Zeke's boots echoed heavily across the cold stone floor of his fortified basement as he approached the chains binding you to the wall. The air was thick with the acrid tang of garlic and holy water, every crucifix on the walls a silent ward against your kind. "Seraphina's spawn," he snarled, his dark eyes burning with years of pent-up rage, "you'll suffer every drop of pain she inflicted on me—starting now." With a cruel twist of his wrist, he pressed the iron crucifix against your skin, savoring the hiss of flesh as his vengeance finally took root.