“I can’t believe we are forced to live in this… shithole!”

The male voice rings out, harsh. It echoes as the sound ricochets off stone cavern walls. There’s no light, but that did not matter. These three could still see as well as if it were daylight. Of course there was no response. Not from his two companions nor from whomever may have heard the echo.

Three young men – or at least, they seemed to be young, but held an ageless quality about them – stride down the tunnel, as if on a mission. But in truth, they had no purpose. They were simply bored, painfully so even. In their dank home, others of their kind now rested, but not these three.

Riktor, a deep scowl on his face, balls his fists tight as he walks. His eyes always focused ahead, never throwing a glance to his buddies. Not that they minded. Riktor was pissed and looking for some ‘fun’… and they weren’t going to be the ones to give it to him.

“It’s fuckin’ ridiculous the way we are treated. Like we’re nothing! Like we…” Riktor’s voice trails off as something else fills his ear. He stops, pushing his toned arms out to the side, stopping the others. He tilts his head to the side, as if to help him hear better. Truth be told, he didn’t need the help. It was the sound of a battle and the vamp was pleased at this. It was exactly he what he had wanted. A fight. And now he was going to make someone pay dearly for coming so close to vampyre lands. He shifts into his vampiric form, a sly smirk on his face. “Let’s go boys.”

Without another word, Riktor takes off at a run. He doesn’t look to see if his companions followed, he knew they would. As stupid as they were, they never disobeyed him. Loyal to the last.

Up ahead. It was getting closer. Yells and grunts. Words being spoken. Things thrown. He could almost feel the power emanating from their locale. This very well could be the battle of his life. Which, considering how long vampyres live, is saying something.

Riktor suddenly comes upon the scene. It was considerably lighter in the cavern then it has been in the tunnel from which he had emerged. Before him stood two fighters – one male, one female. But the man was chanting something. A spell. He had come upon a couple of magickal beings. How delicious.

A burst of energy erupts from the dark skinned Shaman, slamming into Aras. Her screams fill the air and Riktor smiles. There is another strong burst of energy and the sorceress becomes nothing more then a pile of ash.

“Well done.” At this point, Orlando turns on him. Something in the man’s eyes register, as if he recognized Riktor or something about him. Although Riktor knew that he had never before laid eyes on the man before him. Not that it mattered. Nothing was going to distract him from his feast. “And now, it’s your turn to join her.”

Opening his mouth, Riktor reveals his fangs even as he lunges forward. His hands are open and up, as if to grasp the Shaman for feeding. But the man was quicker then Riktor anticipated. It has always been a fault of his, underestimating his enemy. It was born from his arrogance as a hunter and a killer.

Realizing he missed, he lets out a growl. Turning on the two vamps that accompanied them, he orders them to stay where they are. Both had stepped forward to take down Orlando, but Riktor wanted the man for himself. He would feed tonight. He would get the fun he had been searching for.

Riktor settles his gaze on Orlando and the arrogance of the man spews from every pore. He had already won this fight in his mind. It had been over the moment Riktor heard the cries of battle and decided that the source would be his dinner. It was simply a matter of time now.

“I can do this all day, ya know. Believe me, I’ve got nothing but time.” The last bit a came out bitingly, filled with resentment. Apparently the vampyre life wasn’t everything Riktor hoped for. Sleeping, eating and fucking gets old fast.

The old vampyre studies Orlando briefly, sizing him up. Then, without warning, he is suddenly standing in front of Orlando, his hand around the Shaman’s throat. He walks forward, slamming his victim into the wall and pinning him there, slightly off the ground, with his enhanced strength.

But apparently, not fast enough.

Riktor’s lips curl back, revealing his white fangs. His mouth was salivating at this point. Being so close to a mortal, he could hear every heart beat, hear the sound of the blood rushing through the man’s body, see every pulse of every vein and artery. And he was going to have it all.

Another quick movement, and Riktor buries his teeth into Orlando’s neck. As he begins to gorge himself on the Shaman’s blood, his eyes close and seem to roll back into his head from the sheer pleasure of it all. It was unbridled ecstasy that he felt when connected to a mortal in such a way. There was nothing else like it. Not even sex came close.