Las Vegas was a city of stark contrasts. On one hand, it was a dazzling oasis in the Nevada desert, where the neon glow of the Strip seemed to make the night sky disappear altogether. The Strip, with its towering hotels and casinos, was a playground of excess, a land where fortunes were won and lost in a heartbeat. The lights of Las Vegas were legendary, casting an almost surreal glow over the desert, creating a beacon of wealth and hedonism. Resorts like the Bellagio and Caesars Palace offered endless indulgences, their grandeur and luxury attracting people from all walks of life to chase dreams of victory, love, or escape.

Yet, beyond the glittering façade lay a different Las Vegas, a city where the bright lights never reached, where the sheen of luxury gave way to grit and desperation. Just a few blocks from the Strip, the reality of the forgotten parts of the city came to light—a harsh, unforgiving place. Here, wealth and extravagance clashed with the stark poverty of those who had nowhere else to go. In alleys and underpasses, makeshift camps emerged, populated by people who had come to Las Vegas with hopes that had long since turned to dust.

These people, the forgotten ones, lived in the shadow of the city's towering casinos, their existence a grim reminder of the disparity in Las Vegas. While tourists reveled in air-conditioned luxury, sipping cocktails by the pool, the homeless fought for survival. The searing heat of the day, with temperatures soaring well over a hundred degrees, made every breath a struggle, while the desert cold at night could be just as unforgiving. In stark contrast to the pristine sidewalks of the Strip, the worn, overlooked streets were places where the homeless wandered, invisible to the people who walked past.

The tunnels beneath the city, initially built to handle flash floods, had become sanctuaries for the homeless. But these dark, damp passageways were more than just refuges from the elements—they were a hidden world, dangerous and teeming with crime. These tunnels were as much a part of Las Vegas as the casinos above, reflecting the stark divide between wealth and poverty, light and darkness.

Las Vegas had always been a haven for monsters. The Mafia ruled the city for decades, their influence woven into its very foundation. They had built the casinos and created the dreamscape that attracted millions, but behind the glamour, there was always something darker. The mobsters were monsters in their own right—men who wielded power with ruthless efficiency, their wealth stained with the blood of their enemies. Their legacy was one of fear and control, and they had shaped Las Vegas in their image.

But the Mafia was not the only darkness in the city. Beneath the surface, in the alleys, tunnels, and hidden corners, other monsters roamed—creatures more ancient and more dangerous. These beings walked among the living, blending in with the elites. By day, they wore suits and smiles, mingling with the rich and powerful. By night, they shed their human disguises, prowling the alleys and tunnels for prey. The same tunnels that provided refuge for the homeless also served as hunting grounds for these monsters, making the city's most vulnerable easy targets.

In Las Vegas, the monsters didn’t hide in the shadows—they thrived in them, feeding off the despair and desperation that lingered just beneath the city's glitzy surface.

But where monsters prowl, so too do hunters. In a city like Las Vegas, where the darkness is as thick as the desert night, there have always been those who stood ready to fight back. These hunters were as varied as the creatures they pursued—some driven by vengeance, others by duty, and a few by something even darker and more personal.

They called him the Inquisitor, a name spoken in hushed tones by those who knew of the war fought in the shadows. His true name and identity were concealed beneath the mask he wore—a simple black cloth that obscured his face, leaving only his sharp, piercing eyes visible. Above the mask, he wore a wide-brimmed black hat, casting a deeper shadow over his features. In a city like Las Vegas, where appearances could deceive and danger lurked in every corner, anonymity was his greatest weapon.

The Inquisitor moved through the tunnels like a shadow, silent and unseen, his senses attuned to the faintest sound or movement. He could feel the darkness pressing in around him, thick with the presence of vampires, but he did not fear it. He had faced these creatures before and had learned their weaknesses, their habits. They might be powerful, but they were not invincible.

