Medea responded with a light scoff, her eyes betraying a volatile mixture of frustration and restrained fury.
Were she not tightly bound to the patient's chair, her instincts would have driven her to seize anything sharp at hand and take a lethal stab at Gloria's throat—such was the intensity of her rage, fueled by the current forced extraction of blood from her arms.
"You Pureblood lot are a bunch of fools... you'll never have a snowball's chance in hell against us Enigmas!" she spat, though her words were swiftly met with a firm restraint from the attending nurse who pressed down on her shoulder.
"Look at how pathetic you've become! Hahaha... you're so desperate to resurrect my nephew, even though you're well aware that those bastards you're trying to protect will tear each other apart for a chance to claim him!" she taunted, a manic laughter threading through her words.
Gloria maintained her silence, her gaze shifting to Martin who stood at her side.
