Others were pinned down, their bodies broken piece by piece, each crack of bone punctuated by another blood-curdling cry.
"AHHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHH—AAAAAAGH!"
The tortures stretched on and on.
Minutes felt like hours.
Hours felt like entire lifetimes of pain.
And the worst part?
None of the victims were allowed to die quickly.
Every time a man hovered on the brink of unconsciousness, a brutal slap or kick jolted him awake, forcing him to feel every second of his torment.
Their voices grew hoarse, then shredded, turning screams into ragged whimpers—only for fresh pain to drag new screams out again.
The floor grew slick with blood—thick, dark, and pooling until it reached the steps of Ross's throne.
And Ross…
He simply watched.
His fingers tapped lightly on the armrest, eyes glowing with satisfaction as he observed the hell unfolding before him.
To him, this was not cruelty—it was justice, entertainment, a well-earned retribution.
