Mo Tianheng sat against the cold stone wall of his small cave, breathing hard.
His lip was bleeding. His eye was swelling shut.
The first day had ended badly.
He had been too slow. Too weak.
He tried to run for the food, but four boys got there first when the food was thrown down.
One of them punched him in the gut. Another kicked him to the ground.
He didn't get a single bite.
His body hurt all over.
The second day came.
He moved earlier and waited near the food chute.
As soon as the bag dropped, he rushed in.
This time, he fought back. He scratched. Bit. Hit with his small blade.
He got a piece of meat. Barely a half-portion.
But it was enough to keep him standing.
Later that night, he sat in his cave, looking at the books the elders had left behind.
He opened the one titled [Demonic Body Art] and read under the dim light from the glowing stone above him.
He didn't know much, but he knew one thing:
"If I want to live… I need power."