Tonight, the hunt took him deep into the forgotten parts of Las Vegas, where the Strip's lights faded, and the true face of the city emerged. The tunnels were dark, the air thick with a damp chill. He could hear the echo of distant footsteps, the murmurs of people trying to sleep, trying to survive. These were the lost and forgotten, the people society had abandoned. To the vampires, they were easy prey, their lives deemed worthless, their disappearances unnoticed.

But the Inquisitor did not see them that way. Beneath his mask, his expression softened as he moved past makeshift camps, seeing the tired faces of those who had nowhere else to go. He knew these people had once had families, hopes, dreams—just like anyone else. A harsh turn of fate had brought them here, and the world above might have turned a blind eye, but he would not.

The Inquisitor’s steps slowed as he approached a group of homeless people huddled together, their eyes wide with fear. He knelt beside them, his voice a low, calming whisper. "Stay quiet. Stay together. I'll handle whatever's out there." He caught the eye of a young boy, barely more than a child, and nodded reassuringly. "I'll make sure you're safe."

He stood, his hand brushing the hilt of his broadsword. The weight of the weapon was a familiar comfort—a reminder of his purpose. It was more than a tool; it was a symbol of his vow to protect those who could not protect themselves.

The Inquisitor moved forward, leaving the makeshift camp behind him, his every step deliberate and cautious. The damp air of the tunnels clung to him, the darkness pressing close, but he welcomed it. The shadows were his allies, a familiar cloak that he wore with ease. He had one purpose here: to hunt those who preyed upon the defenseless. To remind the monsters that in Las Vegas, even they could be hunted.

He moved with precision, listening intently. The tunnels were deceptively quiet, but the Inquisitor could sense the tension beneath the stillness—the subtle vibration of something moving in the distance, the quiet scrape of something that didn’t belong. He could feel it in his bones—the presence of something dark and predatory. A vampire.

Suddenly, he spotted movement in the distance. It was nothing more than a blur, a flicker of darkness against the darkness, but the Inquisitor’s sharp eyes caught it. He slowed, his heart steady, his senses focusing on the figure ahead.

The creature loomed over a woman and her young daughter. They were huddled together against the cold concrete wall, their eyes wide with terror as the vampire drew closer, its fangs glinting in the faint light. The Inquisitor could see the hunger in the creature’s eyes, the cruel smile that played across its lips. It was enjoying this—the fear, the power it held over its victims.

Rage flared in the Inquisitor's chest, hot and fierce, but he forced it down, forcing himself to remain calm. There was no room for emotion now, not when lives were on the line. He moved closer, his hand brushing the grip of his revolver. The mother-of-pearl handle was cool beneath his fingers, the weight of the weapon a reassuring presence.

The vampire lunged, and the Inquisitor knew he couldn’t wait any longer. He pulled the revolver free, the action smooth and practiced, and cocked the hammer. The click echoed softly in the tunnel, a sound that seemed to cut through the darkness like a knife.

The vampire’s head snapped around, its red eyes narrowing as it saw him. For a split second, the creature hesitated, its arrogance wavering in the face of the unknown. The Inquisitor didn’t hesitate. He aimed, the barrel of the revolver steady, and squeezed the trigger.

The shot rang out, a sharp, echoing crack that filled the tunnel. The bullet, blessed and forged from silver, struck the vampire in the chest, and the creature screamed, its body convulsing as the magic seared through it. The Inquisitor didn’t wait. He fired again, the second shot driving the vampire to the ground, where it dissolved into ash, the darkness swallowing it whole.

For a moment, there was silence. The Inquisitor lowered the revolver, his eyes never leaving the spot where the vampire had fallen. He could feel the tension in the air slowly ebbing away, replaced by a profound stillness. The immediate threat was gone.

He turned to the woman and her daughter. They were staring at him, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe. The Inquisitor took a step closer, his voice low, but gentle. “You’re safe now,” he said, his tone meant to reassure. “Stay together, and get to the surface as soon as you can. The tunnels aren’t safe.”

