"Hey, buddy, can you hear ?" Tyrone said with a smile on his lips, even though he himself was bound to the torture chair like the miserable prisoner before him.
However, Hector barely responded to Tyrone’s question.
He just trembled as his mana still surged wildly in silent prayer.
Tyrone clicked his tongue, raised an eyebrow, and shook his head slightly.
"As I thought..."
As more ti passed by, Tyrone began to sense sothing coursing through him. He started shivering — not from fear, but thrill.
"Is that it? Your emotions... Y-Yeah... give more and more." His expression slowly twisted into sothing perverse as a handful of negative, toxic emotions danced through his mind.
Three minutes passed — he still wore the sa twisted expression.
Then seven minutes.
He hadn’t changed at all.
But at thist very mont, his face suddenly contorted in a way even he hadn’t expected.
"No! It’s coming to ." His voice finally took on a tone of fear.
Without any prior signs of danger, he suddenly shouted to the jailer beside him.
"J-Jailer... let out! I can’t stand it! Hurry up!"
The jailer’s face frowned with confusion. It was clear he didn’t understand — Tyrone seed to be doing perfectly fine until at this ti.
"Fine..." the jailer nodded, agreeing to free Tyrone. After all, this situation resembled previous ones — and he couldn’t allow things to spiral out of control.
Once released from the torture chair, Tyrone felt as though a heavy stone had just been lifted from inside him.
His face twisted, sweat dripping down his skin like rain off a driver’s window. He glanced slowly at Hector, horror etched in his eyes, and gasped for air.
"T-The fuck, friend! Have you really suffered through that kind of tornt before?"
"What happened? Why did you want to be released? Clearly, everything was going well," the jailer suddenly asked, barely noticing the overwhelming exhaustion overtaking Tyrone.
In truth, he only cared about the outco of the experint. The prisoners’ lives — or suffering — ant little to him.
"W-Wait a minute... I need to breathe... y-you see, right?" Tyrone panted, bending forward to rest.
Before the jailer could even respond, Tyrone spoke again in a jagged voice.
"Sothing suddenly... got into my mind. I can say that much..."
He slowly straightened up, grinding his teeth in a terrifying way. His voice dropped lower and softer — barely audible to anyone but himself.
"Oh my god... it amostly tore my mind to pieces..." He creepied as he rembered that terrible mont, what he never wanted to experience again.
"What do you an?" the jailer asked, clearly confused and still not understanding.
"Ah..! I think the privileged ones will know if they test it. After all, I’m just a common prisoner... I don’t understand much about that kind of thing." Tyrone smiled again — strangely — and lightly scratched the side of his head.
Silence.
"What a load of crap," the jailer muttered, finally revealing his true nature when the information he’d gathered didn’t satisfy him.
He sighed after the curse, dismissively turning his gaze elsewhere, ignoring Tyrone completely.
Despite the toxic remark, Tyrone showed no anger. He simply stood up, gave Hector a thoughtful glance, and walked away.
One hour passed. Several of the privileged prisoners had taken turns sitting on the torture chair to be tested — and of course, most of them couldn’t last more than seven minutes.
They all gave the sa answer as Tyrone. As soon as they neared the seven-minute mark, sothing entered their minds.
None of them dared to endure it or chose to face it head-on — unless they wanted to die.
Even Oscar, who was known for his strength, refused to face it.
And then things took a turn for the worse. No one wanted to try anymore. They all shared the sa thought: they would et the sa fate as the miserable prisoner who had died before.
"This is ridiculous. I need more information. Maybe... I’ll have to test it myself," the jailer muttered, narrowing his eyes as he scanned the place, full of unwilling prisoners.
But then, in the amongst of the fearful silence, a voice rang out.
"Let do it. I’ll take the test." Berry looked at the torture chair beside Hector with a gleam of determination in her eyes.
Without hesitation, she stepped forward, ignoring the chaotic murmurs and the noise both outside and in her own head.
Sitting on the chair, she gave Hector a glance filled with resolve — though a flicker of discomfort still danced in her expression at the thought of what would soon co to her mind.
"If this works... all of it ends here."
Seven minutes passed.
At last, she reached the point that had terrified every privileged prisoner before her.
A storm of emotions crashed over her mind — then through her entire body.
Her limbs began to tremble violently. Her body convulsed uncontrollably.
It was a sensation unlike anything she had ever known.
A hollow emptiness — and unbearable agony.
Her face contorted, darkened with pain.
Sweat poured down her face, each drop carrying a strange new color. No one could even tell if it was blood or sweat anymore.
Her breathing turned ragged and broken, erratic and strained.
"No way!" the jailer suddenly shouted in horror. He rushed to release her from the torture device before it consud her entirely.
She was finally freed.
Collapsing to the dusty ground, she tried to rise — but it was impossible for her at that point.
Propping herself up with trembling arms, she stared at the floor as if it was the only thing she could see.
"T-That hurt...!" she teared up, clutching her chest with her right hand.
Her body shivered violently, and tears mixed with sweat rolled down her face — showing clearly the tornt she had just endured.
Everyone present stared at her in disbelief.
Soone like her — how could this have happened?
"Sigh..."
The jailer closed his eyes for a mont, then looked up at everyone.
"Experint is over."
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