"Small," Komodo hissed, licking his bloody teeth. Around him, the sight was nightmarish—bloodied limbs splayed around a charred fireplace, the stone scorched black, surrounded by great pools of crimson that turned the scene into a grotesque archipelago. Chunks of flesh floated like meat in a stew of gore, little islands in a sea of blood.
Another low crack echoed as Komodo dug into a torn torso beside a crooked tree, gnawing through the ribcage like it was nothing more than bone-sugar.
"Small," the dragon sighed again, eyes scanning the darkness as if searching for something more satisfying. Something bigger. Something worthy.
When nothing revealed itself, Komodo let out a breath of disappointment and shifted into human form, scavenging what little remained of his victims' clothes. Tattered cloaks, burnt leather—useless scraps barely enough to cover modesty. Not that he cared.
He stood, nude again, as always. A repeated inconvenience.
"I'm beginning to see why Lord Draghyr told me to use this form sparingly," Komodo muttered, tone sour.
"I guess I have no choice," he spat, nearly retching at the thought of continuing as a human.
Elsewhere, high above the ancient oak forest, a dark silhouette soared through the fog-choked clouds. At first, it was nearly invisible, but then—two glowing crimson eyes and massive jet-black wings broke through the mist for the briefest of moments.
And then, as quickly as they appeared, the red eyes vanished.
Below, a tall, pale figure moved swiftly under the moon's dim light. His bald head was bowed, perhaps to hide the disfigured mess that once passed for a face. Despite his frail appearance, the figure moved with eerie grace—slipping past gnarled brush and leaping over mossy stumps until he came upon a narrow path.
It stood out like a wound in the earth, a trail trodden through the forest floor.
Bat stooped low. A scent wafted from the path, thick and iron-sweet.
Blood.
"Interesting," he muttered. One clawed finger dipped into the shallow pool of red, rubbing the liquid between thumb and forefinger. Sticky. Still warm. A grin slowly crept across his pale face.
"Elven," he confirmed after another deep inhale. The scent was unmistakable. Familiar.
"And what's this?" he murmured, noticing a trail of droplets winding off the path. "It's been such a long time."
Bat smiled, nostalgic. There was a time when he'd hunted elves freely. When he was a shadow in their nightmares. No treaties. No pacts. Just hunger. Just kill.
"Strange," he frowned.
Four sets of rushed footsteps. Four elves—running. But a fifth... distant. Detached.
He stooped again. Another scent. Foreign. Human.
But this footprint…
Bat's eyes narrowed. The barefoot imprint was deep—too deep. A human shouldn't weigh this much. Not unless…
"And then a confrontation," he said to himself, walking slowly into the underbrush. The area was a chaotic mess—blood splattered on bark, broken twigs, shallow drag marks. A fight had happened here. A slaughter.
But something was off.
"Where are they?" Bat muttered.
No bones. No bodies. Not even scraps of fabric or shattered blades. Just blood.
"Almost as if the bodies disappeared…" he whispered.
He leapt silently into the branch of a towering oak, scanning the scene from above. From this vantage point, more clues emerged—broken shrubs, saliva glistening under moonlight, strange slimy smears clinging to the leaves.
Bat landed again, crouching beside the goo. He touched it. Cold. Gelatinous. Refusing to soak into the foliage like water.
He sniffed it. Nothing. No scent at all.
"That's not right."
"Werewolf?" He dismissed it instantly. No. He would have smelled one already.
His claw traced the slime again. "Could it be… digestion?"
He stared at the absence of corpses. "Eaten?"
His lips curled. "You've got to be kidding me…"
Still, the signs were there. A predator who killed and consumed. And not just flesh—everything.
"Guess I'm about to find out."
He stood and followed the trail of enormous barefoot prints heading deeper into the forest.
But before he could go far, his eyes glanced down the long, winding road. The path the fifth elf had taken. Fleeing, perhaps.
"Some other time," Bat said, turning back to the trail that stank of death. The elf could wait. His curiosity could not.
"Interesting," a red tongue flicked the air. The taste in the wind was strange—familiar yet wrong.
Komodo froze, green eyes narrowing. The scent wasn't of prey. It wasn't fear or blood.
It was something older. Something... dangerous.
From the bushes emerged a tall, bald figure with skin like moonlight and eyes like hellfire.
Komodo hissed. "Your kind is supposed to be extinct."
Bat stepped forward. "And last I checked, dragons were killed off more than two millennia ago."
Komodo's eyes narrowed to slits.
"And yet… here we are."
"Yes," Bat said. "Here we are."
They stood in silence for a heartbeat. Two relics. Two monsters.
"Two endangered species," Komodo said with a sharp grin, "facing a common threat. Perhaps… an alliance?"
Bat chuckled. "Then why…"
"Why?" Komodo echoed the question, flicking out a forked tongue that looked disturbingly out of place on his human face.
"Why do you still have that murderous glint in your eye?" Bat asked, his claws twitching slightly.
"You got me!" Komodo threw up his hands in mock surrender, grinning wide.
And then that grin shifted. Darkened. Became hungry.
"Since arriving in this realm, I've yet to find prey that satisfies me." He licked his lips slowly, savoring the air.
"But you..." His claw pointed directly at Bat.
"You're the main course I've been waiting for."
Bat's face turned to stone, his calm replaced by a controlled fury.
"You'll learn soon enough…" He cracked his knuckles, eyes glowing crimson.
"That vampires—especially me—are never prey."
Komodo laughed. "We'll see!"
His roar split the forest, and the clearing crackled with tension.