Man was a beast. No matter how advanced he became, he was still a beast. And a beast with many desires—that was man.
Among those desires was the hunger for food. Or was it a craving? In the end, it didn't matter. Man would do anything for food.
Food decided who survived and who didn't. For that desire—no, that craving—man would face beasts much bigger, faster, and stronger than himself.
For the right to feast on their flesh. For nourishment.
Damon understood. Hunger was a torment. Starvation—a waking nightmare. The feeling of his body cannibalizing itself, burning fat, draining strength, replacing it all with nausea.
Some pain could never be forgotten or forgiven.
He could almost smell it again—the reeking stench of the cells he was locked in as a child. Each time he defied the boss of Quick Hand, a new punishment would be devised.
And of all those cruel punishments, the one he feared the most... was starvation.
