Urban: Super God-Ring System

C12 – Super Torture

“Go to hell, you bastard,” the bearded brute bellowed, expertly drawing a pistol from within his coat.

“Your pistol’s no good against me!” Wen Huaimu declared.

With a swift motion of his hand, a wind blade zipped through the air, vanishing as quickly as it appeared.

The bearded man barely had time to raise his hand to aim before a cold sensation washed over him. Horrified, he watched his palm split from his wrist, his gun-toting hand falling to the ground, twitching and spasming.

“Ah!”

The pain was excruciating, searing to the bone. The bearded man screamed, writhing on the ground in agony.

Wen Huaimu, not taking any chances, dashed over to retrieve the fallen pistol, pointing it squarely at the bearded man.

“Ah, don’t shoot!” Despite the intense pain, the bearded man’s fear of death was greater. He scrambled back, pleading desperately for mercy.

“Heh, so you know fear? Do you even have a shred of humanity? You didn’t just kidnap me; you had the audacity to try and assault me,” Wen Huaimu thundered at the man.

“Yes, yes, I’m a sinner, I deserve death. Please, spare me. I’ll never dare again,” the bearded man stammered, his face etched with terror.

“Wrong!” Wen Huaimu flicked his finger dismissively. “All that is trivial. My personal honor is the least of it. What truly enrages me is your collusion with the Votroecorians! That is utterly unforgivable!” Not yet satisfied, Wen Huaimu delivered a fierce kick to the bearded man.

Caught off guard by Wen Huaimu’s words, the bearded man had no defense against the blow to his face. He flipped backward, rolling several meters.

“Ah!”

He lay there, curled up, wracked with pain.

“How does it feel? Painful, isn’t it? This is just the beginning; the real pain is yet to come,” Wen Huaimu sneered. With a flip of his hand, he stowed the pistol in the molding space, then began to chant solemnly.

“O earth brimming with life, heed my call. Grant me your robust vitality, spur the growth of plant life.”

Wen Huaimu’s hands came together in a mystical seal, summoning a swirl of purple magic. With a deft gesture, he directed it at a tiny blade of grass nestled in the corner of the building. The magic zapped into the grass like a bolt of lightning.

His thoughts tethered to the arcane energy, Wen Huaimu manipulated the cellular structure of the grass, spurring its rapid growth.

In mere moments, the once diminutive sprout ballooned and elongated into a massive plant that ensnared the entire building in its twisted embrace.

The bearded man, previously howling in distress, gaped at the spectacle, as if he’d seen a specter. His mouth hung agape, his cries silenced by awe.

“The feast begins with the first course: the plant prison,” Wen Huaimu announced, his smile brimming with mischief.

He commanded the gargantuan flora, prompting four robust vines to snake out and ensnare the bearded man’s limbs. The vines stretched taut, suspending him midair.

“Mercy, mercy!” The bearded man’s plea came from a place of sheer terror. Confronted with these otherworldly events, he revered Wen Huaimu as a deity, regretting his foolish decision to abduct someone of such power.

“Fear not, I’ll keep things in check—I won’t toy with your life,” Wen Huaimu assured him with a wicked grin, his hands weaving a new seal.

“Fire element that pervades all, heed my call—Fireball Skill!”

Magic pulsed anew, and three sparks flickered to life in his palm, swiftly coalescing into three modest fireballs.

“Such tiny things!” Wen Huaimu muttered, a touch disappointed. His reserves of magic were limited, and he needed to conserve energy for other spells, so he made do.

“Red Barbecued Meat,” he declared, reveling in his own creation. The elfin in the molding space echoed his delight with jubilant cries.

“Just kill me, please, just end it,” the bearded man whimpered, his sanity fraying at the edges.

“Enough. I’ll do one last good deed for the fine gentlemen out there, and we’ll call it even,” Wen Huaimu decided, his hands coming together once more.

He silently recited the incantation, and the last of his magic surged, shaping three wind blades in the air.

With an exasperated roll of his eyes, Wen Huaimu made a hasty retreat from the junkyard. He may have dispatched a villain, but entanglement with the law was not on his agenda. A swift exit was the order of the day.

Wen Huaimu stepped out of the scrapyard and meandered through a few small blocks until he reached a bustling street. He hailed a cab at the curb and made a beeline for the school.

It must be said, the bearded man truly had mafia ties—his driving was exceptionally good. Only after asking for directions did Wen Huaimu realize he had strayed far from Anbubury’s East District, finding himself in the South District.

The taxi fare set him back over 40 yuan, but he managed to make it back to school just in time for the second afternoon class.

Despite missing an entire period, no one at Isrinas High School’s notorious Class 3, Grade 2, batted an eye. The teachers there had a reputation for turning a blind eye to the students’ antics.

Settling into his seat, Wen Huaimu was greeted with nods and smiles from his classmates, a sign of respect for the new force to be reckoned with. But Wen Huaimu didn’t let it go to his head; he simply acknowledged their gestures with a nod before diving into his studies with earnest.

He had always believed that even though he was in a less-than-stellar class, he had to be a diligent and well-behaved student. His education was something his parents had invested in, and he refused to squander their hard-earned money.

The afternoon classes flew by, and Wen Huaimu packed up his books with a sense of longing. Sharing in the elfin’s magic had significantly boosted his psychic force, allowing him to easily retain and comprehend the material he read.

Indeed, it seemed that the study of magic came with a multitude of advantages.

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