After a few minutes, Esau was in the clearing where the demon had been when he’d shot it, breathing heavily, his gun held at the ready in his hands. Cautiously he approached the dark puddle on the ground, his eyes scanning the windows and the rooftops for any signs of the demon, a shifting of shadows, a glimpse of its inhuman form, a dark smear of the thing’s blood leading towards some hiding spot, but there was nothing. He activated his goggles, but they revealed no secrets either.
He frowned. He picked up a stone at his feet and threw it through the window of a nearby home. He could hear a scream from inside, but the sound drew no gunfire, no movement, no other noise.
“Very well, then,” Esau muttered under his breath. He stepped into the clearing, wishing for some kind of a response from the demon, an attack, anything, but nothing came. He bent low and examined the blood looking for a trail, but he couldn’t find that either. Finally he dipped his finger in it.
It was cold. Not even faintly warm.
He raised it to his nose and sniffed.
It was not blood.