Chapter Eight: A Fate Worse Than Death

The two enforcers exchanged glances and approached Mu You. One carried a bucket of water, the other held sheets of paper and a black bag, both wearing insincere smiles. Most people, seeing this scene, would assume they were about to smother his face with wet paper to cut off his breathing, just like those palace intrigue movies. But that wasn't the case. This was a "newly developed" torture in this station, ominously named "Ants on the Tree." It sounded like a dish but was a cruel and vicious form of private punishment.

Ants on the Tree! Tools: Several sheets of easily dissolvable candy paper, clean water, and a bag of ants. Method: Soak the candy paper in water, then slap it onto the "criminal" as quickly as possible, repeating until a satisfactory area is covered. Then, pour the ants from the bag onto the victim. What follows is the exquisite symphony of screams, until the tormentor is satisfied, at which point the victim can be rinsed clean and the ants washed away.

Mu You watched this unfold, his heart pounding. He knew these people wouldn't dare kill him, but they certainly wouldn't let him off easily.

As expected, the two men forced Mu You's shirt open and covered his chest with the candy paper, soaking it with hot water so it melted instantly and stuck unpleasantly to his skin. Then, they opened the black bag and tipped out large black ants onto Mu You's head.

"Ah!!"

Pain, burning, numbness, itching, heat—all five agonies at once. Thousands of ants, starved for days, swarmed greedily over the candy, and within moments Mu You's skin began to bleed and blister.

"These are tree ants," the interrogator explained, shivering at his own words. "Their acid is among the strongest, their jaws powerful, their bite excruciating~~"

Mu You felt as if his entire body was being stabbed by tiny electrodes, suffering beyond endurance. Yet, this sensation was gradually fading. To the disbelief of those watching, the mass of black ants crawling over Mu You's skin began to die in droves and fell away.

What was happening?

"Little brother's blood contains the venom of the Meridian Soul-Destroying Worm. These inferior creatures can't withstand it."

"You’re awake, Mou You?"

"Yes," Mou You replied. "After borrowing your body, I found my power is restricted by your physical limits. I must sleep for a while each day. Also, that one called Mo Han... makes me very uncomfortable."

Previously, when Mu You was beaten in court and Mou You remained silent, Mu You had sensed something was amiss.

"...Little brother, you're wounded. These men dared inflict such cruel punishment on you—damnable!"

Seeing Mu You battered and miserable, Mou You’s tone shifted sharply, fury blazing as black tendrils rose from Mu You’s feet.

As Mou You grew angry, whether from her deathly aura or the transformation wrought by the Meridian Soul-Destroying Worm, the murderous impulse in Mu You’s heart began to stir again. He jolted, crying inwardly:

"Don’t lose control!"

"Why not?" Mou You asked, baffled. "They treat you so inhumanely, and yet you still speak for them?"

"They deserve death, and I do want to kill them. But if I murder them, what difference is there between me and these beasts?"

The enforcers stared at the dead ants on the floor, uncertain, and glanced at the fat police officer for guidance.

The fat officer, his contempt gone, stepped forward and squinted down at Mu You.

"Anything connected to the Death Row Paradise really is monstrous. In that case, we'll use methods suited for monsters!"

He shouted at the enforcers, eyes gleaming with murderous light:

"Grab the gear and beat him until he can't move! When he's completely powerless, I'll interrogate him myself!"

The two enforcers hesitated, but donned a pair of black gloves, studded with sharp metal fragments, chilling to behold.

One punch would tear flesh and bone; no ordinary person could withstand it.

One enforcer stuffed a gauze into Mu You's mouth to silence him, while the other warmed up, twisting his neck with a determined, crazed look. He planted his feet and swung his arm at Mu You with a whistle.

Bang!

A fist slammed into Mu You’s chest. He grunted, blood spurting from his nostrils.

The agony radiated from his chest throughout his body, sweat pouring down his face.

Bang!

Another punch landed on his face, raising a huge bruise. Even his cries were muffled and weak.

Bang, bang, bang!

Left hook, right hook, uppercut, kicks—the enforcer worked up a sweat, while Mu You bounced in the tiger chair like a spring, utterly unable to resist.

Let them beat him! Every bit of pain was a way for Mu You to sever his attachment to this society. When he was finally free of all ties, his wrath would erupt like a storm.

