The old man flailed and wriggled, but the tiny limbs of his cockroach body were no match for the force raining down on him.
Every blow sent shockwaves of agony through him, yet he could not escape. He was powerless.
Every strike felt like fire, every movement a reminder of how completely he had been humiliated.
Memories of his past life… the power, the schemes, the disciples he had raised flashed through his mind.
Once, he had been feared, a master whose name alone could bend others to his will.
Now, he was nothing.
Reduced to a tiny insect, at the mercy of those he could never hope to overpower.
He wanted to curse them, to unleash his anger, but he was trapped.
He could only endure, unable to die, forced to experience every strike over and over again.
The women's shouts of disgust filled the space around him.
His frail, chitin-covered body tumbled helplessly across the stone floor outside the courtyard before landing on his back.