The woman nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

The Inquisitor inclined his head, acknowledging her gratitude without words. He holstered his revolver, the mother-of-pearl handle disappearing beneath his cloak, and turned away. He could not linger. There were others out there—others who needed him, others who might not survive if he delayed.

As he moved deeper into the tunnels, he felt the weight of his duty pressing on him. This was his life, his purpose, and it was a purpose that had brought him to the darkest corners of the world. He had seen the worst that humanity had to offer—the cruelty, the indifference, the monsters that wore human faces. But he had also seen the best—the courage, the resilience, the will to survive even in the face of unimaginable horror.

The Inquisitor knew he couldn’t save everyone. The war he fought was endless, and for every victory, there were always more battles waiting. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that he fought. That he stood between the darkness and those who couldn’t defend themselves. As long as he had breath in his body and a weapon in his hand, he would continue to fight.

The tunnels stretched on before him, dark and endless. The Inquisitor moved forward, his eyes scanning the shadows, his senses attuned to the faintest sign of danger. Somewhere in these depths, more vampires prowled, more lives hung in the balance. The monsters thought they owned the night, that they could take what they wanted without consequence. Tonight, the Inquisitor would show them otherwise.

He could hear faint sounds up ahead—voices, laughter, the soft, wet crunch of something that made his stomach turn. The Inquisitor’s expression hardened beneath his mask, and he drew his broadsword, the silver blade gleaming faintly in the darkness. He knew what awaited him, knew the kind of horror he would find, but he did not hesitate. He had faced these creatures before, had seen their cruelty firsthand. Tonight, they would learn that even in the deepest shadows, there was still light.

And the Inquisitor was that light.

The air grew colder as the Inquisitor approached the source of the sounds. The laughter and wet crunches became clearer, accompanied by the low, guttural growls of the vampires feeding. His grip on the broadsword tightened, and he took a deep breath, centering himself. The silver blade was his symbol, his promise of protection for the helpless. It glowed faintly in the darkness, the etched runes shimmering as if sensing the evil that lay ahead.

The Inquisitor rounded a corner and found himself facing a grim tableau—a small group of vampires, three in total, huddled over a fallen figure. The tunnel was dim, but he could see the blood, thick and dark, pooling beneath the body. The vampires, their faces smeared with it, looked up in surprise as they heard his approach. Their eyes, glowing a malevolent red, locked onto him, and their lips curled back to reveal elongated fangs.

One of the vampires hissed, its body tensing as it prepared to lunge. The Inquisitor wasted no time. He lunged first, his broadsword a blur as he swung it with deadly precision. The blade cut through the air with a whispering hum, striking the nearest vampire before it could react. The silver edge bit deep, cleaving through flesh and bone, and the creature let out a strangled scream as it fell.

The two remaining vampires snarled, their bloodlust now mingled with rage. They moved swiftly, their bodies blurring as they tried to flank him. But the Inquisitor was ready. He stepped back, his sword raised, his eyes tracking their movements. The vampires were fast, but he had faced their kind before—he knew their tactics, their patterns.

One of the creatures lunged at him from the side, its claws outstretched. The Inquisitor pivoted, bringing his sword around in a wide arc. The blade met the vampire's neck, slicing cleanly through it, and the creature collapsed, its head rolling away into the darkness. The other vampire hesitated, its eyes flickering with uncertainty.

The Inquisitor did not give it a chance to regroup. He pressed forward, his movements precise and relentless. He swung his broadsword, the blade arcing through the air, and the vampire barely managed to dodge. It tried to retreat, to put some distance between them, but the Inquisitor was relentless. He followed, his steps measured, his expression cold beneath the mask.

The vampire backed into a wall, its glowing eyes wide with fear. It bared its fangs, a low growl rumbling in its throat, but the Inquisitor could see the panic in its eyes. It knew it was outmatched.

With a final, powerful swing, the Inquisitor brought his sword down, cleaving through the vampire's chest. The creature let out a strangled gasp, its body convulsing before crumbling to ash. The tunnel fell silent, the echoes of the battle fading into nothingness.

