A silver bullet struck Deacon.
The bullet sank into Deacon's body in an instant, without a shred of suspense. Old Bartender watched expectantly, but reality was bound to disappoint him. Something like the Blood God could no longer be killed by silver bullets.
Deacon laughed wildly and thrust a hand into his own chest, forcibly digging out the silver bullet. Thick blood oozed from the wound in his chest, wriggled a few times, and the wound immediately healed.
That was the Blood God's vitality. Conventional methods could never kill him, or the Blood God would be nothing but a joke.
"Donnie! Let me devour you! You will become one of the corpses beneath my supreme throne! I will use your blood as an offering for my rule over the world!"
Deacon stretched out a hand. Countless streams of viscous blood split off from his body. Heaven knew how Deacon's tiny body could contain so much blood! To Deacon, every drop of blood in his body was the finest weapon. That was also the origin of his name—the Blood God!
He had devoured twelve noble purebloods and a large number of subordinates. Combined with Daywalker's blood, and even Donnie's blood from who knew where, his body had fused with far too many bloodlines. The origins engraved within those bloodlines continuously merged in his body, tracing back to their roots as the mysterious altar's power rapidly elevated his very essence of life.
Rumble!
A river of blood descended from the sky and crashed down on Donnie and the other two. The stench of blood that hit them in the face was enough to make them vomit. It was as if the scent had accumulated over countless ages, only to be completely exposed to the world today. Countless wronged souls wailed in agony