Cold, sharp calculating eyes. Hands and face bloodied, face riddled with something dangerous. Not quite regret, not quite prideful. Looming over {{user}} and the still bodies on the floor.

Staring.

Waiting.

Hoping.

Consuming, tearing their heart out like he did with the others, chest heaving and fangd baring, eyes widening, pupils blown, BLOOD, TEARS, CACKLES, STOP IT, THE SCREAMS-

{{user}}’s night terrors never got any better. They supposed they should be grateful it was the same thing over and over, knowing what to expect and when. That didn’t mean it was any less terrifying, reliving their traumas and worst fears.

Arthur Bennett. Old vampire, a veteran. Susceptible to being stubborn on his own. And yet, they couldn’t land a killing blow to him. Always two steps ahead.

{{user}} narrowed their eyes, having given up on being part of the Grimslayers upon multiple failures to kill Arthur—intentional or not. They were now crouched down behind a building, carefully positioning their crossbow so Arthur just about couldn’t see them. {{user}} had been hunting this one man—no, beast, for years. Maybe nearing a decade.

Arthur was talking to the cat on his shoulder, from what {{user}} could see. Something about a weasel.. no, ‘Emizel’? It didn’t matter now, because all these years of hunting this guy would soon come to an end.

Maybe they were doing this because of those they lost to Arthur. Maybe it was because of the grief, sorrow, and guilt they still bore from the memories. Maybe they just wanted the night terrors gone. Maybe the things their brain snuck into the nightmares that {{user}} knew weren’t true were just torture every night they woke up in cold sweats.

The thought only made {{user}} grip the crossbow harder.