Chapter 58: 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.
The more powerful vampiras could manipulate minds from great distances, but only when their victims were at their most vulnerable: in their sleep. The act of manipulation still drained significant energy, and the blood they fed on sustained them only briefly before hunger returned. Then, the cycle started all over again.
The lesser vampiras, lowest in rank, were left with whatever dregs remained. It was the only reason Yoa had for there to still be such great numbers of the vile leeches. Yet their kind endured, as did all on the island, where nature bowed only to strength, and the weak were left to fade or be devoured.
A low hiss slithered from the shadows ahead.
"You tread bold, jaguar."
The voice came from above — a sultry, mocking whisper.
Yoa didn’t flinch. "And you tread sloppy. A few of yours were taken by the sea. By the Akhlut."