With that, Blood Chan Zi withdrew his left hand and casually wiped the blood from his palm on his apricot-yellow monk's robe. A dark red streak appeared beside the robe's opening.
The stain spread rapidly, like a drop of ink falling into clear water, turning the surrounding cloth a murky pale red.
"However..."
He raised the cleaver in his right hand, held its edge before his eyes, and gently ran his left thumb along the blade.
"This blade of mine is no slouch, either."
"It hasn't drunk much blood. Only three thousand seven hundred and twenty-four lives."
"But I guided every one of those souls to salvation with my own hands. Before each one passed on, I said 'Amitabha Buddha' to them."
"Tell me, benefactor, does the compassion on my blade carry enough weight?"
As he spoke, the blood-red glow coating the cleaver's edge grew thicker and brighter.
The mottled bloodstains on the blade began to squirm as though awakened.
They crept across its surface and gathered into a line of blood-red scripture written backward.
It was the line from the Diamond Sutra: "All forms are Delusion."
But every stroke was formed from congealed blood, and a faint halo of resentment churned at the end of each one.
Blood Slaughter stood still, his scarlet eyes fixed on the cleaver in Blood Chan Zi's hand.
He fell silent for a breath.
Then he laughed.
The laugh came from behind his faceplate, muffled and harsh, like iron sand grinding in his throat.
"You fucking..."
"You can even make killing sound beautiful."
"I've got to hand it to you."
The moment Blood Slaughter said those words, the blood around his ankles exploded.
His towering body of blood-red heavy armor shot forward like a cannonball, trailing a fierce plume of blood as he hurtled