Inside the arena.

Sergio was so shocked by the electric shock that he was unrecognizable. Large patches of his skin were scorched, and crisscrossing burn marks covered his entire body—but he was actually in relatively good condition because these injuries would heal in a few seconds—thanks to his near-immortal physique and some kind of unfathomable, forceful rule.

Suicide was out of the question; he'd tried before. The second time he was electrocuted, he'd shoved his finger right into his eye socket—he'd done that at least three times already, but he just wouldn't die. It was truly incomprehensible. He'd never realized his body was so resilient before; it was mostly due to Carlos's personality. He was practically at his breaking point.

This place was specially built as a paradise where evil people can wail in despair.

Sergio couldn't remember how long he had been in this place—a few hours? A day? Or a week? Anyway, the fact that he hadn't gone out meant that the situation outside was still not ideal. Adam and Joseph might have already run away, or they might both be dead, or they might still be stabbing those idiots in the back.

He then heard the unhurried voice of the narrator, Stanford saying, "Ah, great C01, you have suffered so much, it is truly... pitiful."

As he said this, another electric shock entered Sergio's body.

He was trembling all over, his vision was blood red, and the whole world was screaming.

A few seconds later, he tried to clench his fist, but he couldn't fucking clench it at all; his body felt like it wasn't his own.

But he just won't die, damn it.

"elder brother?"

"Why me?"

“You should repent, brother.”

He couldn't quite tell if it was a hallucination or some other abstract thing; lately, this sound would always pop up and make him feel nauseous for a while.

Sergio finally remembered who the narrator, that bastard named Stanford, was.

Three years ago, we should have turned all of Europe upside down, dug out this idiot, and torn him to pieces. It's also because we were too arrogant back then, thinking that his whole family had been buried and that he had monopolized resources, so he was just trash. We even forgot about it after only a few days.

Well, karma has come back to bite you; it's been incredibly dramatic.

It wasn't that he had a bad memory; it was just that he had killed far too many people like that. He kicked away and crushed one stumbling block after another on his path to power.

As he thought this, he suddenly considered kneeling down and begging for mercy, genuinely considering it for a second... but then realized it wouldn't work. Here, the idiots he had killed could torture him however they wanted; this was a paradise created for revenge.

At that moment, Sergio caught a glimpse of light flashing in front of him—what he saw behind it made him curse.

A window opened behind the "screen," only the size of a head, but large enough to see its contents clearly.

It was a lavish banquet, with flames visible burning across the plains in the distance. The people inside were all impeccably dressed and dressed in finery, their dining manners precise and elegant; they were all members of high society.

Those people held wine glasses, and there was a lot of exquisite food on the table. Everyone was watching him with great interest as he knelt on the ground, trembling and bleeding.

Stanford started talking again.

"Many past 'guests' are waiting, waiting for the moment you willingly bow your head—"

Sergio spat out a mouthful of blood and some fragmented organs. He sat up straight and laughed with all his might, saying, "Fuck your mother."

And so a new round of torment began.

The arena, a twisted, bloody, yet noble arena.

There is also C01, the ace operative of the European branch, the pinnacle in the eyes of most expendables, a figure who embodies countless admiration, death, and despair.

Here, they will suffer their just deserts.

...

...

The torture is over.

Sergio's hair was soaked with sweat from the pain. He gasped for breath and tried to struggle, but his head hit the ground hard. It wasn't just electric shocks; there were also spectacle-worthy acts like being torn apart by chariots, hanging, beheading, and being pulled apart by five horses. In short, Stanford and his team did everything they could think of.

Endless pain held his body captive, making it impossible for him to move even an inch.

He heard himself sobbing uncontrollably, his voice trembling with tears, looking so pitiful, vulnerable, and pathetic.

"Fuck...fuck fuck fuck!!!"

"I'll kill your whole family! Damn it!"

He really wanted to kill. He was never like this before. He had always been the strongest one, always able to kill those useless people and survive the control missions.

He knew perfectly well how disgusting this distorted world was, but he had long since adapted to it, and he never felt like crying.

But now, for the first time ever, he thought of Chris… that poor woman who was calling him brother before she died—it hurts so much, Chris, he thought. How could it hurt so much? I should have given you a quick death back then. Why did you have to act so pretentious? You had to try to be artists. You were such idiots.

When the show ended, Sergio rolled right off the rack.

"elder brother."

"You should repent."

"You should have repented long ago..."

"You should come with us."

The auditory hallucinations returned.

"Oh dear, what's going on? It seems C01 isn't all that great after all. Don't you really enjoy playing games?" Stanford said with a smile.

“Many of us are actually quite heartbroken, like your sister and your parents. They really don’t want to see you so upset, Sergio. Let’s play a simple game, a question-and-answer game. You just need to tell us…” He continued, “Have you repented, Sergio?”

He curled up in his own pool of blood, burst into a cough, then raised his hand and gave the middle finger.

Undeterred, the man asked again, "I can't stand it anymore. If you just nod, it can all be over. Have you repented, Sergio?"

He took a breath to clear his head, then curled up even smaller, letting out a hoarse laugh.

"Why don't you... answer for me?"

Then he heard Stanford laugh.

It was a laugh that came from the heart, a laugh that was somber, twisted, and morbid.

He said, "Well, as expected of the loyal dog of the adjudication department, he's got a tough bone in his body."

A door opened in the wall.

Within seconds, the heavenly feast seeped into a small area, and Sergio could smell the champagne and grilled steak.

Ah...this is fucking luxurious, he thought. This is not an illusion at all, even if this hell has no exit.

Carlos really spared no expense; the stuff in this alternate dimension was so expensive it could buy a whole building. It was a gathering place for the dead, and only now did he realize that it was probably also part of Merlink's work. That guy could create an entire virtual world with just a few drawings; why hadn't he thought of that at first?

Then, someone walked in with a knife.