Betrayed by Blood
The dungeon was cold, its damp walls reeking of mildew. A single torch flickered in the corner. Xander sat slumped against the wall, his face pale, his severed arm wrapped in dirty bandages. His remaining hand clenched into a fist, nails roughly biting into his palm. It had been days, and he was slowly losing his mind locked in here.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor, slow and deliberate. Xander didn't look up. He didn't have to. He knew who it was.
The guards had mysteriously disappeared earlier, and he wasn't stupid enough to believe it was a coincidence.
The heavy iron bars creaked open, and Matt stepped inside, his eyebrows cocked up arrogantly, his lips twisted into a smug smile. It irked Xander. Matt carried himself with an air of arrogance.
"Well," Matt began, his voice dripping with mockery as he stopped right in front of Xander. "How's our fallen warrior today?"
