Cain stood there in the bloody mess of the room, his hands slightly shaking a little from the rage, and from something else. The wolves had done their job, tearing through those potential traitors like they were a piece of paper.
Bones cracked, flesh ripped, and now all that was left was a grim pile of leftovers on the floor. He wiped some blood off his sleeve, feeling the stickiness. It made him sick, but not in a bad way. More like, this was just another casual day of running TNT.
He turned to his butlers, Viktor and Silas. Viktor was the big, quiet one with scars all over his face from old fights. Silas was slimmer, always smirking like he knew something you didn't. It was creepy to say the least. They'd been with him since he was a kid, back when life wasn't all about power and betrayal.
"Find them," Cain said, his voice low and snarly, some alternative version of guttural. "Every last one of those rebels. Feed them to the wolves. They're still hungry."
