CHAPTER 188: THREE VS HUNDRED

The crimson forest of Blood Valley trembled with tension. Aamir stood in the middle of a clearing, surrounded on all sides by masked vampires. Their bone-white masks gleamed faintly in the blood-red mist, their silence more unsettling than any roar of a beast.

Aamir tilted his head, hands in his pockets.

"Hm. What is happening? Why are vampires attacking me?"

No answer came—only the sound of claws unsheathing and steel glinting.

Far away in another part of the valley, Syran was locked in combat with a pack of savage blood-beasts. His blades flashed, cutting down two in a single swing. But then—shadows flickered around him.

Masked vampires.

"Tch." Syran’s eyes narrowed. Dozens of them appeared, their killing intent suffocating the air.

Before they could strike, Syran melted into darkness. His form blurred—Shadow Step.

WHOOSH!

In the blink of an eye, Syran vanished, reappearing miles away—right where Gordon was holding his ground against another wave of enemies. Without hesitation, Syran grabbed his shoulder.

"We’re leaving. Now."

The two disappeared again, shadows bending around them, until they emerged in the clearing where Aamir was already fighting.

The three stood back-to-back, surrounded by masked vampires. The tension was thick, the clearing glowing faintly under the crimson sky.

Aamir flashed his usual grin.

"Hai, Syran. Looks like you brought Gordon too. So tell me—why are vampires attacking us?"

Syran’s eyes narrowed, his voice grim.

"These are not the usual vampires. Their aura is... heavier. They’re soldiers. I think they’re from the army of the Vampire God. Which means... the Vampire God is making a move."

Aamir’s grin faded into a frown.

"Hm. But why now?"

Before Syran could answer, Gordon scoffed, resting his axe on his shoulder.

"Why not? It’s the perfect time. Everyone’s eyes are on the tournament... what better moment to strike from the shadows?"

Aamir turned his gaze to him. "You think the werewolves are involved too?"

Gordon gave a sharp nod and pointed forward.

"Don’t think. Look."

Through the crimson mist, a low rumble shook the ground. Then came the howls. Dozens—no, hundreds—of werewolves emerged, their fangs bared, their eyes burning with bloodlust. A massive horde, charging straight toward them in sync with the masked vampires.

Aamir’s grin returned, sharper than ever. He rolled his shoulders, a spark of excitement flashing in his eyes.

"Well then... this is getting exciting."

The Blood Valley forest groaned as masked vampires closed in, their bone-white masks glinting faintly under the crimson haze. From the other side, a sea of werewolves charged, their howls shaking the earth. The ground itself seemed to tremble beneath the stampede.

Three figures stood in the clearing—Aamir, Syran, and Gordon.

The odds? A hundred against three.

Aamir exhaled slowly, tilting his head, his grin playful.

"Three versus a hundred, huh? Sounds fun."

Syran tightened his grip on his blades, his eyes darting between the two converging hordes.

"Fun isn’t the word I’d use..."

Gordon planted his massive axe into the ground with a heavy thud. His jaw was set, teeth bared.

"Doesn’t matter. We fight."

The werewolves roared, the masked vampires hissed—and the battle began.

The first wave of masked vampires rushed in, daggers flashing.

WHOOSH!

Aamir moved like a breeze. One step, a blur, and three were already on the ground, masks shattered, bodies unconscious. Another leapt for his neck—Aamir ducked, flicked his finger.

BONK!

The vampire crumpled with a whimper.

Aamir yawned.

"Too slow."

While Aamir toyed with his opponents, Syran was in constant motion. His body flickered through shadows, appearing behind enemies and cutting them down in precise slashes. But each kill drained his energy faster than usual. These masked vampires weren’t like normal ones—their coordination was sharper, their aura heavier.

"Shadow Step!" Syran vanished just as a werewolf claw tore through where he had stood. He reappeared behind the beast, driving his blade deep into its spine. Blood sprayed across the crimson ground.

"Damn it..." Syran hissed. "They just keep coming."

On the other side, Gordon was a wall of steel. His massive axe swung in wide arcs, cleaving through groups of enemies at once. Every swing split the ground, sent bones cracking, bodies flying.

"RRRAAAHHH!"

He brought the axe down with earth-shaking force, crushing two werewolves into the dirt. But even he was starting to sweat. For every enemy he struck down, five more pressed in, claws scraping against his armor.

"Don’t... underestimate me, mutts!" Gordon growled, headbutting a werewolf before splitting its skull with a brutal swing.

Meanwhile, Aamir strolled through the battlefield as if he were walking through a park.

Masked vampires lunged—he dodged without effort. Werewolves pounced—he sidestepped, letting them crash into each other.

One tried to slash his back. Without even looking, Aamir lifted his hand and caught the claw with two fingers.

SNAP!

The claw broke like dry wood. The werewolf howled in agony before Aamir lightly tapped his chest.

BOOM!

The beast flew backward, crashing through a tree.

Aamir smirked.

"You guys really need better teamwork."

Another vampire attempted to sneak behind him. Aamir spun lazily, heel connecting with his jaw.

CRACK!

The mask shattered, and the vampire was out cold before hitting the ground.

"Gordon! Behind you!" Syran shouted.

Three werewolves lunged at once, claws gleaming. Gordon turned too slow—

WHOOSH!

Aamir appeared in front of him, one hand raised casually.

"Relax."

He flicked his wrist. The three werewolves slammed into the ground, unconscious in an instant.

