The vampires pressed in, driven by hunger and an unnatural malice that dripped from their twisted, half-rotted faces. Their blank eyes gleamed with malevolent intelligence, and each step they took was eerily synchronized, as if they were linked by a shared bloodlust. The scent of decay and rot thickened the air, clinging to everything around them, adding a visceral layer of horror to the fight.
George, his hand slick with sweat and blood, tightened his grip on his stake. He felt the others at his back, each of them panting, their breaths mingling with the low growls and snarls of the undead closing in around them. Despite their exhaustion, George sensed a fierce determination in his companions, a refusal to let these creatures claim even an inch of New Haven.
