At that moment, inside a dimly lit hall, several members of the Vampire Race were seated around a long table. In front of each of them sat a glass filled with a thick, crimson liquid. They were deep in discussion, plotting their next move.
At the head of the table sat a bald vampire with sharp, protruding cheekbones and cold, venomous eyes—none other than the family Patriarch, Malrick. The others seated nearby were all core members of the clan.
Among them was the slightly chubby vampire from earlier, now sitting front and center.
"Father," he asked, leaning forward, "now that we've made it into the U.S., when are we going to attack the American corpse nest?"
Malrick paused, fingers tapping lightly on the table. "We can't rush this," he said slowly. "If we move too soon, we risk getting wiped out. They'll pick us off one by one."
"Ohhh…"
