The moment his claws snapped, searing pain shot up Fenrir Greyback's arm and into his mind, filling him with horror.
He stiffly raised his arm and stared at his broken claws in disbelief.
He had regarded those claws as an extension of his strength, symbols of his superiority and pride. He had once used them to tear apart countless bodies of flesh and blood.
During those long days and nights of imprisonment, aside from recalling the nights of the full moon, he had fantasized countless times about swinging his claws and ripping open Wizet's deliberately composed face.
They had been almost his only two comforts.
Just moments ago, he had still believed these claws to be indestructible.
Especially after he had fused the images with his hatred, he had been utterly convinced that, given the chance, there was nothing in this world... that could withstand his claws!
Yet reality answered with nothing more than a sharp crack.
The claws that should have been invincible proved utterly fragile before those vines formed through Transfiguration.
He felt the bone-deep chill of the rain again. All his confidence, all his hatred, even the "victory" he had only just established, were shattered by that crisp cracking sound.
Wizet's voice sounded beside Fenrir Greyback's ear. "Mr. Greyback, it seems you intended to use your claws and fangs as weapons to tear me apart. Clearly, the outcome has not been quite as you wished..."
Fenrir Greyback's attention remained fixed on the vines, and he did not respond to Wizet.
No!
This was not over yet!
He desperately convinced himself that a top predator had merely made one mistake. He absolutely could not give up!
A fierce gleam flashed in his eyes as he frantically scanned the vines around his legs, trying to find even the slightest