Bruno’s massive tal fist stopped just a hair away from Ross’s head, held in place by an invisible force.
Bruno’s pupils shrank. He tried to pull back, tried to push forward—nothing worked.
His arm trembled violently from the effort, tal muscles straining, but the fist wouldn’t move.
Ross stared calmly at him, amused.
"Since you like forcing yourself on won," Ross said, his voice slow and cold enough to make the temperature drop, "I ca up with the perfect punishnt."
He lifted his hamr.
Bruno’s breath hitched.
"But before that..." Ross tilted his head. "I want to hear you sing."
SWING!
"ARGHHHHHHHHH!"
The hamr smashed into Bruno’s right thigh with a sickening crunch.
tal shattered, flesh tore, bone splintered like dry wood.
The giant man howled—a deep, trembling scream that shattered whatever pride he had left.
His massive tal body buckled, knees dipping as he struggled to stay standing.
Ross walked calmly to the other side.
SWING!
"GAAHHHHH—! NO! NO! FUCK! STOP!"
The hamr crushed his left thigh the sa way, turning his leg into a mangled ruin.
Bruno collapsed to the ground with a deafening thud, tal ringing as his transformation flickered and weakened.
He tried crawling away, dragging himself with trembling arms, leaving long sars of blood behind him.
Ross followed him at a walking pace.
Every step echoed.
Every step ant doom.
Bruno sobbed, his breath hitching like a terrified child. "P-please—please, don’t! STOP—AHHHH!"
Bang.
The hamr slamd into his back.
Bang.
Another strike crushed his ribs.
Bang.
A third blow caved in the tal plates around his spine, making his tallic skin rupture like cracked glass.
Ross didn’t stop.
Ross didn’t tire.
Ross didn’t even breathe harder.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Each impact sent shockwaves through the floor. Shelves rattled, cans fell, glass shattered.
Bruno’s screams grew hoarse, his voice breaking apart until it was just raspy, agonized wheezing.
His legendary tal defense—the power he used to dominate dozens of people—crumbled under Ross’s unrelenting strength.
Every strike reduced it further, exposing soft flesh beneath the shattered armor.
Soon, the tal coating faded completely, unable to sustain against the damage.
Bruno lay there, broken, twitching, covered in blood and shattered fragnts of his own ability.
His legs were completely destroyed. His ribs crushed. His spine half-broken.
His breath ca in weak, wet gasps.
He no longer looked like a leader.
He no longer looked like a threat.
He looked like a scared animal waiting for the slaughter.
Ross lowered the hamr, staring down at him with ice-cold eyes.
And his real punishnt hadn’t even begun yet.
"And now for the final verdict," Ross said, the words falling like a judge’s gavel in the sudden hush.
He lifted one hand and flicked two fingers, a motion so casual it might have been brushing dust from his sleeve.
Bruno had ti for one last sound: a high, animal keen that started as a terrifying scream.
"Noooooo!" and ended in a wet gurgle.
His body folded in on itself with impossible speed, flesh liquefying, bones snapping like dry kindling, blood flash-boiling into red steam.
In less than three heartbeats there was nothing left of the man who had terrorized half the city—no corpse, no ash, just a faint heat shimr above the concrete and the sour stink of ozone.
Silence crashed down.
Then the won broke.
So dropped to their knees and sobbed until they retched.
Others laughed in cracked, hysterical bursts that sounded like screaming.
A few simply stared at the empty space where Bruno had stood, as if waiting for him to step back into it and prove the nightmare wasn’t over.
"Is he really dead?" a young girl whispered, her voice shredded raw.
"Dead and gone," Ross answered, soft enough that only the closest heard him.
"More gone than you can imagine."
They looked at him—so with gratitude that bordered on worship, others with fear sharp enough to cut.
None of them noticed the tiny, satisfied curl at the corner of Ross’s mouth.
Because Bruno was not dead.
He ca awake gasping, choking on darkness that tasted of rust and old blood.
His hands scrabbled over cold tal; his knees scraped on it too. He was naked.
Every inch of skin prickled with gooseflesh, and sothing inside him already knew this was worse than any grave.
"Where the fuck am I?" His voice cracked, thin and reedy. It didn’t echo the way it should have.
Click.
A single bank of floodlights ignited overhead, white and rciless.
Bruno scread.
He knelt in the center of a vast circular pit, easily a hundred ters across.
The walls rose seamless and black, slick as obsidian, curving inward at the top so far above that the ceiling was lost in shadow.
There were no doors. No ladders. No rcy.
And he was not alone.
They stood in perfect rings around him—hundreds upon hundreds of n. Towering. Silent. Naked.
Their bodies were carved from nightmare: shoulders broad as doorfras, arms thick as Bruno’s thighs, chests matted with coarse black hair that arrowed down to groins that made Bruno’s stomach flip in animal panic.
Every single one of them wore the sa mask: crimson lacquered oni faces, horns swept back, mouths stretched in permanent leering grins that showed too many teeth.
The eyeholes were empty black pits that drank the light.
Between their legs swung cocks that should not have existed outside of fever dreams.
Even soft they were monstrous—thick as beer cans, longer than forearms, heavy enough to sway with each breath.
And they were waking up.
Bruno watched in helpless horror as veins rose along those obscene lengths, as flushed heads pushed free of foreskins the size of clenched fists, as clear fluid beaded and dripped in slow, glistening strings.
The first ring took one synchronized step forward. Bare feet slapped wetly on the tal floor.
Bruno scrambled backward, palms slipping in sothing viscous. "Stay back! I swear to God I’ll—"
Another step. Then another. And more ca ever slowly. The circles tightened like a noose.
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