"Move out, people!" he bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos like steel on stone. With a smooth motion, he unsheathed his second blade, the metal flashing under the dim lights as he now stood dual-wielding both swords.
The sudden clash drew more attention. From the other rooms, suited vampires poured in—staff members of the establishment, still in their work attire, their polished composure replaced by cold, predatory intent.
"I'll take left, you take right," Corven ordered, voice sharp as a commander's.
"Got it."
Blood surged through Corven's veins. With a flick of his wrist, crimson energy solidified in his grasp, forming a sword of living blood. The weapon pulsed faintly, almost alive, as he dove into battle.
It wasn't much of a fight—not compared to the Corven of the past. These minor vampires weren't even obstacles. They barely registered as threats, their movements sluggish to his sharpened senses.
