"Ah... where am I?"
Fang Mu muttered weakly as he slowly opened his eyes. Darkness. That was all he could see. A thick, suffocating stench filled his nostrils—the damp, pungent odor of moss and dust mixed with something far worse. The sickly, rotten scent of decaying flesh.
He tried to move but found his legs bound tightly together. A rough material dug into his skin, the fibers scratching painfully against his ankles. It didn’t take long for realization to sink in.
He had been captured.
Memories rushed back—the ambush, the struggle, the moment he was overpowered. Now, he was imprisoned inside a sack, his body cramped and twisted uncomfortably. And worst of all...
He wasn’t alone.
He could feel the cold, unmoving bodies pressing against him. Lifeless. The corpses of his own kind.
A surge of nausea hit him, but he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay calm. I have to get out of here.
Just then—
A sudden flash of light pierced through the suffocating darkness.
The sack was yanked open, and a hand reached in.
Before he could react, strong fingers seized him, dragging him out.
Fang Mu’s vision blurred as he was hauled into the open air. His body swayed violently before being suspended upside down, his feet tightly bound by a thick rope.
As his eyes adjusted to the dim surroundings, he took in the sight before him.
He was inside a tent—but not an ordinary one.
Weapons of various shapes and sizes lined the walls, their metallic surfaces gleaming faintly under the flickering lantern light and torch. The air was thick with the stench of blood and decay.
Beneath him, sprawled across the ground, were the rotting remains of others like him—lifeless bodies, their flesh torn and riddled with maggot-infested wounds. Flies buzzed greedily over the corpses, their tiny wings humming in a grotesque.
Fang Mu forced down his disgust, his jaw clenching.
Then, he saw him.
The owner of the hand that had dragged him from the sack.
A young man, standing in front of him with an unsettling grin.
Henry.Even in his upside-down state, Fang Mu recognized him instantly—the same youth who had once threatened him. "You’ll regret this," Henry had told him before.
Now, it seemed that moment had come.
Henry’s face twisted with amusement as he tilted his head. His body was completely covered in beast hide, from his gloves to the heavy coat draped over his shoulders. He looked prepared—not just for a hunt.
Henry chuckled, his voice laced with both malice and delight.
"Well, well... now then, beast," he mused, stepping closer.
"What should I do with you?"
Fang Mu stared back, unflinching. Even in the face of death, he refused to show fear. He let out a slow, measured breath and smirked.
"You think I’m afraid of you?" Fang Mu said, but what came out of his mouth was only a guttural, croaking sound.
Henry’s amusement only grew. It was fascinating—this beast seemed to bit smart and understand human language , even tried to speak.
Fang Mu hung upside down, his legs bound tightly. His wounded thigh was no longer bleeding, but the swelling had worsened. Every slight movement sent a searing pain through his body, and despite his best efforts, he couldn't stop himself from wincing.
Henry turned away and walked over to a metal briefcase sitting on a nearby table. With a soft click, he opened it, revealing an array of strange instruments. His fingers hovered over each tool as he considered which one would be the most suitable for his prisoner.
After a moment, his eyes landed on a long, thin needle.
Grinning, he picked it up and turned back to Fang Mu. Without hesitation, he drove the needle directly into the swollen wound on Fang Mu’s thigh.
A sharp, agonized croak tore from Fang Mu’s throat. His body trembled from the sudden, unbearable pain. 
Henry chuckled. "That was just the appetizer."
With deliberate slowness, he stabbed the needle into the wound again. Fang Mu convulsed, his body trembling violently. Each stab felt as if it were piercing straight into his gut, sending waves of agony through his entire being.
Henry’s laughter echoed in the tent, mixing with the sound of Fang Mu’s ragged, pain-filled croaks. 
Fang Mu gritted his teeth. His body trembled with rage and pain, but he refused to surrender. With a swift motion, his long, slimy tongue lashed out, aiming for Henry’s exposed skin.
Smack!
The attack landed, but Henry barely reacted. The thick layers of beast hide covering his body absorbed the impact. He glanced down where Fang Mu’s tongue had struck and smirked.
"Futile," Henry said, his voice filled with amusement. "I know your kind. Your venom can paralyze your prey, but I made sure it wouldn’t work on me. Your poison is useless now." Fang Mu’s eyes widened slightly.
Henry turned away, running his fingers over the instruments inside his briefcase. He studied each tool carefully, considering his options. Then, his gaze landed on a torch and a small flask of oil.
A slow, wicked grin spread across his face.
"This will do nicely," he murmured, picking up the torch.
He crouched down, grabbing a rough stone from the ground. With practice ease, he struck the stone against a metal plate, creating a shower of sparks.
Click ! Click! Click! Fwoosh!
A small flame flickered to life, then quickly grew into a steady, burning glow. The torch flared in Henry’s hand, casting eerie shadows across the tent.
"You’re going to be a fried frog," Henry said with a chuckle.
Fang Mu’s entire body tensed as Henry brought the torch closer. The heat kissed his skin first—hot, unbearable. Then, suddenly, agony. The flame perched at his head, scorching his flesh. A sharp, burning pain erupted through his body as the fire sizzled against his damp skin. His muscles convulsed, and an involuntary, guttural croak tore from his throat.
The stench of charred flesh filled the air. His once-green skin darkened, blackening as the fire seared into him.
Fang Mu thrashed, his body jerking violently in an effort to escape, but the restraints held firm. The worst pain came from his wounded thigh, where the fire licked mercilessly at his swollen flesh. The searing heat intensified, sending waves of agony through his body. His skin cracked and blistered particular his thigh.
Henry watched with pure delight.
"Go on, Go on," Henry taunted, tilting his head. "Scream for me, scream-m-m" Fang Mu did. He croaked, screeched, trembled—but beneath the pain, something else burned inside him—His Hatred.
After a few minutes, Fang Mu hung motionless, his body limp. His mind drifted, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. He thought this was it—he was going to die. But then, the unbearable heat vanished.
Henry had stopped.
Fang Mu barely conscious, his breathing ragged. His head and skin had turned the color of charcoal, and his wounded thigh had hardened from the fire’s relentless assault. The pain was beyond anything he had ever known, yet somehow, he was still alive.
"Not yet, baby," Henry said, his voice dripping with amusement. "We can play even more."
He crouched beside Fang Mu, tilting his head to examine his burnt, battered body." Hmmmm Smell like chicken" He licked his lips
"I'm not letting you die easily," he added, a grin stretching across his face.
The tent flap opened, and a young boy rushed inside, his face pale with anxiety.
"Henry, we have a distress call!" the boy said, his breath uneven as if he had been running.
Henry’s grin faltered for a moment. He turned away from Fang Mu, his expression shifting from amusement to mild annoyance.
"Distress call?" he repeated, standing up straight. "From who?"
"I don’t know the full details yet," the boy admitted. "But it came from the western perimeter. They said it’s urgent."
Henry clicked his tongue, glancing back at Fang Mu, who still hung motionless, his charred skin barely rising and falling with each shallow breath.
"How inconvenient," Henry muttered. He let out a sigh before turning to the boy. "Fine. I’ll check it out. Keep an eye on our little guest while I’m gone."
The boy swallowed hard, hesitating as his gaze flickered to Fang Mu’s lifeless-looking body.
"But… what if he—"
"He won’t," Henry interrupted with a smirk. "Not yet, anyway."
With that, he grabbed his coat, adjusted his gloves, and strode out of the tent, leaving the boy alone with the barely conscious Fang Mu.