The panic caused by the plague among the blood servants was far more terrifying than the Power of Holy Light; they were in utter chaos, dragging their battered bodies towards their mistress, hoping that she, who they viewed as omnipotent, would offer her help.
"Help me, my master, my power is ebbing away."
What met them was but an afterimage, and a head that wailed fell to the ground. Blood gushed from the fresh severance, with so much pressure that the droplets wetted the verdant leaves, as if the trees were laden with bright red fruits.
"Don't come near me! You've been infected!"
Porifan screamed madly, loathing the pitiable creatures before her. Having lived as a vampire for a century, she understood well the nature of the plague. The terror that once laid waste to a city was, in the eyes of all creatures, much more fearsome than the cleansing of the Holy Light or the destruction by magic.