The Inquisitor stood still for a moment, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. The air was thick with the stench of blood and decay, the metallic tang clinging to his senses. He looked down at the fallen figure—the victim the vampires had been feeding on. It was a man, his face pale and gaunt, his body broken. There was no saving him.

The Inquisitor knelt beside the body, murmuring a quiet prayer, his voice barely more than a whisper in the darkness. He closed the man's eyes, his gloved hand gentle as he did so. This man, like so many others, had fallen victim to the monsters that thrived in the shadows. But he would not be forgotten. The Inquisitor would carry his memory with him, a reminder of why he fought, why he could never afford to rest.

He rose to his feet, sheathing his broadsword. The fight was far from over. The vampires in these tunnels were many, their hunger insatiable, but as long as he stood, they would never go unchallenged.

The Inquisitor turned and continued down the tunnel, his senses alert, his heart steady. He could feel the darkness around him, pressing in, a heavy presence that seemed to whisper of despair and hopelessness. But he did not give in to it. He moved forward, each step a defiance of the darkness, a promise to those who had no one else to protect them.

Ahead, he could hear more sounds—footsteps, voices, the telltale signs of more vampires lurking in the depths. The Inquisitor tightened his grip on the hilt of his broadsword, his resolve unshakable. He was the Guardian of the Forgotten, the hunter of those who preyed on the weak. And tonight, the monsters of Las Vegas would learn that they were not the only predators in the night.

He would be their reckoning, the light that pierced the darkness. And as long as he drew breath, he would never stop fighting.

The echoes of his footsteps reverberated off the tunnel walls, growing softer as he approached the next bend. The Inquisitor’s mind sharpened, focusing on every small detail—every distant drip of water, every scuffle of movement far ahead. The labyrinthine depths of Las Vegas were disorienting, a maze where danger could lurk behind every corner, but he had walked these paths countless times. Each turn, each darkened alcove, was as familiar to him as the streets of the city above.

Ahead, the voices grew louder—low and guttural, punctuated by the occasional harsh laugh. The Inquisitor approached with caution, his steps now soundless on the cold concrete. He drew closer, eventually spotting the dim flicker of a flashlight beam, illuminating a group of figures huddled together in an open area of the tunnel. There were four of them, their features only partially visible in the sparse light.

The Inquisitor crouched in the shadows, studying them. Two of the figures were clearly vampires—pale, with eyes that glowed faintly red in the darkness. The others were human, but they bore the weary, resigned expressions of those who had already accepted their fate. One of the vampires was speaking, its voice low and mocking.

“Look at them,” it sneered, its sharp teeth glinting in the dim light. “Pathetic. So easily led. So easily fed upon.”

The other vampire laughed, its gaze fixed hungrily on the humans. The two men, dressed in tattered clothes, huddled close together, their eyes wide with fear. One of them clutched a small, rusted pipe as if it might offer some protection, but it was clear they knew they had no chance against their captors.

The Inquisitor’s jaw clenched. These were people who had already lost everything—now being treated like livestock by monsters who reveled in their fear. He had seen this kind of cruelty before, the way the vampires relished in the power they held over those weaker than them. And he knew that he could not let it continue.

Slowly, he rose from his crouch, his silhouette a shadowy figure against the dark walls of the tunnel. He could feel the weight of his broadsword at his side, the grip of Perditions Hand resting comfortably in his holster. He took a deep breath, focusing his energy, the runes on his sword beginning to glow faintly in response. It was time.

He moved forward, his presence now no longer hidden. The vampires were so focused on their terrified captives that they didn’t notice him at first. But the humans did—their eyes widened further, one of them letting out an audible gasp as they saw the dark figure approaching. The vampires’ heads snapped up, their eyes locking onto him, their expressions twisting into a mix of surprise and fury.

“Who the hell—” one of them began, but the Inquisitor didn’t give it a chance to finish.

