I'm a proper student; I only take nine kinds of potions every day.

Despite the searing pain, Evan ran out and plunged into the darkness, only to suddenly see a figure standing in front of him.

"Run! This place is full of gangsters!"

Ivan thought he was a homeless person and instinctively called out to him.

But just as he was about to get close, the perception granted to him by the demonic drug that night made his hair stand on end.

"No... Get out of the way!!!"

The potion enhanced his senses and began desperately giving him hints.

Without saying a word, Evan turned and ran, quickly hiding in the factory building across the street.

Behind them, Zach and another group of thugs heard the commotion and quickly raised their flashlights to surround the area from another direction.

The beam of light swept across the empty room, revealing two companions lying on the floor, one unconscious and the other rolling around on the floor hugging his knees.

"Chase!"

Zach caught up from behind, already holding a pistol with the muzzle pointing forward.

"I'd like to see if this sickly fellow can dodge my bullets!"

A group of people rushed out, their flashlight beams flickering in the factory corridors, their footsteps chaotic and hurried.

Then they saw it.

At the exit on the other side of the factory, a figure stood there with his back to them, motionless.

Moonlight streamed through the broken skylight, illuminating the figure's shoulder and outlining a blurry silhouette.

It's like a provocation.

Zach's blood rushed to his head.

He raised his pistol, aimed it at the figure's back, and pulled the trigger.

boom!

Gunshots rang out in the enclosed factory, making everyone's eardrums buzz.

The muzzle flashed, illuminating Zach's contorted face.

The bullet hit its target.

A spray of dark liquid gushed from the figure's abdomen.

The surrounding thugs erupted in excited shouts.

They all desperately wanted to own a gun, and seeing its power now sent their adrenaline soaring to its peak.

"Get them!"

Zach charged forward, gun in hand.

Then he stopped.

The figure who had been shot did not fall.

It slowly turned its head.

The bright beam of the flashlight shone on that face, and all the shouts seemed to be cut off by an invisible hand, coming to an abrupt halt.

That's not Ivan.

It was a deathly pale, bloodless face.

His eyes were bloodshot, with two dark flames burning in his irises.

His lips parted, revealing two rows of teeth, among which the two upper canines were unusually long for a human, sharp, curved, and glistening with moisture.

A stranger.

A monster.

The bullet wound in its abdomen is healing at a speed visible to the naked eye.

The torn skin seemed alive, wriggling, contracting, and closing towards the center, while fresh blood flowed back into the body.

A few seconds later, the wound disappeared, leaving only a bullet hole in the shirt.

"What is this! Who are you!"

Zack's voice changed tone, becoming sharp like a mouse whose tail had been stepped on.

The only response he received was a gust of wind.

That thing moved.

It moves so fast that a flashlight beam can't keep up.

In the blink of an eye, it appeared in front of the two thugs from ten meters away.

He raised both hands and then swung them down.

There were no weapons, only ten fingers.

But those ten fingers were sharper than any blade.

Both heads were detached from the neck at the same time.

The cut was so clean it looked like it had been made with a scalpel, and fresh blood gushed out from the neck cavity, drawing two dark red arcs in the beam of the flashlight.

The two headless bodies stood still for almost a second before collapsing to the ground like puppets whose strings had been pulled out.

Zach let out a scream that went completely awry.

The sound didn't sound like something a grown man could make; it was high-pitched, broken, and filled with primal fear.

He raised his gun and frantically pulled the trigger.

Bang bang bang bang bang.

All five bullets hit their mark.

The bullet pierced the thing's body—chest, abdomen, shoulder—exploding into puffs of brick dust on the wall behind it.

That thing didn't even pause for a moment.

The bullet pierced its body, leaving five bullet holes oozing blood and foam.

Then the bullet holes began to heal, just like the gunshot wound in the abdomen; the flesh writhed, contracted, and closed.

Five seconds later, all five bullet holes disappeared.

It walked towards the crowd.

It's not running, it's walking.

A leisurely, unhurried pace, like taking a stroll.

The iron pipe hit its shoulder, but it didn't turn around.

The cleaver struck its arm, slicing through the flesh to reveal the pale bone beneath, and then the wound closed up completely within two seconds.

He was like an indestructible giant, approaching a tiny ant on the ground.

The ants' screams, struggles, fear, and everything else...

Nothing could make this giant hesitate or hinder him.

The massacre began.

Ivan crouched behind a broken wall in the distance, his pupils dilated to their limit, his shirt soaked with sweat.

He came in completely unaware of the monster's presence.

"Self-healing, bloodsucking... He must be the vampire Pris sent to stalk me!"

Night Demon Potion's night vision allowed him to see every detail clearly.

Those gang thugs who usually acted arrogantly and domineeringly were like a flock of chickens being herded into a slaughterhouse in front of that thing.

They screamed, they ran, they swung their iron pipes and machetes and hacked desperately, but all their attacks were like tickling.

That thing was so fast that you couldn't even see its afterimage.

Its fingers pierce through a human skull like fingers pierce through wet cardboard.

