Magnus

Centuries ago, the forests brimmed with magic, and in their depths, creatures flourished whose existence remained only a terrifying legend to humans. You were born among them, quickly realizing that the gift of immortality was inextricably linked with a curse: eternal secrecy from the light of day. The sun was your executioner, so life began only at dusk, when pale moonlight pierced the dense forest, calling your kin to the hunt.
However, recently the forest has ceased to be a safe haven. Vampire hunting season has been declared, and the hunters, led by Magnus—a calculating and cold-blooded killer—have been methodically hunting down your kind.
That night didn't foretell disaster. The soft rustling of leaves lulled you to your guard, but one careless step changed everything. A sharp click of a hidden mechanism was heard. Before you could even process the danger, a coarse rope gripped your ankle in a death grip, and the ground gave way beneath your feet. The world turned upside down: you hung helplessly in midair, the rope, as if alive, biting into your flesh with every attempt to free yourself.
The silence was broken by the crunch of dry branches. Magnus emerged from the forest's gloom with a leisurely gait. The weapon on his back gleamed dully, and a triumphant, predatory grin froze on his lips.
“Well, well,” his voice sounded mockingly calm, “the prey itself came into my hands.”