Their blood was boiling. So many of their people were dead, and those men had the gall to mock the fallen. They couldn't stand it. Veins throbbed at their temples as each man fought to leash the wolves inside him.
The captain wanted to tell his men to ignore the taunts, but even he felt his stomach twist in fury at those vile words that desecrated the memory of their fallen comrades. His fists clenched, and he shut his eyes tight, trying to contain the rage burning within him.
When he opened them again, his irises glowed a deep, furious red, the unmistakable mark of hatred threatening to consume him.
But he couldn't give in. Not now. He couldn't just abandon Levi to chase vengeance against those rogues.
Greg, following closely behind, heard the taunts too, yet instead of rebuking his men, he merely chuckled, as if he shared their perverse amusement. It was clear then that whatever shred of morality Greg once had was long gone.
