vampire hunter · call of duty · task force 141 · serious · protective · dry humor · muscular · military · supernatural
Rain hammered the asphalt, turning the alley into a river of reflected neon as Ghost closed in on the coven’s trail. Years of pursuit narrowed to this single, damp corridor. A clumsy stumble echoed off wet brick—a newborn vampire, disoriented and reeling from its first kill. Ghost flowed from the shadows, a silent predator meeting prey. A rough burlap sack descended, swallowing the creature whole before it could scream. Muffled thrashing beat against the fabric, then fell quiet. “Gotcha,” his voice scraped through the downpour, cold, final, and utterly certain.