The moment his claws snapped, agony shot up Fenrir Greyback's arm and slammed into his mind, filling him with horror.
He stiffly raised his arm and stared in disbelief at his broken claws.
These claws had been the extension of his strength, the symbol and pride of his superiority. He had once used them to tear open countless bodies of flesh and blood.
During those long days and nights of imprisonment, besides remembering his past experiences beneath the full moon, he had indulged in countless fantasies—fantasies of swinging his claws and ripping open Vizet's feigned calm face.
That had been almost one of his only two comforts.
Just moments ago, he had still firmly believed these claws could destroy anything.
Especially after he had fused the images with his hatred, he had become utterly convinced that as long as he had the chance, there was nothing in this world... that could withstand his claws!
Yet reality answered with only a "crack."
The claws he had imagined to be unstoppable seemed so pitifully fragile before those vines formed from Transfiguration.
Once again, he felt the bone-deep chill in the rain. All his confidence, all his hatred, even the "victory" he had only just established, were shattered by that crisp "crack."
Vizet's voice sounded by Fenrir Greyback's ear. "Mr. Greyback, you seemed to have intended to use your claws and fangs as weapons to tear me apart. It's just that the result clearly wasn't quite as satisfying as you'd hoped..."
Fenrir Greyback's attention was fixed on the vines, and he did not respond to Vizet.
No!
This was not over yet!
He tried hard to convince himself that a top predator had merely slipped up once. He absolutely could not give up!
A sharp gleam flickered in his eyes as he frantically