Mais les vampires n’avaient pas l’intention de s
Mais les vampires n’avaient pas l’intention de se diriger vers le château. De plus, ils venaient d’entendre des bruits qui osaient s’aventurer dans la forêt
The wind howled like a banshee, tearing through the gnarled branches of the ancient forest. The air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, a scent that mingled with a strange, metallic tang. Five figures, cloaked in darkness, moved silently through the undergrowth, their eyes gleaming with an unnatural light. They were not heading for the castle, as they usually did. Tonight, something else called to them, a whisper on the wind, a rustle in the undergrowth, a primal fear that gnawed at their ancient souls.
“Did you hear that?” rasped the one they called Corvus, his voice like dry leaves crunching underfoot.
The others, their faces hidden in the shadows, nodded. There it was again, a low, guttural growl, close enough to feel its vibrations in the air. The forest seemed to hold its breath, listening, waiting.
“What is it?” hissed one, her voice a chilling tremor.
Corvus, the oldest and most powerful of their kind, had seen things, heard things, that made even the most seasoned vampire tremble. He knew what that sound meant. It was a sound from the heart of the forest, a sound of pure, unadulterated terror.
They pushed deeper into the woods, their steps silent as ghosts, their fear a palpable entity. The growl came again, louder now, followed by a series of sharp, clicking sounds. Then, a twig snapped, sending a cascade of leaves down on the forest floor. The air grew thick, choked with anticipation.
Suddenly, a pair of eyes, glowing a sickly green, appeared from the shadows. They were not human eyes. They were not even animal eyes. They were the eyes of something old, something hungry, something that fed on the darkness that clung to their souls. The growl became a deafening roar, and the figures in the darkness backed away, their fear momentarily overcoming their thirst.
Then, the creature emerged from the undergrowth, its form shrouded in darkness. It was impossibly tall, its body elongated and skeletal, its limbs impossibly long and spidery. Its skin, if it could be called skin, was a mottled patchwork of scales and fur, its face a grotesque mask of twisted bone and gaping maw. It moved with an unsettling grace, its every step punctuated by the clicking of its claws against the forest floor.
Corvus felt a shiver crawl down his spine. This was not like anything they had ever encountered before. The creature, sensing their fear, let out another guttural roar, a sound that seemed to shake the very foundations of the forest. The vampires, their blood turning to ice, turned and ran, the clicking of claws echoing in their ears, their screams lost in the wind. The forest had claimed its new prey, and the ancient whispers promised that they would never be seen again.
For in the heart of the forest, there was a darkness that even vampires feared. And the creature, its eyes gleaming in the moonlight, stood poised to claim another victim, another soul to add to its growing collection. The forest was silent, save for the whisper of the wind, carrying its secrets to the world beyond. And the creature, its hunger insatiable, waited, watching, for the next unsuspecting soul to wander into its domain.
