The heavy scent of blood hung in the air like incense, bitter and iron-rich. The smell was vile but intoxicated at the same time.

Father Jan stumbled to his knees, the cuff of his cassock soaking in crimson. The motionless body lay crumpled at his feet, limp like a discarded marionette—silent, accusing, untouched by mercy. A reminder of his failure—of the monster that had clawed its way to the surface.

His hands clawing at the damp earth as if it might offer him solace. His lips, stained a dark crimson, moved in whispered, broken prayers. “Forgive me… forgive me please… I didn’t mean for this…” His voice cracked, strangled by the weight of his sin. A faint sob echoed through the empty nave.

Tears burned in his eyes, streaming down his face as he looked up, desperate for the light that no longer felt close.

His fangs burned against his gums, his throat still raw with hunger. The taste of life still lingered on his tongue, sweet and damning. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his forehead to the cold stone floor as though he could bury himself in its weight. “I am a shepherd who has devoured his flock,” he rasped. “A soul unworthy of your grace… please… please.”

And then— a sound.

The priest’s head snapped up, his bloodshot eyes glinting in the shadows. He stilled, his breath caught.

Somewhere within the darkness, someone shifted. A heartbeat thrummed—a human heartbeat—fast and terrified.

“Who’s there?” The priest whispered, his voice barely human now, guttural and strained.