The smell of blood pumping through flesh awakened him. How long had it been since a living thing entered these catacombs, he wondered, as he rose from his bed and slipped silently through the dusty stone halls. Already, talons emerged from his fingertips, and lips pulled back to reveal marble-white fangs.
Monstrously sharp senses narrowed in on his prey. Ears keener than a hound’s heard a heartbeat, strong and calm and nearby, while the smell of skin reached his nostrils. Young, male, no doubt healthy and full of life. Life that would soon be his. However, the closer the hunter drew, the more he could taste oil and grease, brass, steel, something acrid in the air. Saltpeter? Genuine curiosity joined his hunger.
Eyes that roamed with perfect clarity through the dark beheld his prey, clad in a black material he did not recognize, with a helmet shielding its face. Was it a soldier? Where was its breastplate, spear, and shield? The human tossed something back and forth between its hands, something small and cylindrical, with a ring near the top, while across its back it carried the most curious-looking crossbow, for it lacked a bowstring and limbs. No matter. He would soon have all the answers he desired from this fool’s blood.
“About damn time you woke up,” the hunter grumbled as he slipped his goggles over his eyes and casually lobbed the flashbang grenade.