bern lowered his head, thinking deeply. These matters were classified, but his honest nature made him want to at least explain a bit.
"As for the vampire clan's plan—well, it's long. Let me think how to summarize it in a few words—huh? Why are you pulling me?"
A spatial rift tore open beside him. The handsome vampire stuck half his body out, stretching to grab Bern's wrist. Seeing Bern finally look at him, he beamed with joy and pleaded:
"Uncle, please, we need to go! The sun's about to hit us!"
"Oh! Right, right!"
Bern smacked his forehead and suddenly remembered dawn approaching. He waved hurriedly at Phaga:
"Uh, Grandpa, we'll talk next time. If I don't leave now, I die."
"Oh, and one useful tip—before using Crimson Overdrive, make sure to bleed externally first."
With that, Bern turned and dove headfirst into the rift, disappearing.
"You—"
Phaga seethed with fury, about to unleash a string of curses, when the Thracian charged again. Lightning gathered at its spear tip as it thrust forward, erupting in blinding brilliance.
Facing the overwhelming attack, Phaga didn't retreat. Instead, he advanced, sidestepping the deadliest point of the spear. Thunder roared in his ears, half his skull buzzing numb, yet he gritted his teeth and slashed horizontally toward the Thracian's head.
A single strike—aimed to kill.
But the Thracian had inherited the name of a legendary warrior race for a reason. With rich Anomaly combat experience, its Core flickered as it calculated the blade's path in an instant. Its metallic arm rose to protect its neck.
It had already computed it—Phaga's current strength couldn't sever both arm and neck in one blow. At most, he'd cleave the arm, but the blade would get stuck at the neck.
The Thracian's Core glowed red with excitement, gathering strength. If Phaga paused for even a moment, it would unleash a relentless counterattack.
Yet—mid-swing, the blade turned into a staff.
Thracian: ?
That wasn't in its calculations at all.
But on a battlefield, there were no referees. Even if Phaga had cheated, there were no red cards—no timeouts.
And Phaga hadn't cheated. This was the upgraded Kunmutu—the power of transformation and fusion.
Boom!
The staff strike sent the Thracian flying like a severed kite, spinning out of control.
Phaga flicked his wrist. The staff shifted into a sniper rifle. The scope flashed with a predatory gleam.
"Die!"
He aimed and pulled the trigger.
[Hey, Creator, how's it going?]
Black suddenly popped into the scope, completely ignoring the bullet's kinetic force as he bit down on it.
Gulp.
He swallowed it whole, tapping a finger against his lips, smacking them with lingering delight.
[Netherfire-flavored Ether bullets… delicious!]
[Though eating too many makes me overheat…]
He lowered his head, palms outstretched. A powerful aura erupted from his perfectly restored body—the strength of his peak.
Black licked his lips. His wings folded slightly, gathering power. His crimson eyes locked onto Phaga, and in his smoke-shrouded right hand, a purple orb formed at the center.
[Still… if the Creator would toss me a few more, that'd be even better!]
Whoosh!
Black flickered forward, appearing right in front of Phaga and driving a fist forward.
Phaga raised the sniper rifle to block, but a single palm tore through all his defenses, sending him crashing backward.
"The cost… is too high…"
Watching Black charge at him again like a rabid creature, Phaga's gaze shifted involuntarily to the purple orb clutched in its right hand.
Boom!