Soaking in his bath of virgin's blood, cold pressed, Nergal was feeling fine. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so fine. Two games in the league, and two wins.
If he recalled correctly, they had never won two games in one season. Maybe the team was finally coming together. No vampires had died for a long time, and even more, the new guys were finally showing some skills.
He guessed it all started last season, when they surprisingly made the play-offs and won their first title. Of course they lost their first play-off game and the title was only for best passing team in a league full of slow and clumsy undead, but still. It helped with morale.
Training those two useless thralls to use a knife was a feat of genius too. They doubted him when he decided to add stakes to the Bold one. Hissing and cursing him. Sure, it made him more obvious on the pitch and the ref usually sends him off before the end of the game, and no one really wants to stand next to him anymore, but who cares. He's been stabbing right and left since the beginning of the season. The skinny one has been of good use too. Overall, he finally couldn't complain about the thralls. They were truly coming together, and doing their share of the work on the the pitch.
He called for his loyal Warassuni. He's the only one who's been with him in every game since the beginning. Always shadowing him, ready to offer his neck. He sometimes felt attached to that human, but he knew it was ludicrous. He would die eventually, they would all die. And he would be left alone again. Losing game after game and watching everyone die. If only the other vampires would stop dying too.
He snapped out of his reverie. He had plans to make for next game. They would face the dreaded Scurvy Dogs. They've lost every time against this team. It's going to be hard, almost impossible, but we'll see. It might finally be the Vampires' turn to win. The hour of the Outlaws.