With a swift, practiced motion, he drew Perditions Hand, the revolver seeming to pulse with a cold light as he aimed and fired. The shot echoed in the tunnel, a flash of light illuminating the darkness for the briefest of moments. The bullet struck true, hitting the vampire in the chest. The creature let out a strangled cry, its body convulsing as the magic-infused silver tore through it, reducing it to a pile of ash within seconds.

The second vampire snarled, baring its fangs as it lunged at the Inquisitor. It moved with blinding speed, but the Inquisitor was ready. He sidestepped, his broadsword coming up in a fluid arc. The blade met the vampire’s neck, slicing through with a sharp hiss. The creature’s head fell to the ground, its body following suit, both crumbling to ash before they could even hit the tunnel floor.

The two humans stared, their expressions a mixture of awe and disbelief. The Inquisitor sheathed his sword, his gaze shifting to them. For a moment, there was silence—just the sound of their breathing, the tension in the air slowly dissipating.

“You’re safe now,” he said, his voice calm and steady, though there was an underlying intensity to it. He reached into his coat, pulling out a small vial filled with a shimmering liquid. “Drink this. It will help restore your strength.”

The man holding the rusted pipe eyed the vial warily, but there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes. He reached out with a trembling hand, taking the vial from the Inquisitor and passing it to his companion. The other man drank first, his expression softening as the effects took hold. He handed it back, and his friend followed suit.

The Inquisitor watched them for a moment, his heart heavy with the weight of what he saw. These men had been pushed to the brink—forgotten by the world above, left to fend for themselves in a place where monsters ruled. They were survivors, but the cost of survival had been great.

“You shouldn’t stay here,” he said, his tone firm. “There’s a shelter on the north side of town—tell them the Inquisitor sent you. They’ll take you in.”

The men exchanged a glance, a flicker of hope returning to their eyes. They nodded, the man with the pipe murmuring a quiet “Thank you” before they turned and hurried away, disappearing into the darkness of the tunnel. The Inquisitor watched them go, his heart a mixture of relief and sadness. He had saved them, but he knew there would be others—always others who needed help, others who wouldn’t be so lucky.

He holstered Perditions Hand, the weight of it settling comfortably at his side. The hunt wasn’t over. There were still more monsters out there, still more people who needed protecting. The Inquisitor turned, his gaze shifting further down the tunnel, where the darkness seemed to stretch on endlessly. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what lay ahead.

As he moved forward, the weight of his duty pressed heavily on his shoulders, but he welcomed it. This was his purpose, his calling. He was the Guardian of the Forgotten, and he would not rest until every monster that prowled these tunnels was eradicated.

He walked on, disappearing into the shadows once more, his figure swallowed by the darkness. The only sign of his passing was the faint glow of his broadsword, a beacon of hope in a world that had long since forgotten what it meant to truly be safe.

The further he moved into the tunnels, the heavier the air grew. The stench of mildew mixed with a metallic tang hung thick in the confined space. The dim light gave way to a complete lack of visibility, and even the occasional trickle of water from the ceiling failed to alleviate the oppressive silence that had taken hold. The Inquisitor's senses were alert, every part of him tuned to the surroundings, listening for even the faintest disturbance.

He paused briefly, drawing out an amulet hanging from around his neck—a small silver cross, etched with holy symbols and encrusted with fragments of crystal blessed by a priest of his order. The artifact served as both protection and a beacon, sensing the presence of the undead. He closed his eyes, feeling the energy of the amulet resonate, and sure enough, there was a faint but undeniable pull coming from the darkness ahead—a sign that more of the creatures lurked nearby.

The Inquisitor’s eyes opened, their intensity now steeled by certainty. His hand moved to his bandolier, where each of his specially crafted silver bullets waited, each engraved with sacred symbols that glinted under the dim light. He slipped one into the chamber of Perditions Hand, feeling the familiar sense of anticipation that always preceded an encounter.

