Constantly, there were thunderstorms striking.
Some were nailed to the Iron Pillar Mountain, bleeding to death; others were tied to copper pillars and burned to death.
Tongues were pulled out, bodies were cut into pieces and reassembled, forced by yaksha to crawl up knife mountains, endure the cold in icebergs, trampled to death by countless beasts like wild oxen...
"Boom!"
Zhao Xing lay on the ground, his limbs stretched out, and then a mountain fell from the sky, crushing him alive.
"Crack, crack, crack~~"
Chains hoisted the giant mountain up, and the yaksha looked at Zhao Xing, who was flattened like a sheet, rolled him up, and casually tossed him to a subordinate.
"How many times has it been?"
"Sir, it's been a billion times."
"Almost there, give him a soak, then take him to Master Wu Tian."
"Yes."
Zhao Xing: "..."
...
This nightmare seemed to have lasted for hundreds of years, as if experiencing eighteen layers of hell.
"Ah—"
