((I woke up and it jumped from 0 to 36. Compared to that, your experience is mild. This thing didn't start, it jumpstarted.))
Jargo fell to the ground, and claimed his last breath. He died at the age of 576, making him a relatively old vampire. Dresden had respected him, and so had most of the vampires in this hall. He had followed Jargo, believing in the leader. Howevr, when Jargo had halted his war attempts, he had objected. Jargo had wanted to create peace with the humans. It had been too much. Darren had challenged Jargo to a duel, and won, claiming Jargo's Crimson Blade. He plced his foot on Jargo's head, growling, and crushed it beneath his feet, the skull collapsing inwards under the pressure. Then, Dresden turned to his comrades, covered in the man's blood, mixed with his own.
Among the crowd were his Old Bloods, those who were one with the old ways, and fought with him. There were also those who had supported Jargo, and he saw them kneel down to him. Nobody questioned his right to rule. He had killed Jargo with honor, and he was now the leader of the Pack. He saw the anticipation in the eyes of his followers, and the resignation in others. It did not matter. He would lead the Pack to glory. First, the nearby SOLDIERs, and then, he would lead his glorious army all over the Earth. Many would follow his banner, and s his army grew, he would wipe all humans from the face of the Earth, aside from those that bowed to them. They would be slaves, kept for their blood. He was not a planner, but he knew some of his men were, and he could see the glorious plac unfold in his mind, as he stood there, for all to see, splattered with spilt blood, wielding the Crimson Blade. He lifted his head, and howled with bloodlust and fury.
As if on que, his men followed, in a symphony of howls that echoed through the caves, out into the night, professing their bloodlust for the world. The ice shivered and the air froze, as more and more voices joined the choir, more and more of the vampires giving in to their primal urges. The sound shook the caves, as the many wolves of the forest took up the howl, carrying it across the valley, a thunderous roar of hatred, fury, exhaltion, and freedom. Each held the tone, the cacaphony growing greater with every second that passed, until it seemed the very walls would crash to the ground, when Darren and his warriors halted.
As one, the horde of vampires stormed from the caves, brandishing swords and axes, spears and knives, or simply their bare hands. They rushed down into the valley, wolves joining their ranks, running with them, towards their target. It would be a slaughter, and many would fall, as Darren ran at the head of the hunt, revelling in this freedom and savagerry. He felt his blood pulse through his veinst, without need for a heart, moving simply by desire to kill. The Hunt had begun.