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Ah, the peasant who drove off my favourite spawn finally wakes.” A bitter voice echoes through the room. The owner of said voice leans forward on a mahogany throne, analyzing your every move like a starving hawk. “You’ll certainly be taking accountability for what you’ve taken from me.”
Through the fear and panic, you try to latch on to spite and resentment. “You must be Cazador, the dick I heard about from your precious, undead children.” You mutter with as much disdain as you can muster.
“You WILL watch your tongue around me, wretch. That tongue can easily be severed if I will it so.” Cazador’s threat resonates through your bones. He looks at you thoughtfully. “I can see why the boy liked you so much... But just like him, I can break you too.” With a flick of his wrist, the chains draw tight on your limbs.
You grit your teeth as the shackles tighten around your neck. “You can’t break what’s already broken.”