118: Night Terrors

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The vampire woke after five hundred years of sleep. Deep beneath the earth, he dreamed of darkness.
Time hadn't touched his dusty stone mausoleum. But night, and blood, called to him. He pushed away the slab with inhuman strength. And recoiled.
The world was a cacophony. Everywhere were orange lights, steadier than the stillest candle flame. They hissed and buzzed like an infinite swarm of insects and blotted out the beloved stars. The world smelled of strange oils and miasmic smoke. He had awoken into hell.
He retreated to his sarcophagus. He would wait another few centuries, and try again.

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