Chapter 66 — The Bloodsucking Fiend

Zhang Qingyue's face was pale, his muscles seemingly twisting; enduring the pain, his right hand formed a spell sign and slashed swiftly before him. The Dark Iron Staff soared into the air with a "wu" sound, a wall of light flashing past, its faint blue-green glow flickering again and again.

The first few spirit souls that rushed down could not check their momentum and slammed straight into the black shaft; without even a scream, they dissolved into wisps of smoke.

At the same time, Zhang Qingyue's body shook again; glancing down, he saw that the ghost claws, like sharp blades, had already cut through his skin, and bright red blood flowed out, dripping onto the black ghost claws.

That fresh, sweet scent of blood—it spread through the air at once.

Zhang Qingyue froze for a moment.

The countless spirit souls shrieking and dancing through the sky also froze for a moment.

The light on the Dark Iron Staff, too, seemed to tremble faintly, as if the aura bound to his own bloodline had been provoked.

A moment later, countless spirit souls clamored and swooped down upon that sweet body of flesh and blood. But where the wind howled coldly, someone raised his head and let out a long cry. The Dark Iron Staff fell; Zhang Qingyue seized it in one hand, heedless now of the spirit souls above, eyes wide—and in those eyes a faint red light flickered.

He drove it down!

Down into the earth!

Through the ghost claw, and through his own blood!

The red blood clung to the black shaft and seeped quietly in. The red veins on the Dark Iron Staff suddenly lit up all at once.

"Pu!"—deep underground, there was a muffled thud. All the spirit souls above suddenly halted, faces filled with dread, as if before them stood the legendary demon that burned and refined ghost-souls.

In the darkness, it seemed only the light of the Dark Iron Staff flickered.

In the distance, the red skull in the old vampire's hand suddenly gave a low, crisp crack, and a piece broke off from its right side.

The old vampire's expression changed drastically; he jerked his head up—this youth had actually destroyed one of the fate-ghosts in his Five Ghosts Commanding Spirits formation. And on the field, the four fate-ghosts, now missing a corner, clearly could no longer control so many spirit souls; gradually, some began to break away and flee.

The ground around Zhang Qingyue suddenly sank, fully half a foot deep, and the ghost claws gripping his feet slowly loosened, turning to reeking blood that seeped into the earth.

But before he could draw a breath of relief, he heard the sky full of spirit souls shriek in unison. He was seized with alarm and was about to resist, when he saw that the countless spirit souls were in fact scattering and fleeing in all directions—white light flashing everywhere, ghost-wails unceasing, spirit souls wheeling, red light streaking past...

Red light?

That red light, racing through the countless white spirit souls, swift as lightning, the flickering skull—in the blink of an eye it was before him. Zhang Qingyue was about to leap up, but pain shot through his feet, pulling at the wound he had just taken; his body faltered, and he could not dodge aside.

The red skull gaped wide, biting down like a vicious ghost. In his alarm, Zhang Qingyue raised the Dark Iron Staff to block before him. But in that flash between lightning and flint, a withered hand thrust from the mouth, suddenly lengthening by three feet, five fingers hooked into a claw, and gripped him hard upon the chest.

Zhang Qingyue's body shook violently; in that instant he saw that on the ghost hand, the withered skin suddenly seemed to be flooded with blood, swelling plump. In a moment his head swam, and he felt all the blood in his body surge at once, flowing backward toward the wound on his chest.

This was naturally the old vampire's signature art, Blood Drain; seeing Zhang Qingyue held in the palm of his hand, he could not help laughing aloud. With a great shout he raised his arm and hoisted the youth's body bodily into midair, crying: "Boy, pay with your life for my disciple!"

Held in his grip, Zhang Qingyue's blood ran backward through his veins, and the pain was unbearable. His consciousness gradually blurred; with the last of his strength he struggled on the verge of death, thrusting the Dark Iron Staff at the ghost, but there was no force in it at all—like a drifting feather.

The old vampire paid it no mind whatever. He gave a humph, but inwardly thought: This youth has nothing else about him, his cultivation is merely ordinary, but this magic treasure in his hand is most peculiar. In a moment, once I have drained his blood, I shall take this Dark Iron Staff-like thing back and examine it closely.

Just then, the Dark Iron Staff came down upon the hand gripping Zhang Qingyue's chest.

The dark blue-green bead grazed the skin that was at that moment madly drawing blood.

The fresh blood beneath that skin seemed to be summoning something.

The old vampire suddenly gave a shrill cry, released Zhang Qingyue, and leaped back, looking at his hand. He saw that the skin, which had just been plumped by the blood he drank, had in almost an instant suddenly shriveled, worse than before.

And before him, Zhang Qingyue's body swayed on the verge of falling, but the Dark Iron Staff in his hand—especially the bead at its tip—had lit up strangely, making the threads of blood around it gleam red.

The old vampire suddenly laughed coldly: "I wondered how Jiang Laosan could die in such a way—so the strangeness lies with you. Heh heh, that such a rare treasure exists in this world! Boy, I'll take your life along with it!"

With that his form flew up, ghost hand like a claw, and this time he drove it straight down at the crown of Zhang Qingyue's head. Poor Zhang Qingyue, all strength gone from his body, had no power left to resist, and it seemed he would die at once beneath the old vampire's claws.

"Demon!"

A furious roar, thick with rage, and a blast of scorching heat tore through the air in an instant, crashing down like a towering wave and sweeping across the whole forest. Within thirty feet of them, every tree withered in the blink of an eye. A single brilliant streak of fire fell from the horizon, ripping the blanket of dark clouds to shreds.

The Old Bloodsucker was aghast. The newcomer's cultivation was far beyond the ordinary, and he had no time left to trouble himself over wounding Zhang Qingyue. His hands flew back, and with a shrill shriek the crimson skull blazed with blood-light, raising before him a wall of radiance red as fresh gore.

"Boom..."

Like thunder crashing to earth, the firelight smashed into the blood wall, and a hissing torrent of heat roared up, in an instant becoming a scarlet immortal sword that shuddered without cease. The tremendous force drove the Old Bloodsucker straight backwards, fully dozens of feet, and still it did not slacken in the least, bearing down on him like mountains calling and seas howling.

The Old Bloodsucker's face went white. He let out a great cry, shifted his hand seals, his ten fingers moving in unbroken succession, and in a flash two beams of blood-light shot from the crimson skull's eyes, piercing the blood wall and striking the scarlet sword.

Amid a thunderous report, the scarlet immortal sword flew back, and the Old Bloodsucker's whole body was shaken violently; he staggered back several steps before he could steady himself.

"Red Flame!" A chill, sinister intent suddenly rose in the Old Bloodsucker's eyes, and his face turned frost-cold.

The blazing heat flared and was gone. Where the firelight had flashed, Tian Buhui slowly appeared. Behind him another figure flickered past—it was Su Wan, who had caught the swaying, about-to-fall Zhang Qingyue. Seeing that his master and mistress had come, Zhang Qingyue felt a warmth in his heart.

Su Wan wore an anxious look; watching him, she said in a low voice: "Xiaofan, are you all right?"