Sun Yi was dead.
He had not died unjustly; his manner of death had simply been rather unusual.
"...Something's wrong. Something's wrong. Why do I feel worse and worse?"
When the foreign warriors charged forward in swarms with death in their hearts, the two Rule-level beings locked in a bitter battle were not alarmed, but delighted.
To them, such weaklings...
"...Idiots, you came at just the right time."
Blood bags—or rather, bread—were how they viewed these brave foreign warriors.
That was the cruel truth. Even though the two powerful beings were on the verge of collapse, even though the Divine Realm had crushed them until they were barely alive, even though they themselves could no longer remember how many times they had died and come back to life...
"...Thank you for your gift. Live on within my body."
As Zhao Yan transformed into a starving beast and slaughtered the "blood bags," Sun Yi still had the leisure to spout a few pleasantries he did not believe himself.
But being stronger, he "ate" faster and ate more than Zhao Yan.
And so, he died first.
"...It hurts. So cold..."
His crystallized body was covered in layer after layer of frost, while the "life essence" flowing within him rapidly condensed into ice.
"This blood is poisoned."
"...A coagulant. No, it's more than that. What is this conceptual 'poison'?"
These were true death warriors. Every one of them had clan members, friends, or relatives who had died at the hands of the Blood Feast—especially during the few days after Zhao Yan had first arrived, when he had slaughtered freely in the underground pipelines, forging an ocean-deep blood feud.
Did they not know the gap between them? Did they not know that, in their enemies' eyes, they were merely delivering themselves up for free?