Chapter 73: Blade Warrior Eric
Allen's actions left the five female vampires utterly bewildered.
Usually, when they lured men in, they would get them drunk first. The moment they revealed their fangs, their prey would be scared out of their wits.
But now, a willing "blood meal" had appeared right before them, leaving them momentarily at a loss.
"Come on, come on."
Allen deliberately pulled down his collar, exposing his fair neck and flaunting, "I take baths regularly, so there's no grime on my neck."
Since he was offering himself so eagerly, it would be rude not to take a bite.
"You really are an adorable little thing."
The five women bared their fangs, their eyes filled with uncontrollable hunger.
They closed in on Allen, their breaths turning slightly ragged as they neared his neck.
Allen squirmed shyly. "Fine, bite if you want—but don't blow on me. I'm ticklish."
They didn't care about that. The next second, their lips eagerly pressed against his skin.
Sss...
"Ah! Ah! Ahhh—!"
The five women clutched their mouths, glaring at him in fury. "What did you put on yourself?!"
The moment their lips touched his skin, they felt an intense burning pain.
"Heh heh... I'm just a hot-blooded young man who smokes even when dunked in water."
Allen grinned smugly at the fooled vampires.
On his way here, he had passed by a restaurant, barged into the kitchen uninvited, and extracted garlic essence, which he applied all over himself.
To prevent the vampires from detecting the garlic's smell, he had cleverly mixed it with perfume.
He was crazy, but not stupid.
"Kill him!"
Realizing they had been tricked, the vampires dropped all pretense. Their nails elongated into claws, and they bared their fangs. However, due to the burning sensation, their lips now looked like they had kissed a red-hot branding iron—charred and distorted.
"It seems a fierce battle is unavoidable."
Allen took a step back, assuming a fighting stance and solemnly declared, "Green Mountain Mighty Fist!"
"..."
The five women exchanged glances before lunging at him all at once.
"Ah-da!"
"Ah-sa!"
"Ah-bye!"
"Ah-do-keng!"
"Ah-yo-geng!"
Within five seconds, the fight was over.
The five vampires clutched their bruised faces, grimacing in pain as they stared at Allen, who still maintained his outstretched "chicken wings" stance.
They couldn't comprehend how this lunatic was so skilled at fighting.
Although hybrid vampires were no different from ordinary humans in terms of physical endurance—meaning conventional weapons weren't lethal to them—they still felt pain.
"I first won a free-fight championship in Southeast Asia in 1974. In 1980, I defeated the Chrysanthemum Country's heavy-handed boxer, Thunder Dragon, earning the title 'The Demon Muscle Man—Left Hand Shakes, Right Hand Sucks.'"
As he spoke, Allen's hands formed claw-like shapes, flexing dramatically.
"Who cares if you're a demon or a muscle man?" one of the vampires scoffed. "This is vampire territory. The entire lower floor is full of our kind. Let's call for backup and finish him."
If they were outside, they might have considered fleeing.
But here, in their nest, surrounded by countless vampires on the dance floor below, how could they possibly fail to deal with a mere human?
One of them pressed the call button on the table, waiting for the attendants to arrive.
However, after a long pause, no one came.
Realizing something was wrong, they exchanged uneasy looks.
In the vampire hierarchy, male hybrids were at the very bottom—usually serving as waiters, tasked with menial chores and disposing of bodies.
Since men tended to roam the streets at night, physical strength mattered. Those with frail limbs couldn't afford to pick fights and were relegated to working within vampire nests, surviving on leftover scraps.
Allen glanced out the private room window, which overlooked the dance floor.
At that moment, a black-clad man—wearing a black coat, black pants, and black sunglasses—was slaughtering vampires left and right.
Wielding a sharp sword, he was cutting through them as easily as slicing melons and vegetables.
The moment his blade struck, vampires disintegrated into ashes.
If this wasn't Blade, who else could it be?
"You guys are screwed."
Allen turned back with a grin. "The protagonist of the vampire storyline just arrived."
Protagonist?
The five vampires were utterly confused.
To them, Blade was the ultimate antagonist—an unrelenting hunter who pursued them mercilessly.
Much like Batman was to Gotham's criminals, Blade's mere name was enough to make vampires wet themselves in fear.
How could he possibly be considered a protagonist?
After clearing out a horde of vampires, Blade, Eric Brooks, struck an unnecessarily dramatic pose.
Fighting had to look stylish. Posing was a must. And sunglasses were his true essence—a man who paid attention to aesthetics.
Just then, a dark figure landed nearby.
It was none other than Batman, Bruce Wayne.
"Blade, Eric Brooks?"
"Batman, Bruce Wayne?"
They exchanged nods and shook hands out of mutual respect.
With Gotham suddenly overrun by vampires, members of the Bat Family had returned to their respective cities, leaving Bruce in a dilemma.
Out of options, he had reached out to S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Checkmate organization for assistance.
The sheer number of vampires was overwhelming—far beyond what he could handle alone.
Normally, Bruce could take down criminals one by one, but vampires posed a different problem. They directly preyed on civilians.
After all, criminals didn't typically go after ordinary citizens. There were no coins to loot from them. Their targets were usually bankers and capitalists.
And since Batman himself was a capitalist, it was only natural that he fought crime.
"Fury already briefed me on the situation," Eric said coldly. "I won't let vampires destroy Gotham."
"Thank you for your help," Bruce replied. "But my priority is to rescue the Gotham citizens they've taken."
Commissioner Gordon's reports indicated that, excluding homeless vagrants, over a thousand people had gone missing—signaling a much larger crisis.
"They're probably beyond saving."
Eric was blunt. "Once someone turns into a vampire and drinks blood, there's no turning back. Their consciousness will erode under their bloodthirsty instincts until they're no longer human."
Bruce was silent for a moment before insisting, "I still want to try."
He had already uncovered that the vampire invasion was orchestrated by the Court of Owls. Since it all stemmed from him, he refused to let innocent people suffer because of it.
"Do as you like," Eric said. "But let me make one thing clear—if they're beyond saving, I will eliminate them."
"Agreed."
Bruce wasn't naive. If infected individuals could no longer be saved, they would inevitably become a threat to others. Eliminating them would be necessary.
"Hey, Bats!"
Allen leaned out the window and shouted, "Come up to the second floor. I'll get you some girls!"
Then he withdrew, delivering another round of punches to the vampires trying to escape.
"You know him?" Eric asked.
"Yeah."
Bruce was caught off guard by Allen's presence.
When the vampire attack started, Allen had been his first thought.
But when he checked Arkham Asylum, the lunatic was nowhere to be found, so Bruce had pursued other options.
The two of them ascended the stairs and approached the private room, hearing the sound of fists and kicks inside.
"Pulverizing Milk Fist!"
"Silicone Shattering Kick!"
"Innocent Girl Palm Strike!"
"Madam's Comeback Finger!"
"Manly Crying Leg!"
…
Pushing open the door, they were greeted by the sight of Allen relentlessly beating up the five female vampires, who were curled up in the corner, bruised and trembling like quails.
How humiliating—to be brutally beaten by a lunatic. If word got out, they'd never be able to show their faces again.
(Support me and read ahead on Patreøn: patreøn.com/craxxtranslation. Thanks for your support! Don't forget to send Power Stones—300 Power Stones = +1 bonus chapter!)