The heavy iron gates creaked open, their echo bouncing ominously off the cold stone walls of the underground prison. Two nightcrawler guards strode in, their boots clanging against the floor. Their malicious grins widened as they approached the figure chained to the center of the chamber. Xavier hung by silver shackles that bound his wrists and ankles, suspending him in a half-slumped posture. His body was littered with bruises, fresh burns, and festering wounds where the silver had eaten into his flesh. Despite the agony, his golden wolf eyes still burned with defiance.
Following the guards, Acantha stepped into the chamber, her posture regal and commanding. She exuded a chilling aura, her gaze unwavering as it settled on the battered werewolf before her. Her leather boots made no sound as she approached, and the flickering torchlight danced off her pale skin and the sharp edge of her fangs.
