In the huge Council chamber, Skars, who took the form of Raphael, lounged impressively in the royal throne, his arms spread out on the wide armrests, but his gaze was eagle-sharp as he looked at the prisoners kneeling in front of him.
Previously, he would have laughed, turned everything into a game of survival, but now hatred for these people overshadowed his view so much that he saw nothing in front of him but a scarlet curtain, behind which he tortures these people in the most merciless way in his subconscious.
Bowing their heads and trembling with genuine fear from the heavy aura, Christopher Pegins, the pitiful king of Adman, and Preston, beaten like a stray dog, the leader of the rebels among the werewolves who chose the wrong side, all held their breath, feeling that every breath they took could be their last at the same second.
