Vampiras

Inside the caves, the air was cool and damp. Every sound echoed—the soft drip of water, the distant flutter of wind, the hushed whispers now haunting this place. Yoa moved carefully, and quietly, using the shadows like he usually would, but the vampiras were made from the dark. There was no hiding in this place.

Hide he shall not. The vampiras weren't predators to be underestimated, no matter how powerful he was. He passed old feeding chambers, now empty. Crumbling altars left untouched for years. Bones piled in careful stacks along the walls — trophies or warnings, it was hard to say. He followed the winding tunnels deeper, where the smell of fresh blood caught his nose.

Not a trail. A scent cloud, like someone had fed recently. Too recently. Someone had fallen victim to their kind. His chest constricted at the thought.