The grand hall stood silent now, the air heavy with the iron tang of blood and death. Dim candlelight flickered over the remains of the feast-shattered bones, shredded clothing, and unrecognisable lumps of flesh littering the polished floors. Crimson streaks smeared the gilded walls, like grotesque paintings commemorating the vampires' depravity.

The slaves entered in a slow, shuffling line, their faces pale and gaunt, eyes wide with suppressed terror. Luke led the way, his shoulders stiff as his boots squelched against the gore beneath them. Jake followed close behind, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned white. The other slaves remained quiet, too frightened to even whisper.

A single command echoed in their minds:

clean.

Luke grabbed a mop and bucket from the supply closet at the edge of the hall. The tools felt absurdly small for the monumental task ahead. Without hesitation, he bent down and began gathering pieces of what once were people. Fingers, shredded torsos, and clumps of hair-Luke worked with mechanical precision, his face a mask of indifference.

Jake, however, froze. He stared at the floor, his breathing shallow and quick. His eyes fixated on a severed hand, its delicate fingers still adorned with rings. His stomach churned violently.

"Jake," Luke said sharply, not looking up.

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"Focus."

Jake's head snapped toward his friend, anger burning in his gaze. "How can you act like this is normal?" he hissed, his voice low enough not to draw the attention of the guards watching from the hall's far corners.

Luke stopped, straightened, and turned toward Jake. His face was unreadable, but his voice was calm and cold. "It's not about normal. It's about surviving long enough to get out of here."

Jake clenched his jaw but nodded.

He grabbed a mop and started cleaning, his movements erratic and fueled by rage. Every swipe of the mop left a streak of smeared blood, and he cursed under his breath, the stench of death overwhelming him.

"Why do they even keep us alive?" Jake muttered, his voice shaking. "We're nothing but tools to them. Food. Entertainment."

Luke didn't answer immediately. Instead, he picked up a bloodied fragment of a dress and threw it into the pile forming near the center of the room. "Because they need us. Without humans, they starve."

"Then let's starve them," Jake snapped, his anger bubbling over. He dropped the mop and turned to Luke, his voice trembling with fury. "Let's burn this whole place to the ground. Them, their pets, everything."

Luke grabbed Jake's arm, his grip firm. "If you want to get yourself killed, fine. But if you're serious about taking them down, you'll stay quiet and follow my lead. We can't afford mistakes.'

Jake stared at Luke, his chest heaving.

Finally, he nodded, though the fire in his eyes didn't dim.

When the last of the blood and gore was scraped from the floor and the hall began to resemble its former opulence, the guards barked orders for the slaves to leave. But before they did, Jake leaned close to Luke, his voice low but resolute.

"We have to escape," Jake said, his words laced with conviction. "And we're not leaving anyone behind-not the slaves, not the pets.

No one."

Luke met his friend's gaze. For the first time in a long while, he saw something other than anger in Jake's eyes. He saw purpose.

"We will," Luke promised, his voice barely above a whisper. "But we have to be smart about it. No one else dies because of us."

The two exchanged a solemn nod, an unspoken pact forged amidst the remnants of carnage. As they walked back to their quarters, the scent of blood still clinging to their skin, a dangerous hope flickered between them.

For the first time in years, they allowed themselves to imagine a world beyond the mansion's walls... a world where they were free.