Steve Chapter 902: They Dare Fight in Shit (Patreon)

A few minutes earlier—

Just as Fang Mo unleashed the apocalyptic tide of sludge and Walter was scrambling to escape...

On a nearby battlefield, Anderson had already noticed the shift in the air. Even Alucard frowned.

"Is that… poop?"

Alucard stood atop a building, overlooking the sea of filth spreading below. The stench in the air was growing unbearable.

"Why the hell is this happening? Don’t tell me… it’s that guy again?"

Having witnessed Fang Mo’s insane abilities before, Alucard had a hunch this was his doing.

Still, even knowing that, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. What was the point of flooding a city with sewage?

"Is he just messing with people for fun?"

"Or maybe... he wants to contaminate the corpses, keep me from feeding?"

But before he could finish the thought—

"RAAAHHHHH!!! AMEN!!!"

A voice full of zealotry and madness cut through the air. Several glowing blades hurtled straight toward Alucard.

"Hmm?"

He reacted instantly—gun drawn, bullets flying, blasting the swords to pieces midair.

By the time the last blade shattered, Father Anderson had already rushed in, dual bayonet guns in hand, slashing at Alucard with lethal intent.

Alucard wasn’t fazed—if anything, he looked thrilled. With a grin plastered on his face, he drew a massive medieval greatsword from god-knows-where and engaged in close combat. Blades clashed, sparks flew.

Then—suddenly—Alucard pulled out his massive black pistol, hiding it behind his cloak. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger.

BANG!

A custom round tore through his own cape and rocketed behind him, striking Anderson’s hand mid-deflection. Blood exploded from the priest’s palm, and one of his bayonets shattered.

"Tch..."

Anderson scowled at his injury.

"Pure silver casing, mercury-tipped rounds, NNA9 powder, 13mm explosive AP bullets… Heh. Jackal, huh? Walter really did craft a perfect weapon for me."

Unlike Anderson, Alucard was loving every second. He raised the smoking gun with a smirk.

"That hand hurting, Christian? According to your guy’s story… you’re just like Jesus now, aren’t you?"

"Blasphemous freak!" Anderson snapped, then charged again. "I’ll kill you—and then go after the lunatic who made this shitstorm!"

Alucard laughed wildly and leapt back, unloading his pistols as he moved.

He emptied the white Casull first. Though powerful, its rounds weren’t enough to break Anderson’s defense—he blocked them with his arms as he gave chase.

But then—

Alucard fired the Jackal.

Anderson tried to dodge, but they were too close. The bullet smashed through his left arm, reducing it to a shredded mess of blood and torn flesh, barely hanging on.

Still—he’d closed the distance.

And with his remaining arm, he slashed at Alucard’s throat and chest with his remaining blade.

But just before it connected—

The blood at Alucard’s feet boiled, and a swarm of ghouls erupted from the ground, throwing themselves in front of the blade and tanking the hits.

"The River of the Dead..."

Anderson’s face hardened.

And in that hesitation, Alucard slipped away.

The ghouls didn’t wait—they pounced. Cards rained down like missiles, carpet-bombing Anderson’s position in a cloud of smoke and gore.

"What now, priest?" Alucard grinned from a distance. "Isn’t the monster right in front of you? You gonna kill me or what?"

"Odds of victory? One in a million? A billion?"

"SHUT UP!" Anderson roared, soaked in blood. His eyes—burning with purpose—pierced through the smoke.

"Even if the chances are zero… that’s enough for me!"

"Is that so?" Alucard smirked, raising his hands. "Then how about this—what do you plan to do about that?"

"What?"

Anderson instinctively looked up.

A deafening roar echoed through the air—and behind Alucard, a towering brown tsunami rose, taller than any building. A tidal wave of filth.

Alucard had already leapt away.

Anderson was trapped—River of the Dead soldiers wrapped around his legs, holding him in place as the toxic sludge closed in.

"YOU—DAMN YOU!!!"

Anderson hurled bayonets in desperation.

"HAHAHAHA!!"

Midair, Alucard easily shot them out of the sky.

"Enjoy being a maggot under a sea of shit, Christian."

And then—

The wave hit.

No escape. Anderson was swallowed whole. Gone.

"Writhe! Rot! Drown in it!"

Landing on a distant rooftop, Alucard threw his head back and shouted to the heavens.

