"Mist and Ahtal have come to rescue you," the God of Blood said with eyes closed, his voice weak as he lightly chuckled towards Michael, who was shackled beside him:
"I am about to die, and even if they didn't come to rescue you, you could leave the Temple of Blood sooner or later."
"Can't we seek a god to heal you?" Michael looked at the God of Blood who sat on the throne, resembling a dried-up corpse, blood flowing from him.
After returning to the Temple of Blood, the God of Blood, who was obsessed with the beauty of men, did not immediately lay a hand on him, but instead fell into... a deep slumber.
After waking up, he appeared feeble, even more devoid of the strength to strike at him, similar to how a man in the throes of a high fever might struggle to achieve an erection.
"Is there a cure for 'Death' poisoning in you?" the God of Blood asked back, then immediately answered his own question.
