Chapter 85: Didn't Expect That I Betrayed

Chapter 85: Didn't Expect That I Betrayed You

Midnight.

A cargo ship slowly sailed into Gotham's port.

On the dock, numerous vampires had been waiting for a long time.

The leader of the invasion, the hybrid chief Frost, eagerly watched the approaching vessel.

Beside him stood a judge from the Court of Owls, accompanied by more than a dozen Talon warriors.

Before long, the cargo ship docked and lowered a gangway.

Boarding the vessel.

On the deck stood a fully armed man in black and yellow combat gear—none other than the infamous mercenary, Deathstroke.

His real name was Slade Joseph Wilson, known in the industry for one thing: as long as you paid, he would get the job done.

Of course, Deathstroke's services were diverse—bodyguarding, assassinations, captures—any high-risk job was within his scope.

"Thirteen pureblood vampires, all of them exactly at the requested viscount rank," Deathstroke said, pointing to a shipping container.

His subordinates immediately stepped forward to open the container doors.

Inside were thirteen wooden coffins.

Frost gave his men a look, and the vampires—wearing rubber gloves and wielding crowbars—pried open the coffins one by one.

Each coffin was filled with soil.

The soil served to block sunlight, and more importantly, each pureblood noble had their own domain. The dirt from their territories, covering the coffins, helped keep them in deep slumber.

For the long-lived purebloods, there were times when they grew weary of the world, choosing to seal themselves in the earth to sleep through the ages, waiting for a new era before awakening once more.

If too many purebloods roamed the mortal world, it would inevitably lead to an explosion in vampire numbers, drawing the attention of terrifying beings.

Even though their progenitor, Lilith, was considered a New God, she was not the only one. Moreover, the Old Gods of the Council of Gods were always a factor to consider.

They might claim not to interfere in worldly affairs, but who knew when they might descend in all their divine might?

Additionally, the preservation of purebloods ensured a backup for the vampire race—should they face extinction or require replenishment, these slumbering purebloods could be awakened to restore their numbers.

A hybrid warrior roughly dug into the soil and pulled out a restrained pureblood vampire, shackled in silver restraints.

Silver could only cause burns on vampires—it wasn't fatal. However, for purebloods, it served as a seal against their vampiric magic.

Purebloods were all natural sorcerers, but their numbers were incredibly scarce.

Transformation into a pureblood required the progenitor's direct approval, using her blood as a medium. Yet Lilith could not endlessly provide her blood, as it would weaken her power. Thus, she limited the process—each year, the thirteen princes were allowed to nominate only one candidate for transformation.

"You lowly hybrids, cease your foolishness!"

The restrained pureblood instantly awoke, his expression turning furious and twisted at the sight of the hybrids before him.

To purebloods, hybrids were nothing more than slaves—expendable, easily created whenever needed.

Realizing that he had been kidnapped by mere slaves, his anger surged.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The hybrid warrior sneered and began repeatedly striking the pureblood's head with a crowbar.

"Enough," Frost commanded. "Don't kill the sacrifices."

The purebloods needed to be alive for the ritual. If they were beaten to death, capturing new ones would take over a month, and he couldn't afford to wait.

The hybrid warrior spat disdainfully at the battered pureblood, who was barely conscious.

Despite his gruesome injuries, the pureblood's extraordinary healing ability meant he'd recover within an hour.

Boom!

Suddenly, an explosion erupted at the ship's anchor point, severing the thick mooring rope.

Instantly, the cargo ship began drifting toward the port.

The unexpected incident put everyone on high alert.

Weapons were drawn as they prepared for battle.

The purebloods were immediately stuffed back into their coffins.

Frost's expression turned grim. "Guard the sacrifices!"

To him, the thirteen purebloods were invaluable. Now, he was only missing the primary sacrifice to complete the Blood God Ritual.

"The final payment has been transferred," a judge from the Court of Owls confirmed.

Deathstroke nodded. "Your business is your own. I'm not getting involved."

A deal was a deal—he had been hired only to capture the vampires, not to defend his employers.

Now that the job was done, he had no reason to linger in Gotham any longer.

There was no point in provoking Batman for free.

"The funds have been wired to your designated account," the judge continued. "Another ten million to capture Blade."

"Deal," Deathstroke agreed without hesitation.

As long as the job wasn't suicide or harming his family, he was in.

Shing!

In the next instant, his blade flashed, deflecting an incoming arrow.

Somehow, three figures had appeared on the deck.

Bruce and his team.

They had seized control of the ship's bridge, steering the vessel away from Gotham to foil the enemy's plans in one swift move.

"Attack!"

The battle erupted.

Oliver, with his masterful archery, used freezing arrows to immobilize the Talon warriors.

Eric unleashed havoc on the vampires, forcing them back with a garlic mist grenade. Wearing a specially designed breathing mask and fully encased in leather to prevent exposure to UV flashbangs, he waded into the fight.

At the heart of the battlefield, Bruce clashed with Deathstroke.

Blow for blow, they were evenly matched.

Both had trained with the League of Assassins, making their combat techniques strikingly similar.

As the fight raged—

Thunk!

A tranquilizer dart struck Eric in the neck.

His body wavered, his grip on his sword tightening as he tried to steady himself, but the overwhelming dizziness soon took hold.

"Who?!"

All eyes turned toward the ship's tower.

Four new figures had appeared.

Click!

The floodlights switched on.

Allen and the Robins made a dramatic entrance.

"Allen, what the hell are you doing?!" Bruce roared in fury.

There was no way Allen had accidentally misfired at a teammate—this was deliberate.

"Angry? Frustrated?" Allen smirked. "You guessed it right—I betrayed you."

He tossed aside the blowpipe and shouted toward the enemy, "Blade is my gift to you. How's that for sincerity?"

"You betrayed us… just because we didn't let you join the mission?" Bruce bellowed in disbelief.

What kind of lunatic was this? Switching sides over something so trivial?

Even the Court of Owls and the vampires were dumbfounded.

An unexpected, powerful ally had just fallen into their lap—should they be happy or worried? Who knew if he'd stab them in the back next?

"You've got to be kidding me!"

For the first time, Bruce was so furious he cursed aloud.

Just the day before, he had believed Allen had a sense of justice. And now, in less than three days, he was utterly betrayed.

"Keh keh keh…" ×4

Allen and the three Robins burst into eerie laughter.

"Look at Batboy losing his cool—this is priceless!"

Joker Robin ran a hand through his shoulder-length braided hair, laughing maniacally.

Not only had Allen "persuaded" him physically, but he had also helped cure his baldness. His once-receding hairline had been fully restored, making him look ten years younger.

Naturally, Joker Robin had happily joined the cause.

Now, his long, green, thick hair was woven into an absurdly oversized braid.

"Batman, despair! Feel the sting of defeat!" Penguin Robin sneered.

Riddler Robin added with a wicked chuckle, "Lurking in the shadows won't save Gotham, keh keh keh…"

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