Miles And Miles ...: Van Helsing -

The fog over the Transylvanian Alps didn't just hang; it clung, a heavy, wet shroud that tasted of pine resin and old iron. Gabriel Van Helsing adjusted the leather strap of his rotary crossbow, the gears clicking rhythmically against the silence of the pass.

"Is that... them?" Carl whispered, fumbling for a vial of holy water.

The distance between them and their quarry had shrunk from miles to yards in a heartbeat. From the tree line, a shape detached itself—a towering mass of elongated limbs and pale, translucent skin. It moved with a sickening fluidity, blurring the line between man and beast. Van Helsing - Miles and Miles ...

They had been tracking the shadow for weeks—a trail of exsanguinated livestock and villages silenced by a terror that left no tracks. This wasn't Dracula; this was something more feral, a remnant of the Old World that even the Order of St. Dumas whispered about in hushed tones.

"It’s him," Van Helsing corrected, drawing a silver-edged kukri. "And he’s tired of running." The fog over the Transylvanian Alps didn't just

Van Helsing didn't look back. He was watching the way the mist swirled in the valley below. It wasn't moving with the wind; it was pulsing, like a slow, grey lung. He knew that rhythm. It was the breath of something ancient, something that didn't need to breathe at all. "We don't have three days," Van Helsing said.

Van Helsing stepped forward, his silhouette sharp against the rising moon. He didn't feel fear; he felt the familiar, cold weight of duty. The road was long, the journey was grueling, and the destination was usually a grave. But as the creature lunged, Gabriel met it mid-air, the silver flashing like a fallen star. The miles were behind him. The fight was now. It moved with a sickening fluidity, blurring the

Should we focus the next chapter on the or follow their desperate escape through the pass?