(Third Person).
The moon hung heavy, casting silver light over the estate grounds now painted with streaks of blood and dark shadows.
The air was thick—tense with rage, instinct, and the metallic tang of death.
Draven moved through the trees like a ghost, his presence nearly silent, but his senses were flaring.
The scent of vampire blood mixed with the crushed grass beneath his boots.
Just then, two figures emerged from the right, vampires both—one crouched low, the other already lunging, his fangs bared.
Draven didn't flinch.
With one swift motion, he spun low and grabbed the lunging vampire midair by the throat, slamming him into the other.
The two crashed into a thick tree trunk with a sickening crunch. Before they could recover, Draven's claws extended with a snikt of steel-like flesh.
He plunged one set into each vampire's chest.
The vampires hissed in agony.
"I gave you a chance to stay in your filth-ridden forest," Draven murmured coldly.
