Satisfaction (3).

He felt the heat rise almost immediately.

A slow, creeping warmth at first—like fingers pressing into his skin. Then it surged, an inferno raging through him, consuming every fiber of his being.

To every part of him. Every crevice, every hole. Into his spirit, saturating his body too.

It was not a gentle warmth. It was brutal, unrelenting, primal.

Cain barely had time to react before his nerves screamed in agony. It was as if his very essence was being boiled alive, each part of him unraveling like frayed threads of an old tapestry.

He let out a desperate scream.

But the scream was silent.

His lips parted, his throat convulsed, but no sound emerged.

It was terrifying.

Not the pain.

Not even the heat.

But the silence.

As if the world had been stripped of sound, leaving only the raw sensation of suffering.

Yet he had only a split second. And so, he used it wisely.