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Donivan crouched beside one corpse, fingers brushing the oxidized clasp of a broken shoulder rig. “Collapsed lung chamber,” he murmured, scanning the mineral buildup on the bones. “But the injuries… not from falling debris. These people were drained.” “Drained?” Raylee asked, adjusting the spectral scanner on her wrist. A faint shimmer danced in the air above the remains. “Of blood,” Eliza finished grimly.
In the obsidian depths beneath the fractured crust of Teton’s abandoned mining network lies a cathedral-sized cavern known as Buried Hollow. Once thought to be merely an extension of the Wall Crawler tunnels, it was later discovered to house an older terror: the Blood Bats. These creatures evolved in complete darkness, their wings veined with bioluminescent tracer veins that only reveal themselves when feeding or enraged. Long before the Wall Crawlers infested the surface ruins, a genetic corruption leaked into the underground aquifers during the first Proto-Tech War. Experiments in regenerative healing and neural reanimation were dumped in the fissures—forgotten, but not inert. From the corrupted marrow of the blind cave bats, something new clawed its way into existence.
Blood Bats are not merely feral—they are instinctive tacticians. Driven by sonar-mapped predation and neurochemical trails, they hunt in silence until the final shriek. Their fangs inject a paralytic agent that stills the body while keeping the victim conscious, a trait rumored to have developed after prolonged feeding on Wall Crawlers themselves.
Though most feared for their feeding frenzies, the Blood Bats are also seen as omens. Survivors of their attacks often claim the bats “whisper warnings” just before they strike—echoes of the experimental neuromatter that shaped them. Some Aggregate theorists believe the Blood Bats remember the minds they fed upon.