Chapter 340: The Attack on Vampires (II)
(Third Person)
By the time the last helicopter vanished into the distance, the forest had become unrecognizable.
Smoke coiled thick through the trees, clinging to the earth like a shroud. Flames still licked at broken trunks, turning them into skeletal pillars glowing red against the night.
The once-living Eastern woods crackled and hissed, a graveyard of ash and ruin. And the air reeked of blood and burned flesh.
Among the smouldering wreckage, the vampire survivors crept out of hiding, their pale faces streaked with soot, eyes wide with shock.
A young vampire knelt over a body half-buried under charred branches, shaking it as though sheer will might bring life back. Her sobs cut through the silence.
Others stood numbly, their expressions completely devoid of emotion. They had lost too much so fast.
"We can’t stay here," an older one rasped, his voice thick. His arm was burned, his clothes torn, but his eyes carried the weight of command. "This place is no longer ours."
"Where do we go?" a younger voice asked, trembling.
The elder didn’t answer. His gaze swept over the corpses scattered among the ruins, over the ashes of what had once been their home. His silence was its own reply.
A few vampires worked in quiet desperation, pulling bodies from the wreckage, laying them side by side. Some whispered prayers, though their voices broke under the strain.
Every so often, the silence was broken by either a cough, a cry, or the groan of a tree finally collapsing into ash.
But most of the forest was quiet now.
The Eastern Woods had been alive once — filled with whispers, with laughter, with centuries of secrets. Tonight, it had been reduced to smoke and silence.
The surviving vampires gathered in a circle amid the wreckage, their faces grim and blackened with soot.
The elder who had spoken before stood at the centre, his gaze sweeping over the broken ranks. His voice, when it came, was low and steady, but heavy with rage.
"Tonight, they rained fire upon us. They showed no mercy." He looked toward the bodies laid side by side, pale hands folded across charred chests. "And so, from this night forward, we shall show no mercy on mankind."
A murmur rippled through the survivors, some growling, others nodding, eyes flashing red in the dim light.
"But..." one voice broke through, sharper than the rest. A tall vampire with scars down his neck stepped forward. "What of the wolves who live among the humans? Some of them serve in their government. They will be seen as part of this."
The elder’s eyes narrowed, but his tone remained deliberate. "The wolves are not our target for now. From this night, our blades and our fangs will face only humans. But if the wolves intervene... if they stand between us and our vengeance..."
Then his voice sharpened into a hiss. "Then war will be declared on them as well. Spread the word."
For a moment, silence hung, broken only by the crackle of cooling embers.
Another elder, lean and sharp-eyed, with his cloak torn, stepped forward. He dipped his head. "Yes. Let the humans feel our fury. But we will not invite a second war, not with the wolves now."
His gaze swept across the survivors and hardened. "To cross the wolves would mean crossing their future king. And that is not a bargain we can afford."
The first elder inclined his head, acknowledging the truth of it. Around them, the vampires clenched fists, bared fangs, their hatred completely unmasked.
"No mercy for humans."
That oath hung thick in the smoke-filled air, binding them together as the night deepened.---
~Duskmoor’s Government Office~
The conference room reeked faintly of smoke from extinguished cigars, though the true smoke was still rising miles away in the woods.
The projection screens had gone dark, their feeds cut now that the assault was finished.
Mayor Brackham leaned back in his chair, the leather groaning under his weight, a glass of whiskey balanced between his fingers. His face was flushed with victory, his grin sharp and unrepentant.
"Do you see?" he said, his voice booming across the polished table. "We struck them where it hurts. Tonight, their nest burned and their numbers bled."
Then he lifted the glass, as though toasting to the destruction. "And this is only the beginning."
The senators shifted. Some clapped happily while others murmured words of agreement, though unease still flickered in their eyes.
"Sir," one finally ventured, a man with thinning hair and a tremor in his voice, "what if... what if this does not end them? What if they—"
Brackham slammed the glass down, amber liquid splashing across the papers on the table. "They will not rise again. Not after this assault. Can you survive it?"
The silence that followed was edgy and fragile.
Just then, Brackham stood to his feet and paced toward the tall windows that overlooked Duskmoor’s city lights. His reflection glared back at him, fiery and resolute.
"For weeks, we have lived in fear of those monsters we couldn’t name and even catch. But tonight, we declared war, knowing that from tomorrow, our people will sleep safer without any kind of looming darkness."
Brackham lingered by the tall windows, shoulders squared, city lights glittering beneath him like the spoils of his victory.
Behind him, the senators exchanged quiet glances, their faces pale in the glow of the city lights. Some looked convinced, while others looked worried.
At last, he exhaled slowly and turned his head. His eyes cut toward the corner of the room where his secretary sat with her notepad perched neatly on her lap, her hands folded like a schoolgirl waiting to be summoned.
"Pass me my address for tomorrow’s morning news," Brackham ordered, his voice cool and commanding. "I want to go through it."
The secretary rose at once and bowed respectfully. "Yes, Sir."
Because tomorrow, Mayor Brackham would stand before the people to spin lies into comfort about the bombing in the Eastern Woods.