The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven novel Chapter 231

Chapter 231: Massacred Without Mercy

(Third Person).

Dusk blanketed the forest in a haze of gold and ash, the trees casting long, skeletal shadows across the damp underbrush.

The wind was still, unnaturally quiet—like even the birds had taken shelter. But the armoured convoy rumbled in anyway, tires crushing gravel and leaves as four matte-black transport trucks pulled up at the edge of the woods.

Metallic hisses broke the silence as doors swung open. Dozens of men in reinforced body armour filed out in practised movements—boots heavy, eyes hidden behind infrared visors.

Guns gleamed under the pale orange sun, locked and loaded with UV-laced rounds.

Tactical vests bore the emblem of the Duskmoor Private Defense Division—an offshoot of the city’s underground government tasked with "extraterrestrial containment." However, none of the soldiers used that term aloud.

"We deploy in teams of seven," barked a tall soldier with a deep scar running down his jaw. His earpiece blinked green. "Standard formation. Sweep the zone. No hero stunts. If it moves too fast to track—mark it, don’t chase it."

The teams nodded. They knew the drill. Or thought they did.

Moments later, the woods swallowed them whole.

---

Leaves crunched beneath boots as the first team advanced slowly, weapons raised.

Each man watched the gaps between trees like a hawk. Even the slightest movement sent fingers tightening around triggers.

Suddenly, a snap sound was heard. A twig broke.

Instantly, the seven men formed a defensive ring, backs to each other, rifles up. The red glow of laser sights danced across the underbrush.

"I heard that," one muttered. "Northwest, maybe five meters."

A brief silence followed. Then—

"I got it!" one of them yelled, swinging his rifle toward a blur.

Bang. Bang! Two rounds exploded into nothing but empty forest.

"False alarm—"

"No, I saw it too! Three o’clock!"

Another soldier pivoted and fired three quick bursts. More air. More shadow.

Suddenly, something darted through the trees—a glimmer of movement, impossible to track. A blur faster than the eye. Panic rose immediately.

"I swear I saw it!" one barked. "Stop playing with us, dammit—"

Then, without warning, a ’bam’ sound echoed. A clean shot rang out, and something hissed.

The blur collapsed, tumbling against the forest floor in a heap of blood and black leather. The vampire’s body hit the dirt with a wet thud, arms splayed unnaturally.

"Target’s down!" the soldier shouted, chest heaving.

The team crept closer, rifles still trained.

"Is it dead?" one asked, circling wide.

"Looks dead." Another stepped forward and kicked the limp foot with the tip of his boot. The creature didn’t move.

Laughter started to bubble up—nervous at first, then increasingly bold.

"Holy shit," said the youngest, practically bouncing. "We got it. We actually got one!"

One of them pressed two fingers to his earpiece. "Command, this is Echo. Confirmed: target neutralized. Repeat, target neutralized. Requesting extraction team—coordinates incoming."

A response crackled back. "Excellent work, Echo. Stay sharp. Reinforcements en route."

The men whooped.

A soldier checked his wrist-mounted compass and gave the exact location over a separate channel.

Then the group began congratulating each other—cocky grins and shoulder pats all around.

One of them even lit a cigarette.

"gods," one whispered.

"What the hell happened here?" another murmured, stomach churning.

The only survivor wheezed, blood leaking from his mouth and eyes. "Don’t... don’t chase them..."

A soldier stepped forward and raised his gun. The single shot echoed, silencing the man’s pain.

The others stood in stunned silence.

One finally muttered, "We underestimated them. Whatever these things are... they’re not just monsters."

"They are death."

---

At another part of the woods, the tall commandant with the scar pressed two blood-streaked fingers to his earpiece, his face pale beneath the grime.

"Echo team is gone," he said, voice cold and clipped. "They were wiped out—ripped apart."

Gasps and murmurs flared over the other open channels, but the commandant didn’t flinch.

"All units—fall back. Regroup immediately. Return to convoy staging."

He turned, barking at his men with sharp hand gestures. "Let’s move! Back to the transports, now!"

No one hesitated. Whatever illusions they had about this hunt being simple, or even survivable, had been shattered.

Footsteps thundered through the forest as soldiers sprinted through undergrowth, nerves frayed and eyes darting in every direction. No one wanted to be the last man behind. The tension was a noose around every throat.

By the time the last team emerged from the tree line, the armoured vehicles were already rumbling to life.

Doors slammed, engines growled, and mud flew as tires bit into soft earth.

The entire unit retreated with the urgency of a losing army—silent, shaken, humiliated.