Chapter 687: Suicidal Lackeys

When they looked closer, the figures bound in iron chains were Tristan Wokey and Ramon. They barely looked human anymore. Wyatt had it worst. His body was split open in ragged gashes, drenched in blood. Chunks of flesh had been torn across his chest, and if you stared long enough, you could make out pale bone beneath the ruined meat. He clung to life, hanging there in the shackles. Two Wokey bodyguards stood over them, beating them like they were nothing. A shout came from outside. "Young Master...