By now, Mu You’s features were unrecognizable, yet the enforcer grew increasingly unnerved. The boy was clearly on the brink of unconsciousness, but his body was healing visibly.

"Brother, let Mou You kill them," Mou You pleaded, seeing Mu You’s battered state.

"I said no. I promised to protect you. You just need to quietly observe from within. You haven't mastered your power; you can't lose your temper, understand?"

"Mm."

Mou You nodded, tears welling up at Mu You’s almost commanding tone, aggrieved.

"But—"

"I understand. But their crimes haven’t yet merited death. When they finally cross that line, I’ll personally send them to hell. I know what I’m doing..."

Mu You’s upper body sagged, limp on the iron chair, motionless like a ruined man.

The fat police officer, judging the time was right, snapped his fingers. The enforcers stepped back. The fat officer grabbed Mu You’s hair, forcing him to lift his head, staring at his vacant eyes like a beast eyeing helpless prey.

"Will you recite it or not?"

Mu You struggled to open his eyes, gazing coolly at him. Though unable to speak, his eyes brimmed with mockery.

The fat officer exploded:

"Damn you! I’ll cripple you today, make you the plaything of the prisoners in Death Row Paradise! Bring me the liquor!"

"Boss... We beat him almost to death, and he’s taken the blame for us. Maybe we should stop. If he dies, it’ll be hard to clean up!"

The enforcer who held Mu You down hesitated, recalling the fat officer’s vices.

"I said bring me the liquor! Don’t you understand plain speech?"

The fat officer, surprised at the insubordination, glared at his subordinate. The other enforcer quickly shoved the bottle forward, fawning.

"Hmph..."

The fat officer shot them both a vicious look, then walked over to Mu You.

"If you won’t talk, you’ll never talk again!"

He smiled coldly, turning to address the others: "You’ve followed me for so long; today I’ll show you real interrogation!"

He didn’t bother seeking Mu You’s consent. Gripping his neck, he forced the half-dead Mu You still. With a finger under his chin, Mu You’s mouth snapped shut, nostrils flaring.

The fat officer uncorked the bottle, aimed at Mu You’s nose, and poured it in. The liquor surged into his nostrils like a blade.

"Pouring it like this keeps it out of the stomach. The alcohol fumes rush straight to the brain, making the senses hypersensitive—double the pain! This trick is simply called ‘Getting High!’"

He explained cheerfully, then released Mu You’s neck.

Cough, cough, cough!

Mu You’s eyes reddened, vision blurring. His throat felt clogged with filth, impossible to clear, and his mind was racked with pain—yet he was fully conscious!

The fat officer swiftly produced a lighter, igniting the liquor. Blue flames leapt up, tinged with blood-red.

"After ‘Getting High’ opens the senses, pouring this in is called ‘Worse Than Death.’ It burns, so hot it’ll leave holes in your throat, and hurts so much you’ll wish for death. The best part? With your senses stimulated, you can’t even faint! Isn’t that a great name?"

He grinned, again forcing Mu You’s mouth open wide, bringing the flaming liquor close.

The officer’s smile was so demonic that even those behind him squeezed their legs together, shivering deep within.

Mu You watched the liquid pour in, a glimmer of liberation in his eyes. The fat officer deliberately slowed his movements, but failed to notice Mu You’s expression. He poured the "Worse Than Death" into Mu You’s mouth.

To Mu You, the flowing flames felt like a sacred baptism, a cleansing of his soul, the birth of a new self in the inferno.

Burning, stabbing pain!

Once the officer released his neck, Mu You collapsed in the chair, writhing. He tried to scream, but only managed a guttural growl. His eyes nearly burst from their sockets, as if they might pop out. His whole body burned, yet his forehead dripped with cold sweat.

His throat felt as if seared by an oil lamp.

At that moment, the fat officer unlocked the iron shackles on Mu You’s limbs, gazing at his handiwork with satisfaction and twisted delight.

Mu You’s hands clawed desperately at his neck, scratching and pounding as if to extinguish the fire within. His nails tore at his flesh, blood blurring the skin, nearly exposing the Adam’s apple.

Pain—indescribable pain!

His mind, hyper-stimulated, magnified every agony.

Mu You longed to faint, but his consciousness remained painfully clear.

Finally, the flames passed through his throat and into his stomach.

Ignition.