Its fangs can bite through a human's neck as easily as biting through a sugarcane.

All fatal wounds healed rapidly within seconds.

Shooting, slashing, and beatings were all ineffective.

The desperate wails echoed through the empty factory, one after another, growing fewer and weaker.

It was like a group of candles being extinguished one by one in the wind.

Ivan crouched behind the broken wall, his back pressed against the cold brick surface, his palms sweaty.

The gap between the two sides was so large that it was despairing.

The gap wasn't a matter of ten or twenty times; it was a fundamental, species-level crushing defeat.

It's like an ordinary person having to go head-to-head with a fully loaded semi-trailer traveling at 100 kilometers per hour.

You can see it, you can hear it, but there's nothing you can do about it.

At this moment, the boundary between mortals and the extraordinary is so clear and cruel.

Ivan swallowed hard.

As his Adam's apple bobbed up and down, he noticed his hands were trembling.

But it wasn't all fear.

Beneath the fear, something more primal and fiery was burning.

He stared at the figure reaping lives in the darkness, at the fatal wounds that healed completely in seconds, and at the absolute power that transcended all physical attacks.

He wanted to be like that too...

After a brief moment of shock.

Ivan turned and ran, using all his strength, like a rabbit being chased by a hound.

This is a basic human instinct.

He had no idea how many eyes were watching him from the shadows.

But he knew very well that in this situation, the more he acted like a terrified ordinary person, the safer he would be.

In just one minute, he had completely left the factory area, running more than 400 meters.

The gravel path underfoot turned into a dirt trail, with gentle hills covered with trees and weeds on both sides, the withered grass tips rustling in the night wind.

In the distance, the outline of Bolton City was clearly visible under the night sky, its myriad lights resembling scattered gold dust on black velvet.

The silhouettes of tall concrete buildings and factory chimneys are staggered and interspersed.

The stinging pain forced him to stop.

When we ambushed the thugs in the factory earlier, he was hit hard on the back with two sticks.

At the time, my adrenaline was so high that I didn't feel anything, but now that I've stopped, the pain has surfaced like rocks exposed after the tide has gone out.

Two ridges swelled up on my back, and the bruised skin was soaked in sweat. Even when I was still, it was throbbing with pain.

Not to mention that the swinging of the arms while running pulls on the muscles and skin of the back, which multiplies the tearing pain several times over.

He was bent over, his hands on his knees, panting heavily.

"If he was sent by Priscilla to spy on me, his goal shouldn't be to kill me. This distance is safe."

After catching my breath, a wave of frustration washed over me.

"Damn it, how are we going to clean this up? More than twenty thugs are dead."

"Moreover, there was a clear conflict between me and Zach before, there were witnesses, and there was a motive."

"Logically speaking, the vampire who was in charge of monitoring me shouldn't want to make a big deal out of this."

"At most, he'll make a simple show of force to scare those guys away when I'm in danger."

"That way I can legitimately associate myself with Priscilla, and I'll be able to live more peacefully on Goodington Street in the future."

"But why did this guy suddenly go berserk? He started slaughtering everyone?"

Evan couldn't understand it.

He had too little information; it was like groping in a thick fog, only able to see a small patch of ground beneath his feet, with the rest of the world unknown.

thump.

While he was thinking, his right foot kicked a stone protruding from the road.

His body suddenly lurched forward, and he hurriedly stretched out his hands to brace himself against the ground. His palms scraped against the rough dirt and gravel, and they stung painfully.

Looking down, I saw it was right below his neck.

I don't know which carriage dropped a piece of triangular iron used in construction.

Half of it was buried in the soil, while the other half was sticking up into the sky, with sharp edges at the break as sharp as a knife.

If his hands don't support him, his entire weight plus inertia will cause his neck to slam directly onto that piece of triangle iron.

Ivan's pupils shrank to pinpoints.

He slowly rose to his feet, supporting himself on the ground, the bruises on his back protesting sharply with the movement.

His taut muscles pulled at his swollen, congested skin, and sweat seeped into every pore, making him grimace in pain.

"It hurts, it hurts, it hurts..."

After he regained his balance, he looked down at the piece of triangular iron with lingering fear.

Then his mind suddenly cleared.

"Wait a minute. I've had a lot of bad luck all day."

"What if that vampire isn't one of Pris's men?"

"Or perhaps he was originally one of Pris's men, but suddenly went out of control?"

The moment that thought popped into his head, Ivan's scalp tingled.

The curse of misfortune is still in effect.

An out-of-control vampire is the most deadly coincidence that misfortune can create.

His heightened senses made him instinctively turn around.

Five meters away.

A dark figure stood there, appearing silently and without warning, as if it had grown out of the ground.

His clothes, tattered from bullet holes, hung on his body, the strips of fabric fluttering gently in the night wind.

His pale skin had a sickly, almost fluorescent pallor under the moonlight.

The scarlet eyes had no pupils; the entire iris was burning.

The upper lip turned up, revealing two ridiculously long fangs, with a drop of dark liquid clinging to the tip, slowly stretching into a thin thread in the moonlight.

It's here...