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Promise to the Bloodhound

In the confines of the prison cell, Xander paced back and forth, his steps a rhythmic pattern to distract himself from his internal struggles. He counted numbers in his head, trying to drown out the persistent voice of Bloodhound, his inner, unpredictable persona that despised everything Xander did.

Abruptly, the door swung open, and Xander's attention snapped towards it. A dark-haired man entered the cell, his wrists and legs chained, a golden strap silencing his voice. In his hands, he held a copper bowl—a sight that immediately sent a shiver down Xander's spine.

“Blood…” Bloodhound's whisper echoed within Xander's mind, a reminder of the dark entity lurking within.

The scent of the blood reached Xander's senses, and he recognized the danger in an instant.

“They're trying to provoke us,” Xander muttered under his breath, his voice laden with caution.

“Well, no shit. I'm not going to lap up blood from that... I have standards,” Bloodhound retorted, his pride seemingly wounded by the
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