Five days had slipped by, dragging the last vestiges of hope with them. Only 32 survivors remained. Thirteen had perished on the first day; one or two succumbed each day since, a grim reminder that without a fight, they were destined for death. Desperation filled the air, heavy and suffocating.

“Let’s reduce our numbers,” Victor Kane declared, his voice cutting through the tension.

Darius Thorn glanced at Victor, concern etched on his face. “What do you mean by ‘reduce our numbers’?” he asked, trying to mask his fear.

Victor, a man in his mid-twenties with a shaved head and a tapestry of tattoos, crossed his arms and grinned, his presence sending shivers through those around him. “There’s not enough food. Too many useless bastards,” he replied bluntly.

Darius frowned as Victor continues “Only the top three hunters are eating. We’ve been splitting the supply evenly, but we can’t keep it up. Each person’s barely getting half a loaf of bread a day.”

A few in the temple flinched at the mention of food. Someone had died in agony from grilled monster meat, and now no one dared touch the carcasses again. Bread was their only salvation. If Victor cut their rations, many would starve.

“Let’s just have the useless ones fight each other,” Victor suggested with a chilling smile.

“Seriously, Victor?” Darius shook his head, incredulous.

“Don’t pretend to be a saint. Haven’t we done enough for them?” Victor shot back.

“Our goal is to keep everyone alive,” Darius pressed, frustration creeping into his voice.

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“That’s why you thick bastard! Let’s get rid of the useless ones. Look at that guy with the kid—what can he do without arms? At least he could serve as a meat shield.”

“Victor!” Darius raised his voice, the tension reaching a breaking point.

There was no choice.

It was only a hard decision to make the first time, but afterwards, it would only get easier.

If they started eliminating the useless, only a few would be left standing at the end.

Darius Thorn stayed on guard, eyes scanning the room. If they lost their conscience and allowed selfishness to reign, the group would collapse. He knew it.

Victor Kane picked at his ear, nonchalant.

“Bitch, your voice is too damn loud,” Victor drawled, his gaze cold as it swept over the room. “Even if you’re fine with it, I’m pretty sure most of them aren’t happy with how things are right now.”

Victor’s eyes left Darius and flicked toward the other survivors. They were all thin, malnourished. Cheeks hollowing out. Fear gnawed at their insides as much as hunger did.

A clear line had formed: the useful and the useless.

The stronger ones—the hunters, the fighters—began glaring at those who couldn’t pull their weight. Dissatisfaction simmered, boiling just beneath the surface. It wasn’t new. It had been festering over the past few days, a silent rebellion no one dared speak out loud.

But the truth was obvious. The top three hunters got the food. The rest were left to fend for scraps.

Darius wasn’t blind to the situation. He saw it, felt it. The tension, the hunger, the fear.

“We need a solution,” he said, voice calm but firm. “If we start thinking about throwing people away, how are we any different from the monsters outside? We’re human. We’ve got reason. We need to help each other out.”

Victor laughed, a low, dark sound. “Help? That’s cute, Darius. What are you gonna do? Drop food from the sky when you die?”

He shrugged, indifferent, as if the very idea of unity was amusing. “Whatever. You wanna take care of them? Do it yourself. I’m done playing hero. From now on, I look out for me.”

Victor’s tone was casual, but the weight of his words crushed the room. He had been one of the few distributing food these past five days, a lifeline for many. Without him, people would starve.

Darius felt his gut twist at the thought. “Victor, if you stop... people are going to die.”

Victor grinned, pulling a loaf of bread from his jacket and taking a slow, deliberate bite. The smell of it filled the room, making the hungry stare.

“So what?” Victor shrugged again, careless. “It’s hard for me too. Or maybe…” He chewed, eyes scanning the crowd like a predator sizing up its prey. “We set up a trade. I’m not completely heartless. Give me something, I’ll trade it for bread. Or maybe prove you’re useful. Yeah, I think I can feed... maybe six of you.”

The number was intentional. He was building his own group, creating a faction. In a place like this, power meant everything. And Victor knew it.

Unity had been an illusion, a public declaration. But now, with Victor, the rules were changing.