As Draven's consciousness slowly returned, he found himself in a dimly lit room, tied to a chair. The pain in his head was excruciating, and his body felt battered and bruised from the recent beating. He looked around and saw several black-armored soldiers standing in the corners, their emotionless gazes fixated on him.
Suddenly, the sound of slow claps echoed through the room. Draven turned his head and saw the warden emerging from the darkness. The warden's presence sent a chill down his spine, and he knew he was in deep trouble.
"Well, well, well, the Reaper himself. You certainly have a knack for causing trouble, don't you?" the warden said with a sinister grin. Slowly, he removed his helmet, revealing his face. The warden's appearance was as ruthless as his reputation. He had black and gray hair, and one of his eyes was white, scarred over from some past injury. It gave him a cold, menacing look that matched his cruel nature.
