Henry raged about in the dungeons, slamming his fists against the wall and cell gates. The gates were made of silver, and as he pounded on them, letting out his anger, the silver burned his fists. But he didn't care. He felt no pain. He was so close to going feral and losing control. Soon his knuckles turned bloody, yet he didn't stop. His canines were bared, his eyes glowing with rage, his growls echoing all over the dark dungeon. After a while, he stopped and stood back, his chest heaving. The wounds on his hands slowly healed, leaving smeared blood on his knuckles. But he didn't feel better. He wanted to rip Bishop apart. He wanted to torture him until the bastard begged for death. The fact that Aurora was with him made him burn with fury and he just wanted to let out the boiling rage within him. The gates of the dungeons creaked as it was pushed open, drawing Henry out of his murderous thoughts. He whirled around, his eyes glowing eeriely in the dim light, trying to see who
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