"This world is one giant cesspit! Humanity—nothing but squirming maggots! What a disgusting, beautiful mess—"

SHUNK!!!

Two shining blades burst from the sludge—one narrowly grazing Alucard’s cheek, cutting him off mid-rant.

"…!"

He touched his cheek. Blood.

But not just blood.

His once-white glove was stained… brown.

"The hell…?"

He was stunned.

BOOM!!

The sludge exploded.

Anderson burst out—covered head to toe in filth—howling like a demon.

"RAAAAAHHH!!! AMEN!!!"

Without missing a beat, he charged straight at Alucard.

With each step, blood and sludge splattered everywhere. He looked like a demon risen from hell, and even Alucard momentarily froze.

He tried summoning more ghouls, but the filth had buried them all.

"You… you look like absolute hell." Alucard grimaced. "You think God’s letting you into heaven looking like that? Even He would be disgusted!"

"Doesn’t matter, vampire!" Anderson roared. "Your army’s buried under this shit—and so are your chances!"

"Oh yeah? Your arm's hanging by a thread. That not a problem?"

"Hmph. Just an arm."

Then, Alucard watched, stunned, as Anderson bit down on his own filthy arm to hold it in place—then pulled out another bayonet and resumed his dual-wield stance.

"Now I can keep fighting, can’t I?"

"…!"

Even Alucard couldn’t hide his surprise.

But then, his expression softened. He gazed at Anderson with something like admiration.

"You humans really are amazing."

He smiled—genuinely.

"Even drenched in filth… you’re still more pure than a monster like me. Maybe I really am the only maggot here."

"RAAAHHH!!"

Anderson didn’t respond—just screamed and charged again.

"I’d love for you to stab me in the heart."

Alucard drew his guns again. "But I’ve got orders to fight with everything I’ve got. So come on, priest. Give me your best shot!"

They clashed again.

Anderson, one arm down, was losing steam.

Alucard, with no more backup tricks, was bleeding too.

Then—Anderson stopped.

"Huff… huff…"

He let go of his injured arm.

"What’s wrong?" Alucard asked eagerly. "Don’t stop now, priest! I was this close to losing! Keep going!"

"Don’t get cocky, monster…" Anderson said quietly, reaching into his coat. "You’re not the only one with a trump card."

He pulled out a small wooden box.

"Hmm? What’s that…"

Alucard’s face darkened. He felt it—something was wrong.

Anderson crushed the box, revealing a long, greenish nail wrapped in thorny vines.

"The Nail of Helena… a lost Roman relic?"

Alucard’s voice dropped.

"Wait—you’re not actually going to—"

"That’s right." Anderson raised the nail. "I said I’d do whatever it takes to kill you."

"Wait—WAIT!" Alucard panicked. "Don’t do it, priest! Anderson—STOP!"

"You want to become a monster like me?! Look at me! Disgusting, pathetic, damned! Is that what you want? To be God’s immortal freak, crawling forever in a sewer of filth?! Only humans can beat monsters like me!"

“Please… don’t become what I am..."

"……"

Anderson paused.

But then, calmly, he replied:

"I’m just a bayonet—wielding God’s final judgment."

"If it lets me defeat you—then so be it."

He drove the Nail into his chest.

"NOOO!!!"

Alucard screamed—but it was too late.

The nail dug into Anderson’s heart, and thorny vines burst from within, transforming him into a monstrous figure of divine punishment.

The vines rooted themselves in the filth around him, pulling power from even that.

"You…"

Alucard was visibly shaken. Then—furious.

He lost it.

"YOU DAMN MORON! YOU FILTH-EATING IDIOT!!"

But Anderson had already moved.

With power beyond anything before, he slashed off Alucard’s arm with one stroke, punched him into the ground, and slammed his face into the muck.

BAM! BAM!

Then, without hesitation, he rammed a bayonet into Alucard’s skull. The blade pierced through his chin and out the top of his head.

It was over.

Alucard had no more lives to spare.

The blade, blessed and divine, ignited in holy fire—consuming him from the inside out.

But—

Alucard was the River of the Dead.

And as he burned, the entire buried river ignited as well.

Millions of undead became fuel.

London turned into a boiling inferno. The sludge frothed like a witch’s cauldron, spewing heat and steam into the sky.

In that moment, the city became hell on Earth.