Tony woke up with a sharp gasp, his eyes snapping open as a burning wave of absolute agony tore through his chest. He tried to move, but his physical limbs felt incredibly heavy and weak, as if his soul had been forcefully squeezed into a completely foreign, broken shell.
"Look! He is actually breathing!" a harsh, disappointed voice echoed from the side of the bed.
Tony blinked through the blurry light, his Truth Eye slowly activating on instinct to scan his surroundings. He found himself lying in a modest room, surrounded by a large crowd of people. There were almost twenty relatives packed into the chamber, all of them dressed in fine silks, but their faces were completely pale with shock and deep resentment. They weren't mourning a dying boy; they looked utterly furious that he was still drawing breath.
"Ah... damn it," Tony groaned aloud, clutching his head as a massive explosion of pain hit his temples.
