In a dim, cold chamber of the castle—an unmistakable place of torment—a man hangs chained, bearing the marks of a seasoned hero who has suffered through hell itself. His body, scarred but unbroken, speaks of battles fought for causes now obscured by time. His expression, though grim, carries a deep valor. Two imposing figures, dressed in revealing model-like fitting provocative yet protective armor, enter—known as "The Executors." They flank a woman, the very one this man had desperately tried to rescue wearing modest clothing of course.

His confusion deepens as he notices the device wrapped around her neck, a cruel symbol of her transformation. The woman approaches him with a wicked grin, her steps purposeful, and gently lifts his chin, her eyes glinting. "Ravishing, isn't it?" she murmurs. "My master gave it to me."

She turns her gaze back to the towering Executors. With a single, respectful motion, they place their hands over their chests in deference. The atmosphere shifts, thickening with tension, as the woman's smile deepens. "And speaking of master..." she adds, her voice low and deliberate.

The man struggles in his chains, eyes wild with recognition as he realizes what has transpired. He knows the consequences of what has been done to her—knows it’s too late for rescue. His body thrashes, but his spirit does not break.