A filthy, alcohol-scented room.
Chang Hu wielded a blood-stained kitchen knife, looking down at the "father" whose flesh strips were flailing wildly.
"Please, spare me."
Two bizarre eyeballs formed on the flesh strips, pleading in a highly discordant tone.
Chang Hu observed: "Do you have to parasitize the brain?"
"No, just, blood, flow," the parasitic creature, desperate to survive, didn't dare lie.
Chang Hu nodded and directly chopped off his own left hand with the kitchen knife.
The pain didn't make him scream, not even frown.
He extended his bare wrist: "If you don't want to die, come here."
...
"Chang Hu will become an excellent Death Fighter; he was born for this."
Since entering the Death Struggle School, every teacher who taught him gave him high evaluations.
Because in every combat simulation, he always ranked among the top.
But he wasn't just a brute with simple thoughts and strong limbs.
