Interstellar Beastworld: Raising A Cub With My Mummy System!-Chapter 30: GETTING HIS PUNISHMENT

The northern frontlines were a different world entirely.

Months of snow and ice. Barren landscapes stretching endless under grey skies. Military bases carved into the frozen ground, built for function not comfort. This was where Uriel’s elite trained. This was where the best of the best were forged.

And this was where Varn had been taken.

---

The Confinement Room

Three men stood inside.

Kaelen was the leader. Twenty-eight. Wolf beastman, like Uriel, with dark grey fur at his ears and the same gold eyes. He leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, watching. He had not lifted a finger yet. He did not need to.

Zorin was twenty-six. Panther beastman. Tall, lean, with black fur and eyes that caught the light like a predator’s. He held the whip, its tip dripping red. His face was empty, professional. He did not enjoy this. He simply did it.

Damon was twenty-seven. Bear beastman. Broad shoulders, thick neck, massive hands that had crushed more than one opponent. His fur was dark brown, his ears rounded. He stood beside Zorin, ready to step in if needed. His face was carved from stone.

Varn was chained to the wall.

His hands were bound above his head with magnetic cuffs. His fine clothes were gone, replaced by a thin prison tunic. His body was a canvas of bruises and cuts, some fresh, some already healing.

He was laughing.

---

Varn looked at each of them in turn, grinning through bloodied teeth.

"Three of you," he rasped. "My cousin sent three of his best just for me. I should be flattered."

Zorin raised the whip.

Varn laughed. "Go ahead. It will not change anything."

The whip cracked against his chest.

Varn’s body jerked, a sound escaping his throat, but the laughter followed immediately after. "That was weak. The last one was better."

Zorin hit him again. Harder.

Varn’s head snapped to the side, blood flying from his split lip. He laughed through it.

"He is not going to break," Damon said, his voice low and rumbling.

"I know," Zorin replied.

"Then why—"

"Because he deserves it."

Varn laughed harder. "Deserve! I love that word. Tell me, Zorin, what do I deserve? A quick death? A slow one? A trial?" He spat blood onto the floor. "I deserve my cousin’s throne. I deserve that woman dead and that bastard child never born."

Damon stepped forward, his massive frame blocking the light. "Say that again."

Varn looked up at him, still grinning. "Which part? The bastard? The woman? I would say it all again. I would do it all again."

Damon’s fist connected with his jaw.

Varn’s head snapped back, then forward again. Blood poured from his nose. He laughed.

"Is that all?" he wheezed. "The bear hits like a cub."

Kaelen spoke from the wall. His voice was quiet, calm, utterly controlled. "Continue."

Zorin raised the whip again.

Varn’s laughter filled the room.

---

The Watch Room

Two people sat in a small room down the corridor, watching the scene on a holographic display.

Rynn was twenty-five. Lynx beastman. Compact, quick, with tufted ears and eyes that glowed faintly in the dim light. She leaned forward, studying every detail of Varn’s reactions. The way he favored his left side. The way his laughter came harder after certain hits.

Joran was twenty-three. Wolf beastman, like Kaelen, but with lighter fur and sharper features. He sat back, arms crossed, watching with a different kind of focus. He was tracking patterns. Looking for weaknesses.

"He is insane," Joran said.

"Yes," Rynn agreed. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

"He tried to kill a baby. A newborn."

"Yes."

Joran was quiet for a moment. "How do they do it? Stay in there with him?"

Rynn leaned back. "They think about the baby. Alive and safe. They think about the mother, recovering. They think about His Majesty, finally having something good in his life." She glanced at the screen where Varn’s laughter continued. "And then they think about the man who tried to take all of that away. And they feel nothing."

On the screen, Zorin raised the whip again.

Varn laughed.

Joran watched in silence.

Varn’s laughter echoed off the stone walls, broken only by the sound of his own ragged breathing.

Damon stepped back, flexing his massive hand. He looked at Kaelen. "When do we send him back?"

"Three days. That is all we have with him."

Kaelen nodded. "Then we make them count."

Zorin lowered the whip, interested. "What did you have in mind?"

Damon walked closer to Varn, studying him like prey. "His Majesty gave specific orders. Number one was to break the wrist he used to hand the poison to that kitchen woman." He leaned in, close enough that Varn could smell his breath. "Which hand was it?"

Varn grinned through bloody teeth. "I do not remember."

"Wrong answer."

Damon looked at Zorin.

Zorin shrugged.

Damon grabbed Varn’s left wrist.

Varn’s eyes widened slightly. Just slightly. The first crack in the mask.

Damon squeezed.

The sound of bones breaking echoed through the room.

Varn screamed.

Not a laugh. Not a taunt. A real, raw scream that tore from his throat and bounced off the walls.

Damon held on for three more seconds, then released. Varn’s left hand hung at an unnatural angle, fingers twitching uselessly.

"Which hand?" Damon asked again.

Varn panted, sweat mixing with blood on his face. "I told you. I do not—"

Damon grabbed his right wrist.

"No—"

Crack.

Another scream. Louder this time. Longer.

Varn’s body went limp against the chains, his head falling forward. His breathing was harsh, ragged, broken.

Damon stepped back and admired his work. Both wrists shattered. Both hands useless.

"There," he said quietly. "That was the easy part."

Varn did not laugh.

For the first time since they had brought him here, Varn did not laugh.

Kaelen pushed off from the wall and walked closer. He tilted his head, studying the broken man before him.

"No more jokes?" Kaelen asked.

Varn did not respond.

Kaelen looked at the others. A small smile played at the corner of his mouth.

"Good," he said. "We are making progress. Two more days to see what else breaks."

In the watch room, Rynn and Joran watched in silence.

The screen showed Varn hanging limply from his chains, both hands ruined, his laughter finally silenced.

Rynn smiled. "There it is."

Joran leaned forward, eyes sharp. "Took long enough."

"Psychos always break hardest when they realize they are not untouchable."

Joran nodded slowly. "Two more days with him."

"Plenty of time."

On the screen, Damon was already moving toward Varn again.