The kind that really, really hates people like us. They called us Blood.

[He kicks at one of the bodies to see if maybe he left alone alive in his furious rage, but he didn't. In hindsight... Maybe he should have.] I thought, at first, maybe they were calling for blood like some big dramatic war cry, but no... That was a proper name.

[He reaches into his coat pocket and produces the large green jewel from his dream. He'd almost forgotten about it, except for the part where it feels like it's connected to him and his powers. He felt stronger, and less harried by his own bloodletting.] Maybe it has to do with this?