A strange dream began where light from the outside world illuminated his face. He felt happy and sad at the same time, but as the dream twisted into a nightmare, the surroundings grew colder. He could hear and feel the wet ground beneath him, and could hear the echoes of his comrades' cries.
"Save us! Save me, Benny! Don't leave us here! Why did you abandon us, you traitor!"
He tried to reason that they were the ones who'd told him to run. But he knew they'd wanted to return home too. They'd had people waiting for them. So why did they tell him to run? Why did he run when no one was waiting for him back home? Should he have died instead? Should he have been the one sacrificed?
But what about him? What was so wrong with wanting to live? What about his dreams, his future, the stable life he'd finally found as a guardsman in Tiamerith?
"No, fuck you! You're all dead and I'm alive!"
But no voice came from his mouth—these were all just thoughts. He felt like he was there when he wasn't, peering through his own eyes while simultaneously looking down at himself lying on the ground. The surface beneath him was covered in wet substance, black in the absence of light. Blood. The blood of the fallen.
He looked around and saw the entire ground littered with mangled bodies, half-eaten by the monsters. Some were still alive, being slowly chewed while pleading for mercy, for a quick death.
This was all a dream—a recollection of the day he'd run by himself. A fucking coward. A disgusting being. He was so revolted by his own actions that he wanted to have died alongside them. But that voice inside his head kept telling him to run. The same voice that stayed in his hand when he'd held the broken sword to his own throat while still awake.
This was all a dream, but he was being controlled. He couldn't move, couldn't speak. He was strapped to the ground by fiery flames from hell, burning his skin. He wanted to scream in pain and agony, but his mouth was sewn shut. This was the kind of torture he'd only heard about from his fellow guards back in the city.
Meanwhile, in reality, Benny was convulsing as fever wracked his body. He had multiple wounds from running and defending himself against the monsters that had chased him. He'd patched himself up as best he could with the basic first aid skills he'd learned as a guardsman, but infection was setting in.
No wonder he was having these nightmares even in his sleep. He could only groan and shiver simultaneously. The fever finally forced him awake as uncontrollable shivers shook his body. He looked around and found only darkness. The sound of his chattering teeth and shivering body was all that broke the silence. Whatever equipment he had left barely covered him from the cold.
He had to weather this suffering somehow. He pulled his cape closer—the one he'd bought on the surface that now served him well despite its torn and dirty state. With no medicine to bring down his fever, he could only hope and pray. He wasn't religious to begin with, but anything that could distract his mind from self-deprecating thoughts might improve his situation. So he prayed as he shivered, repeating whatever words came to mind.
After hours of violent shaking, he finally began to calm down. Gathering what little strength he had, he sat up and drank the remaining water from his pouch. His throat was dry as sand.
He had to move again. He needed to find water, food, and a temporary shelter. Despite everything, despite being a coward, he still wanted to live.
He walked slowly and unsteadily, almost dragging himself forward. He kept one hand on the wall for support, using his broken sword and its scabbard as a makeshift walking stick.
"Come on, move it, Benny. You're almost there," he muttered to himself, though he had no real destination in mind. But he knew that most labyrinths had safe spots scattered throughout them, and this place might have some too. Those safe zones usually had water sources as well.
What felt like hours of dragging himself through the corridors finally paid off when Benny arrived somewhere with some degree of lighting. His breathing was ragged, but he was definitely still alive.
Finally—a sanctuary he could use. It had light, and there was a small crevice in the wall that could definitely fit a human body. He planned to use it as his resting place.
But first, he needed to eat some of the remaining food he had left. He'd been thinking of a plan while steadily making his way through the labyrinth. He had to survive so he could get his fucking revenge on those who'd abandoned them down here. But that was all wishful thinking for now—he could barely survive on his own as it was.
After his eyes adjusted to having light again, he took inventory of his supplies. A dwindling amount of food, some first aid supplies, and his broken sword—the only thing he could use to defend himself. After cataloging everything, since he was still weak from fever, he decided he needed proper rest.
He crawled into the small crevice, using his cape as both blanket and pillow. The stone was cold and hard, but it was a shelter. For the first time in what felt like days, he had light, relative safety, and a plan to keep going.
Even if that plan was built on nothing more than spite and the stubborn refusal to die.