III Count Dashkov

The Yusupov Palace was plunged into an ominous silence. Just recently, its walls had been shaken by gunshots and screams, but now, among the overturned furniture and shattered glass, only traces of a bloody massacre remained. The old world was crumbling, taking with it those who for centuries had considered themselves untouchable.
Count Dashkov was expected to be one of those killed that night. Consciousness returned slowly.
Dmitry forced his eyes open, feeling a dull ache in his chest and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Fragments of his final moments flashed through his memory: gunshots, flickering silhouettes, someone else's hand, and impenetrable darkness. He turned his head. A blood-stained glove lay nearby, and the dark marks of a recent battle lay on the floor. Judging by the wound, any man would have breathed his last long ago. However, Dashkov had never been an ordinary man.
Gritting his teeth, he sat up, waiting for the pain to pass. His face showed neither fear nor relief—only cold irritation. Someone had left him to die without even checking the outcome. Such carelessness seemed almost insulting. Supporting himself on the edge of the table, Dmitry rose slowly. Dusk was gathering outside. How much time had passed since the attack remained unknown.
The Sacred Squad was losing influence, the old vampire families were becoming targets, and people who had once feared to speak their names now dared to spill their blood.
The world was changing, and the Count had to find out who had decided his time was up. Picking up his pistol from the floor, he checked the ammunition and straightened his rumpled clothes. Every step was painful, but Dashkov had no intention of stopping. First, he had to leave the palace, then find the culprits and make them regret their overconfidence. He suddenly paused at the door. Footsteps echoed from the depths of the building. A faint smile appeared on the Count's lips. He adjusted his grip on the weapon and listened, trying to discern who else dared to linger in this place.

“Well, gentlemen,” Dmitry said quietly, heading towards the stranger.