The room was heavy with silence.
Except for the ragged breathing of the broken man pressed against the wall.
Shou Tucker's body trembled beneath the weight of his shattered bones and shattered mind alike. Every snap MC had dealt to his fingers echoed in the man's ears—an unrelenting reminder of justice clawing its way through years of denial and cruelty.
Tucker's eyes were glassy now, flickering between terror and disbelief. His mind spun in a whirlwind of regret, confusion, and terror—the walls of his sanity crumbling like burnt paper.
MC watched, chest tight, heart pounding—not just with righteous fury, but with a deeper, darker ache.
This man was not the first.
Not the first to crush innocence beneath his ambitions.
The vision flashed before MC's eyes—an explosion ripping through a cityscape of burning steel and screaming souls.A child trapped beneath the rubble, crying out for help no one could give.
He'd reached for her.
Tried to pull her free.
But the debris was too heavy.
Her tiny hand slipped from his grasp.
And then—darkness.
The memory wasn't just a scar. It was a wound still bleeding.
Tucker's crimes were monstrous.But they echoed a pain MC knew too well.
His voice broke the silence.
"You think your cruelty was the worst kind of suffering?"
MC's eyes burned. "I've seen children die screaming beneath wreckage while I stood frozen. I watched as hope slipped through my fingers, leaving only ashes."
The anger boiling in his chest wasn't just justice—it was grief. A raw, ragged wound tearing open again.
MC approached Tucker slowly, every step heavy with weight and meaning.
He knelt and looked directly into those haunted eyes.
"You will remember this day—not as a victim, but as the sentence your soul must carry."
With a breath, MC's hand glowed with ethereal light.
Pain blossomed—not random, but precise.
The broken fingers began to knit and snap anew—each renewal accompanied by a fresh fracture, a loop of agony that mirrored the endless torment Tucker had inflicted on his own family.
The magic carved deep into his mind—forcing him to relive every scream he'd silenced, every tear he'd ignored, every moment of terror his daughter endured.
The room pulsed with raw energy as Tucker's cries filled the air—shattered fragments of a broken soul.
MC's fists clenched, nails digging into his palms.
His voice lowered into a growl.
"This isn't punishment for what you did to others."
His glare darkened.
"This is for what I could never save."
The memories crashed over him—the ruins, the silence, the screams.
A boy buried alive beneath rubble.A girl's last breath carried away on the wind.
He had been a shell then. A broken man watching the world die.
And now—
Now he was the Watcher.
And the gods had given him a voice.
MC's hands moved, weaving intricate sigils of binding and transformation—symbols borne from divine will and system-forged power.
The room shimmered.
Shou Tucker screamed as flesh warped and bones restructured, the agony unlike anything he had ever inflicted.
His human form twisted grotesquely, limbs elongating, features distorting into the chimera he had condemned his daughter to become.
Tears of horror and regret poured from his mutated eyes, but no plea would escape the sealing barrier.
As the transformation completed, MC stepped back, exhausted but resolute.
He scattered evidence of Tucker's crimes—documents, recordings, and notes—across the room and sent copies encrypted through the divine networks.
"The world will know," he whispered. "No more hiding."
He turned to the twisted figure that was once Shou Tucker.
"Live with what you made. Suffer as your daughter suffered. And maybe, in that torment, you'll find the mercy you never ga