Considering Liu Xian's first trial had him withering in pain, flayed apart in that cotton-candy hell, B67's was… different.
The opposite, if one dared put it simply.
There was no screech of childlike laughter echoing in the dark. No sticky sweetness clogging the air until it made one gag. No claws ripping flesh, no steel to cling to, no blood spraying across his vision.
There wasn't even a ground to brace his tiny feet against.
No light. Not even a sliver.
Just… nothing.
A void so absolute it seemed to suck the air out of his lungs.
B67 floated there, limbs hanging awkward, eyes darting back and forth but catching nothing. Every blink felt the same—open, closed, didn't matter. The black didn't change. He tried to kick, to paddle like one might in water, but there was nothing to touch, no resistance, no weight. Just drifting.
Everywhere and nowhere.
If one were to judge it logically, they might even call it peaceful. They'd say: compared to Liu Xian's trial, this was heaven.
