𝗘𝗺𝗯𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗡𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 - [𝗜𝗺𝗽𝗶𝘂𝘀 𝘅 𝗗𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗱]

[impius]

Beneath the glittering skyline of New York City, far removed from the prying eyes of everyday life, lies The Impius. To the mortal world, it's a haven of pulsing music, potent cocktails, and the allure of celebrity mingling. But behind the velvet ropes and flashing strobes, a darker reality thrives. As the clock strikes midnight, The Impius transforms, shedding its facade of decadent entertainment to reveal its true nature: a hunting ground for the supernatural. Vampires stalk their prey in the dimly lit corners, werewolves seek release amidst the ecstatic dancers, and other creatures of myth and legend gather, drawn by the intoxicating scent of mortal life. The unwitting club-goers, lost in the rhythm and the haze, become the unsuspecting sustenance for the hidden world that feasts in the shadows.

Behind the shimmering obsidian curtains in the corner of the club, a world of privilege unfolded. Laughter and hushed conversations mingled with the rhythmic pulse of music as men and women, draped in finery, danced in a swirling tableau of wealth and influence. Yet, in a secluded corner, detached from the revelry, sat a woman who commanded attention without uttering a word. Her blood-red gown was a stark contrast to the muted tones surrounding her, a beacon drawing the eye. Her legs were crossed with elegant precision, her gaze sharp and unwavering. Honey-brown eyes, pools of intense observation, followed the movements of each patron, seemingly listening to the very rhythm of their hearts. As errant beams of light pierced the curtain's veil, they momentarily illuminated her face, transforming her eyes into the reflective orbs of a predator, alert and undeniably captivating.

The glass in her hand was a study in contrasts – delicate crystal marred by a viscous stain far darker and more potent than any whiskey or wine. Her fingers, long and elegant, ended in nails filed to a sharp point, hinting at a dangerous edge beneath the refined surface. She raised the glass, the crimson liquid painting her lips a shade that seemed to seep into something deeper, a stain on her very soul. With a deliberate grace, she set the glass down and moved, drawing back the heavy velvet curtains with an effortless pull. Her gaze locked onto the bustling bar across the room, a beacon drawing her into its chaotic energy. Yet, as she walked, a prickling sensation danced across her skin. She was being watched. An unseen observer, hidden in the shadows, following her every move. Fear didn't flicker in her eyes; instead, a faint smile played on her lips. The awareness of being scrutinized only added a thrilling layer to the game she was about to play, sharpening her senses and fueling the anticipation.

 

[Deranged]

The Dregs​

Though, with subtly distinct, or sometimes—sharp differences, the scent of evil was always a pungent aroma that was difficult to mask from the trained nose. From the nose conditioned to sniff it out, and trace it to it's varied sources. Evil they say, came in different shades and flavours; from lust, to wrath, avarice, envy, and even malice. Truthfully, those commonly used terms only represented the most distinct manifestations of what was essentially a spectrum of the same thing; the same sum of the choices that sentient beings made for themselves.

Or sometimes, had thrust upon them.

Coming into one of the most populous cities on the planet, the stench of evil wasn't something any reasonable person should be surprised to catch. Whether mild, or concentrated, it was bound to linger. From the ominous alleyways, to the crooked grins of scantily dressed women who lined the streets with seductive determination. Of course, there were the hotheads packing ammunition, and the ones who schemed and sought to relieve others of their hard earned valuables. That was not to say that traces of evil couldn't be found in the many tall buildings that dotted the city too. It was just a matter of digging deep enough to find it; and a certain man in the infamous club Impius, was certainly digging to find evil tonight.

He wasn't interested in petty burglars, pimps and their prostitutes. He wasn't even interested in arms dealers and the rest of their ilk—who were keen on sowing mischief and strife for their own selfish gains. No—the brand of 'evil' on his radar was far more concentrated, and quite unfortunately, much less controlled and mitigated.

As he swirled the burgundy liquid in his glass, he watched from his seat, as the ageing night brought out the worst of the people around him. How ironic that the statement didn't refer to just character. It was no big surprise, even for a first-timer at The Impius like him, to find that the finely draped men, women and dancers, lost more of their inhibitions as the night went on. Naturally, bodies began to grind into eachother, lips became looser, and the laughter became just a little more spirited and less controlled. The result of this was a familiar din that blended well with the pumping dance music, that was being shot at near deafening volume from hidden speakers.

To the untrained eye, eager dancers and tipsy club goers were being enticed away from the heated and hazy dancefloor, by very interesting men and women. In reality, this wasn't far from the truth. However, there was the fact that the men and women that began to emerge as midnight rolled in—pulling away the 'choiciest' picks from the writhing, hedonistic bodies—were not quite human. They were something more; or perhaps, it was better to say that they were something less—base creatures who have offered up their souls to forces beyond the conceivable realm, only to become servants of darkness. Slaves to desires and needs, in exchange for a pathetic life of secrecy.

Two dark eyes peered through the frame of a well defined, chiselled face. They peered across the haze of hedonism and lust that only thickened with the arrival of the 'Dregs'. His information would appear to be sound. This clubhouse was a hotbed of the worst kinds of corruption. As he scanned around, his unnatural senses could catch several candidates for the first Dreg to be crushed here by his indignant hands. The strong and musky aura of the werewolves was very easy to catch; those ones were never much for elegance. Not that their vampire counterparts were truly half as elegant as they loved to pretend to be.

All it would take to undo their fineries was considerable thirst, and the juicy rhythm of a live pulse, after all.

