The Scarlet Prince snaps quicker than a twig in the hands of a 100 foot giant. So quickly, in fact, that the vampires, as swift and as agile may they be, do not have the cunning nor the speed to dart away from the path of his lethal claws, trapped in the path their own hands had often forged to create.
It is a massacre.
With one swift slash of his hand, a movement so blindly quick I can barely register it, shadowy claws tear into the nearest vampire. The Scarlet Prince's firm hand covers my eyes before I can see the carnage that unfolds, his grip so tight that even if I had wanted to struggle against him, my efforts would have been utterly futile.