Gordon blinked, chest heaving.

"Damn you... you make it look like child’s play."

Aamir smirked.

"That’s because it is."

But the battle didn’t slow down. The horde pressed in harder, trying to overwhelm them.

Syran’s movements grew sharper, his eyes glowing faintly with shadow energy. He split into afterimages, blades flashing. Dozens of masked vampires fell, their masks shattering under precise cuts.

Still, Syran grimaced.

"They’re endless..."

Aamir strolled past him, patting his shoulder mid-fight.

"Then don’t hold back."

With a snap of his fingers, Aamir vanished—then reappeared in the middle of the enemy horde.

"Let’s raise the difficulty."

He clapped his hands once.

A wave of force exploded outward, sending vampires and werewolves flying in every direction like leaves in a storm. Trees splintered, the earth cracked, and silence followed for just a moment.

The arena crowd watching through the floating screen went wild.

"AAMIR! AAMIR! AAMIR!"

The surviving masked vampires regrouped, chanting something under their breath. Their bodies glowed faint crimson, power surging. The werewolves howled in unison, their muscles bulging, eyes glowing blood-red.

Gordon spat blood from his lip.

"Tch. They’re buffing themselves."

Syran wiped sweat from his forehead.

"Then we finish this now."

The three warriors clashed with the army once more.

Gordon’s axe was a storm of steel, cutting swaths through both vampires and werewolves. Syran’s shadows turned into blades, slicing necks, crippling limbs. Aamir? He simply danced among them, laughing, tapping enemies unconscious, breaking bones with casual flicks.

At one point, a hulking werewolf twice the size of the others roared and charged Aamir. Its claws gleamed like blades, its strength terrifying.

The crowd gasped.

Aamir yawned, caught the beast’s entire arm with one hand, and swung it like a club—using its own body to smash a group of masked vampires.

"Thanks for the help," he said to the unconscious beast, dropping it to the ground.

Half an hour passed. The forest was a graveyard of broken bodies.

Masked vampires lay scattered, their masks cracked. Werewolves sprawled in heaps, groaning or silent. The crimson soil of Blood Valley was darker than before.

Aamir stood in the center, hands still in his pockets, not a scratch on him.

Syran leaned on his blade, panting hard. Gordon dropped to one knee, his axe buried in the ground for support.

Aamir looked around at the carnage, a lazy grin tugging at his lips.

"Three against a hundred. Not bad."

Syran glared at him between breaths.

"Not bad? We nearly died!"

Gordon wiped blood from his face and barked a laugh.

"Nearly died? Speak for yourself. I did die inside at how easy he made it look!"

The three shared a brief moment of grim amusement. But beneath it, unease remained.

Aamir’s eyes narrowed at the unconscious masked vampires.

"The army of the Vampire God... and werewolves together. This wasn’t random."

His grin returned, sharp and dangerous.

"Looks like things are finally getting interesting."

Meanwhile...

The arena trembled under the weight of sudden chaos. The cheers and murmurs of spectators twisted into horrified screams as masked vampires and wild werewolves surged from the stands, tearing through the crowd like a storm unleashed.

"Zalmic, it’s time!" Seemus, the Werewolf King, rose from his throne, his towering figure emanating raw bloodlust that pressed down on every soul nearby. His crimson eyes locked onto the Vampire King with unyielding hatred.

Zalmic immediately felt the killing intent and narrowed his gaze, every instinct screaming danger. His hand slid to the hilt of his obsidian blade as his aura flared, sweeping across the arena.

"So... you finally crawl out of your shadow, Seemus."

Seemus let out a low growl that rumbled like thunder. "Crawl? No. Today, I rise. Today, I end your pathetic existence and take everything that belongs to you."

The masked vampires hidden in the stands shed their disguises, their movements unnaturally synchronized. At the same time, feral werewolves burst from the seats, tearing into vampire guards and civilian nobles without mercy. Panic erupted like wildfire.

Zalmic’s voice boomed across the arena.

"Vampire Lords! Guards! Protect the people—get the civilians out at once!" His eyes never left Seemus. "I’ll deal with this mad dog myself."

The vampire lords sprang into action, spreading their wings and raising their weapons as they directed panicked families toward escape tunnels beneath the coliseum. Guards clashed with the masked intruders, steel ringing against steel, fangs sinking into flesh.

Seemus smirked, stepping forward, each movement heavy with murderous intent. His claws elongated, glistening with a metallic sheen. "You think you can still command order while standing before me? Don’t delude yourself, Zalmic. The age of vampires ends tonight."

Zalmic drew his blade, obsidian black with a crimson edge that pulsed faintly as if drinking the surrounding bloodlust. His aura exploded outward, colliding with Seemus’s murderous presence. The very air cracked between them, pressing down on weaker beings who collapsed under the pressure.

"Don’t underestimate me, Seemus," Zalmic said coldly, his fangs bared. "If you came here seeking death, I’ll gladly grant it."

The two kings locked gazes, predator to predator, centuries of rivalry and blood-soaked history burning between them. Around them, chaos raged—masked vampires tearing into their own kin, werewolves rampaging without restraint.

And yet, in the center of it all, it felt as though the arena belonged only to these two.

The clash of monsters was inevitable.

Seemus’s smirk widened into a savage grin. "Then let’s end the old era... here and now!"

With that, the Werewolf King lunged, his claws slicing through the air with devastating force—

And Zalmic moved to meet him head-on.