The secret observer kept at it, using his senses to pick up, and size up which one of the unfortunate Dregs he would visit with retribution, and the gift of expiration. Auras—equally foul—jostled for position in his sharp senses. He screened out the 'lesser' ones first; it had been a while since his last run of 'cleansing', and he was itching very much for a bit of a challenge. He continued like this for a few moments more, until one particularly powerful aura drew his attention. He traced it rapidly to the voluptuous frame of a confidently sashaying woman. Her poise, her confidence, and most telling, her aura; they all painted her as a vampire.

They all painted her as his target for the night.

 

[impius]

The club pulsed with energy, the strobing lights casting surreal shadows on the sweaty bodies packed onto the dance floor. The music thrummed, a relentless beat that seemed to reverberate from the very foundations of the building. Up on stage, the alternative band played with wild abandon, lost in their own world as they poured their hearts into every chord and lyric.

Down in the crowd, visions of hedonistic pleasure played out in every corner. Couples ground against each other, lost in the throes of lust and intoxication. Some even sought out more secluded nooks to indulge in their carnal desires. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and something far more primal.

Amidst the chaotic sea of bodies, one form stood still and watchful. The vampire now sat perched on a stool at the bar, the woman surveying the room with dark eyes that glimmered in the wash of colored lights. Her raven hair tumbled down her back in dark waves, a stark contrast to her alabaster skin.

Despite her unearthly beauty, the woman seemed out of place among the writhing masses. While they lost themselves in the music and the moment, she remained poised and alert, like a predator scenting the wind.

Beneath the illusion of revelry, darker currents swirled. In the seething press of flesh and the cloying miasma of heat and pheromones, something else hung heavy in the air. The coppery tang of blood. The feral musk of aroused beasts. The electric crackle of power and hunger.

The woman's nostrils flared as the heady bouquet filled her senses. It was a scent she knew well, one that triggered something deep within her bones. The hour of the hunt was upon them. The time when the creatures of the night emerged to feed their eternal hunger among the living, blissfully unaware lambs to the slaughter.

But the woman remained still, her hands pressed flat against the bar as if to keep herself tethered to reality. All around her, others of her kind were slipping into the shadows, readying to strike. Yet she held back, a curious example of restraint among the unrestrained.

Her gaze stayed fixed on some distant point in the crowd, unblinking and laser-focused. A slight, knowing smile curved her lips. She already knew that she had caught someone else's notice, someone who watched her. A game was afoot, and she would draw out her quarry, tantalize and tease until they could no longer deny the pull.

With a subtle toss of her head, she glanced at the bartender behind her with the sweetest of smiles. “Garrett, right? Would you care to dance with me?”

Garrett's hand froze, the towel slipping slightly from the glass edge as her question hung in the air. The burning intensity in his eyes softened momentarily, replaced by a flicker of bewildered surprise. "A dance?" he stammered, the word barely a whisper, his gaze still fixed on her, trying to reconcile the woman standing before him – so poised, so... captivating – with the request she'd just made of him, the mousy bartender. A slow, hesitant smile began to form on his lips, spreading across his face as disbelief gave way to a giddy, almost foolish hope.

She watched his reaction coolly, a small, knowing smile playing on her own lips, a subtle challenge in her raised eyebrow. "Unless you have pressing duties," she purred again, her voice dropping just low enough to be intimate. The unspoken invitation hung heavy between them. He didn't hesitate for another second.

“Not at all," he practically blurted, quickly setting the towel and glass down, his movements suddenly clumsy with eagerness. "Just... let me get out from behind here." As he shuffled out from behind the counter, she turned, her gaze scanning the room, a subtle shift in her expression – the predatory calculation replacing the playful allure – hinting that this dance was less about pleasure and more about positioning.

The real question was when they would decide to end this dance and make their move. But something in the woman's smile suggested she would be ready when they did.

After all, in this game of predator and prey, it was the ones who knew how to bide their time that always ended up on top.

With a determined look in her eyes, she reached out and grabbed him by the hand, leading him to the dance floor with a sense of purpose.

As they stepped onto the dance floor, she lifted his hand and curled around him, feeling his body against hers. She could sense his smirk, but she didn't let it deter her. Instead, she sauntered around him, teasing him with her movements, letting the music guide her.

Finally, she found her place in front of him, pressing her backside into him and dragging his arm around her waist. She moved against him, feeling his body respond to her touch. Her head leaned back so that she could peek up at him, her other hand sliding up his neck and tangling her fingers in his hair.

She moved to the beat of the music, feeling his body move with hers. She had chosen her bait carefully, knowing that he would be unable to resist her charms. And as they danced together, she knew that she had made the right choice. She had captured his attention, and she wasn't about to let him go.

Now.. where are you?

As the night went on, the two of them became more and more lost in their own world, oblivious to the music and the crowd around them. Garrett couldn't resist the allure of the woman in his arms, and soon he found himself unable to think of anything but her. He trailed kisses down her neck, feeling her shiver with pleasure at his touch. Her eyes, which had been such a warm, molten brown just moments before, were now transformed into a delicate but icy shade of blue.

“Would you care to take this somewhere else?” She breathed out as if his lips and the dancing took her very breath away.

It was clear to Garrett that she “wanted” more, and he was more than happy to oblige. Without a word, he followed her as she led him away from the dance floor and towards one of the narrow corridors of the club. The hallway was dimly lit, with shadows dancing on the walls. She moved with grace and confidence, leading him towards a closed door at the end of the hall.