text: [Themes: horror, horror]
  
  You sigh, drawing your knife as Lucas smiles.
  
  "If you're going to lead to someone's death, at least have the fucking balls to be the one who uses the knife," he says.
  
  Lucas walks over to the next girl, as you walk up to one. She tries to struggle, but you grab her by the hair, holding her vulnerable throat out and slicing it open with a long cut, before slowly lowering her head to above the grove. Lucas grabs the next girl by the hair, holding her forward and quickly slashing her throat as the blood pours out. You walk to the next one, quickly driving the sword through her neck, slicing open her fleshy throat and letting her bleed into the groove.
  
  "Watch them die, Mikhail. You choose for this to happen. Whether you want to actually hold the knife or watch, you're a fucking monster. We all are. At least, we're willing to fulfill our role."
  
  "Lucas! Mikhail! Samuel! Come down here!" Count Grey asks. "Quickly!"
  
  "We need to go," Mikhail says, quickly turning and heading towards the door.
  
  You quickly hurry towards the main hall, walking down the spiraling stairs. Count Grey stands there, alongside his three Viceroys, and Haygarth rushing to put away coats.
  
  Viceroy Draven is a tall,well-muscled man. He has long, curly black hair, and instead of the black attire of the other three, he instead dons steel plated armor which covers him from the neck down. A sword hangs by his side. From what you know, he's almost five hundred years old, once being and most likely still remaining a formidable warrior. He looks at you, his eyes narrowing as he stares at you. He lets out a low, guttural growling at the sight of you. Even after years of work around Count Grey, the man manages to make you feel like little more than a blood bag.
  
  The second, Viceroy Mihrab, is even older, almost as old as Count Grey. His skin seems unusually tight, a light brown in complex, his face sunken, his eyes lacking any emotion whatsoever. He wears dark attire, his eyes glancing in your direction away for a second, before peering away with disinterest. He doesn't appear to be armed, but with the long, sharp fingernails on his hand that at that length qualify as swords as well as long fangs, he doesn't need them.
  
  The final Viceroy, Alexa, is the only woman of te group. She wears a black hooded cloak, her pale, scarred face underneath, with unnaturally long fangs even for one of her kind to halfway down towards her chin. She leans against the wall, looking at you without a single noise. She stares at you like a starved wolf. Something tells you that of all those present, she's the biggest threat.
  
  "Yes, master?" Mikhail says, standing up straight.
  
  "Werewolves spotted on Hangman's Trail," he says. "They're amassing. Perhaps for a strike."
  
  You pause, and can hear the distant howls of what lies between monsters and men.
  
  "We'll push them back, sir," Mikhail nods.
  
  Mikhail turns away, and quickly begins heading to the armory. You follow, and you all quickly descend the stairs to the armory. You walk inside, grabbing a padded leather duster and slinging it over. You grab a rifle, as well as several magazines of silver bullets, popping them in a satchel that you put over your head.
  
  Now suitably armed, you grab a lantern, walking out towards the main hall. The Vampires have left, no doubt to partake in some drinks, discuss future plans, before beginning the ritual and, imbued with a power that grows as the blood moan rises, slaughtering dozens of helpless villagers.
  
  You walk out the hall doors, pushing the door open and entering the dark night. You walk along the earth, passing the gate, which for some reason has been left open, one of the Viceroy's carriages sitting under the raised portcullis.
  
  "Should we move it so we can drop the portcullis?" you ask.
  
  "And piss off Count Grey and whoever owns this carriage? No fucking chance," Lucas says.
  
  As you leave and wander off into the trees. Soon, the only sound is the crunching of leaves under foot and your breathing.
  
  "Control your breathing. Deep breaths. Watch your foot placement as well as the path in front of you. Avoid twigs and try leaves. We're trying to hunt, best be quiet about it," Lucas says. "The man's most definitely untrustworthy and cruel, but he knows how to hunt.
  
  You take his advise, holding the lantern out to illuminate the path ahead. You see a shape move to your right, and stop, immediately twisting to aim.
  
  "Contract, left side!" you whisper.
  
  "Just a deer, stay focused!" Lucas whispers. "This is a fucking hunting trail, of course there's deer around!"
  
  You keep moving, you gun raised in your one hand, propped in the crook of your shoulder to allow you to aim.
  
  The beam of your light comes across a deer lying on the ground. It's belly has been ripped to shreds, entrails covering the earth around it and soaking it with bodily fluids. It's head, connected to its body by a few strands of sinew and muscle, lies in the grass at the edge of the path, two lifeless eyes staring towards the stars.
  
  "It's fresh, look out!" Lucas growls, as you immediately turn. You see a form rush through the undergrowth, aiming at it, but it's gone before your finger can even tighten on the trigger.
  
  A growling comes from the trees to your left, and you swing your rifle over to aim at the beast. They're faster than usual. They're not supposed to be this fast. It must be that fucking moon!
  
  A howl comes from your right, and you drop your lantern to aim, catching a glance of blood-matted fur and a flash of white teeth. The beasts don't seem to bee going for the attack, rather endlessly circling, toying with you. None of you have even had the chance to fire a shot.
  
  Suddenly you see one of them, basked in the red glow of the moon, dead in the center of the path. This one stands directly there, hunched over and staring at you, clearly not scared in the slightest. It's abnormally large, not even wearing the tattered remains of clothes, covered in patches of fur. it's head is malformed, it's jaws filled with teeth that barely fit in its mouth, crushed into somewhat of a snout. It's hungry eyes stare at you, as it lets out a low growl.
  
  > Wait
  You wait, keeping the monster in your sights, but knowing there's as many off to the side, waiting to strike and wipe you out to the last man. The creature growls, clearly impatient. Suddenly, it arches it's head back, looking up at the crimson moon, and letting our a powerful, ear-splitting howl.
  
  Suddenly, the monsters are upon you. A wall of fur, muscles, teeth and claws strikes, a wave of death. You twist, firing your gun, grabbing the bolt and pulling it back, but before you have the chance, a clawed hand grabs you, willing you throw the air and into a tree. You yell as your back breaks against the tree. Before you can even scream, your throat is tore open by a mouthful of sharp canines.