I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter Thirty-Two: Echoes of the Forgotten
Richard's Perspective
We stood at the crumbling threshold of the ruins—ancient, weathered stone swallowed whole by the vast and relentless South American jungle. The foliage pressed in on all sides, thick and suffocating, as if the very land itself was trying to smother the memories that lingered here. Vines had overtaken every inch of the structure, curling around the decaying archways like serpents of time, tightening their grip, slowly pulling it all back into the earth where it belonged—forgotten. Left to rot. Best left untouched.
The air was oppressive, heavy with moisture, thick enough to choke on. Every breath felt like inhaling the scent of decay—old stone, damp roots, and something beneath it all that reeked of age and wrongness. Something that hadn't seen sunlight in centuries. Something that wanted to be left alone.
It had been four years since we'd dealt with Henry—since that day in the cave that still visited me in my sleep.
Lucas was sixteen now. Taller than me. Broader in the shoulders. He moved with the quiet confidence of someone who didn't yet realize he had nothing left to prove. Smarter than I ever was at that age, maybe even smarter than me now, though I'd never admit that out loud. The boy had enough self-assurance to fuel three grown men and a wolf.
He stood just ahead of me, looking toward the darkness that waited beyond the threshold. The way his eyes scanned it all—sharp, methodical, calculating—it was like watching a young predator assessing the terrain. He turned to me with a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, that same one he'd had since he was ten and figured out how to lie convincingly.
"You sure about this, old man?" he asked, eyebrows raised with playful mockery. "Most retirement parties involve cake, balloons and bad coffee. Maybe a speech. Not spelunking into cursed ruins to deal with whatever horror that was locked away before Shakespeare was born."
I let out a low grunt. "Never pictured myself as the cake and speech type."
He chuckled but quickly turned his gaze back to the darkness. That humor—it was a shield. Always had been. Lucas cracked jokes like a man drawing a sword, wielding them to keep the world—and its emotions—at bay. Especially when things got real.
Thing like how much he hated the idea of this being our last hunt.
I could see through it all. I should—I'd taught him how to wear that mask.
We stepped forward together, our boots meeting ancient stone that hadn't seen footsteps in decades—maybe centuries. The sound echoed down the corridor, a reminder of how alone we were here, how far we'd come, and how little stood between us and what lay ahead.
Lucas adjusted his gloves with quiet precision. His posture shifted, his breathing slowed. He dropped into that stance I'd seen a hundred times before—a quiet readiness. He didn't hesitate. Didn't second-guess. Without being told, he slipped ahead of me, naturally taking point.
He didn't need me anymore.
And that, more than anything, told me I'd done my job right.
"So," he said after a moment, casually disarming a hidden tripwire with a flick of his clawed hand, "now that you've dragged me halfway across the continent and into something that smells worse than death, are you finally going to tell me what exactly we're walking into? I think I deserve a preview."
I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of memory pressing on my lungs. "A long time ago—centuries back—there was a cult. One of the worst. Not just blood rituals and creepy chanting. These ones found a way to kill people and steal their vitality. Not just lives. Lifespans. Like tapping into the essence of someone's years and taking them for yourself."
He turned slightly, face unreadable in the half-light. "Like draining their life?"
"Exactly. No one could stop them. So instead of wiping them out, the Hunters sealed them in. Locked the whole nest underground and buried it."
He arched an eyebrow. "How long ago are we talking?"
"About five hundred years. Give or take."
He let out a low whistle. "And you think they're still alive?"
"They took enough lives to buy themselves a lot of time," I said. "It'd take a few more centuries to run out of that kind of time."
Lucas didn't reply. He stopped before another trap—this one subtler. A sonic trigger, tuned to a frequency only enhanced ears could detect. A brutal little mechanism meant for creatures like him. He disarmed it like he was turning off a light. No wasted motion. No fear.
"How many are we dealing with?" he asked, eyes scanning ahead.
"Thirteen. Maybe fifteen. It's hard to know. Records from back then are… murky."
He rolled his shoulders, loosening the tension in his arms. "Noted. And the seal?"
"Was meant to keep them in," I said. "Not keep us out. That's what the traps are for."
He nodded and moved on, navigating the corridor like he belonged there. I followed a step behind, eyes not on the path but on him.
He moved like a predator in familiar woods.
He was everything I'd hoped he'd grow into. Precision balanced with power. Discipline wrapped around ferocity. A wolf's soul tempered by a surgeon's hands.
"Stealing life," he murmured as we walked. "That doesn't sound that different from vampires."
I groaned. "How many times do I have to say it? Vampires don't exist. Stop watching that garbage you call television."
Lucas chuckled, but he was clearly disappointed. "Okay, okay. Then what do they look like?"
"No one's seen them in centuries," I said. "But the old books… they say they look like hairless humanoid bats. Big. Pale. No wings."
He grinned. "Sure, sure. But if they're pale, live underground, and drain life from people… come on. They're basically vampires."
I gave him a sidelong look. "You're impossible."
The truth—one I didn't bother denying—was that he wasn't entirely wrong. The creatures we were about to face didn't sparkle or wear tuxedos, but they had survived off the lives of others. Fed on years. On vitality. On souls, maybe.
And if the old books were even half-right, they hadn't just endured the centuries—they'd waited through them. Patient. Hungry.
We continued deeper into the ruins. The walls closed in, the light faded. The air turned colder. Staler. The kind of cold that didn't come from temperature—it came from history. From power. From things that should've died long ago but didn't.
Lucas didn't hesitate. Not once. Not for a second.
He moved like he belonged here. world was his.
Mine was fading. My time was slipping past like sand in a cracked hourglass. But before I let go—before I stepped away from this life completely—I had one last task.
One last evil to put to rest.