Evil - West Na Sieti

Tomas didn't wait for the sermon to finish. He slammed his fist into the ground. A wave of redirected current surged through the snow, erupting under the vampire’s feet. The creature shrieked as the holy-water-infused steam from Tomas’s pack blasted its porcelain skin. "Not on my shift," Tomas growled.

"The Network is nearly complete," the creature hissed, its eyes glowing with a sickening blue voltage. "Soon, the pulse will scream from Pressburg to the Black Sea. No more hiding in the shadows. We will walk in the light of the spark." Evil West na sieti

Tomas hooked his gauntlet onto the main line. The world turned into a blur of sparks and screams. He swung from wire to wire, punching through metal carapaces and tearing out glowing batteries. Tomas didn't wait for the sermon to finish

The air in the Slovak frontier didn't smell like pine anymore; it smelled like ozone and rotted meat. High above the Tatras, the sky was bruised purple, torn open by the jagged copper spires of the "Siet"—the Network. The creature shrieked as the holy-water-infused steam from

Tomas gripped his steam-powered gauntlet, the brass hissing against the morning frost. His partner, Marek, was missing. All that remained at the base of Pylon 09 were Marek’s pliers and a puddle of black, oily ichor that sizzled against the snow. "They're hungry today," a voice rasped.

He didn't pull Marek out. He knew the cost. Instead, he overloaded his gauntlet, punching the regulator until it glowed white-hot. He jammed his fist into the heart of the machine.

Tomas spun around. Standing on a rocky outcrop was a Sanguisuge—a vampire noble, but not the kind from the storybooks. This thing was fused with machinery, its ribcage replaced by a humming boiler, its claws tipped with conductive silver.