With measured steps, he moved on, every nerve taut, every fiber of his being ready for what lay ahead. The tunnels were twisting and uneven, branching off in ways that could easily lead one astray, but the Inquisitor had walked these pathways enough to know them by heart. The subtle vibrations beneath his feet suggested the city above was alive—oblivious to the secret battle that raged below its glittering surface.

Suddenly, he heard it—a faint scraping sound, like claws on concrete. The Inquisitor halted, tilting his head slightly to listen more closely. It was coming from up ahead, from one of the alcoves where the tunnel opened up into a wider space. Carefully, he approached, his footsteps as silent as death itself.

As he drew nearer, he could make out more distinct sounds—the low growls of the vampires and the soft whimpering of another victim. His grip tightened on the handle of his revolver, his heart steady and cold. The air seemed to thicken, the oppressive darkness pressing closer as he neared the alcove.

What he saw there confirmed his worst fears. A group of four vampires surrounded a woman, her clothes torn and her face streaked with dirt. They leered at her, their eyes glowing in the darkness, their fangs bared in hungry anticipation. She was backed against the wall, trembling, her eyes filled with terror as she stared at the monsters who encircled her like wolves around prey.

The Inquisitor moved before they could react, stepping into the open space, his revolver already raised. The vampires turned, their eyes widening as they realized they were no longer alone. But they were too late.

The first shot rang out, striking the nearest vampire square in the chest. The creature screamed, its voice echoing through the tunnels as it fell backward, its body disintegrating into ash before it hit the ground. The others snarled in response, lunging toward the Inquisitor, but he was ready.

The next vampire reached for him, its claws outstretched, but he sidestepped with practiced ease, his broadsword flashing in the darkness. The blade cleaved through the creature’s torso, the runes along its edge flaring with power as the vampire’s body fell to pieces, vanishing in a cloud of ash.

The remaining two hesitated, their glowing eyes fixed on him with a mixture of hatred and fear. The Inquisitor did not give them the chance to regroup. He fired twice more, the enchanted bullets finding their marks with unerring accuracy. The vampires shrieked in agony, their forms disintegrating in an instant, leaving behind nothing but silence and the acrid scent of burning.

The Inquisitor holstered his revolver, his eyes shifting to the woman. She stared at him, her eyes wide, her body still trembling from the terror of what she had endured. He approached slowly, his demeanor calm, his movements deliberate so as not to frighten her further.

“It’s alright,” he said softly, his voice carrying an unexpected gentleness. “You’re safe now.”

She blinked, as if struggling to comprehend his words. Slowly, she nodded, her gaze fixed on the dark-clad figure who had saved her from a fate she could scarcely imagine. Her voice trembled as she spoke. “Who...who are you?”

He hesitated for a moment before answering. “I’m just someone who hunts the monsters,” he said simply. “You need to get out of here. Can you walk?”

She nodded, though her legs seemed shaky beneath her. He extended a hand, helping her up, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of more danger. Once he was sure they were alone, he reached into his coat, pulling out another vial—similar to the one he had given to the men earlier. He handed it to her.

“Drink this. It will help you regain your strength,” he said.

She took the vial with trembling hands, drinking its contents. The effect was almost immediate; the color returned to her face, her breathing steadying. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with gratitude and confusion.

“Why...why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

The Inquisitor paused, his gaze softening as he regarded her. “Because someone has to,” he said. “There are people out there who are forgotten—people like you. The monsters think they can take what they want, but I won’t allow it.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and she nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He nodded in return, his eyes hardening once more as he turned his attention back to the darkness. “Head to the north side of town,” he instructed. “There’s a shelter there. Tell them I sent you. They’ll take care of you.”

She hesitated, then turned and began to walk away, glancing back at him once before disappearing into the shadows. The Inquisitor watched her go, a sense of satisfaction washing over him. One more life saved, one more small victory in a war that seemed to stretch endlessly before him.

He turned, his gaze shifting to the deeper darkness that lay ahead. There were still more vampires to be dealt with, still more innocent lives to protect. He adjusted his hat, the wide brim casting his face in shadow, and drew his sword once more.

The hunt was far from over.