For a full hour, not one of the three people in the church looked back. With Su Ming deliberately going easy on him, Jesse laughed as he drank cup after cup, mixing four bottles of whiskey with vodka until he quickly collapsed on the floor in a drunken heap.
The Mustache Priest rolled around on the floor, vomiting everywhere and snoring like thunder.
"He seems to be in a lot of pain?" Edward by name—the fake Vampire who was actually Deathstroke—tossed a bag of bright red liquid to the real Vampire beside him and knowingly asked the obvious under the moonlight.
Cassidy took the blood bag, tore open the seal, clamped it between his teeth, and took a hard pull.
"His pain comes from within. Compared with that, physical pain is nothing. Humans really are fascinating. Their short lives make them sentimental, and their emotions are exceptionally fickle."
Though Cassidy wore a ragged T-shirt and baggy shorts and looked no different from a homeless man on the street, he was still a Vampire with a long life ahead of him. He had centuries of undead experience behind him.
A sweet tooth was one thing, but every Vampire had an artistic heart.
"Poor fellow. It looks like he wet himself. Should we call an ambulance?"
Su Ming watched a puddle of filth spread beneath the Priest, while Jesse's expression became a little less pained.
"Probably not. He can't afford an ambulance anyway, and he shouldn't die from this. If things really get bad, I'll just bite him." Cassidy licked his lips and burped. He liked this Priest; turning him into a Vampire would be fine too.
"All right, then. This place is becoming rather unsuitable for living, so I suppose I should leave as well." Fake Edward covered his nose, his