The next few days came and went. Then weeks. Benny was finally healed, or at least functional enough to move without constant pain. His muscles had been trained and stretched in preparation for his next step forward.
To finally find a way out of here.
There was only one place he could realistically exit from. The pit itself was impossible. He'd tried scaling those smooth walls multiple times, only to fall back down within seconds. Even if he somehow managed to climb to the top, whoever was dropping these piles of dead and rot would surely be waiting up there. Guards. Witnesses. Beings who would kill him before he could escape.
After weeks of searching and observation, he could confidently say that the place he'd been avoiding had the highest chance of being the true exit.
But why hadn't he just left through that passage immediately? Why had he waited so long?
Because he could feel it. Beyond that dark pathway where no light seemed to exist, something waited that made his skin crawl. Just standing at the entrance sent shivers down his spine. The whole space felt alive somehow. Moving. Crawling with unseen things that couldn't be heard but were definitely present.
So he'd decided to wait. To get himself back to full strength before daring to walk that path. To prepare as thoroughly as possible for whatever lay beyond.
He'd also collected light crystals, prying them from the walls of the disposal pit where they grew in clusters. Their pale blue glow would be his only illumination in that darkness.
---
Now, with preparations finally complete, he stood ready.
He had mushroom supplies, dried and packed carefully in a makeshift bag he'd sewn from leather scraps. He'd also discovered he could produce magic, though only at its most basic and lowest form. He could spark fire from his fingertips, small flames that he'd used to cook some of the fresher meat that fell into the pit.
He'd used that fire magic to prepare proper rations for his journey. Cooked meat that would last longer than raw. Food that wouldn't poison him or make him sick.
His weapons and armor were now the best he could find among everything that had been discarded here. He'd selected a sword with minimal rust and good balance. A dagger sharp enough to pierce leather. A small shield strapped to his back. Leather armor reinforced with metal plates he'd scavenged and repaired.
With his new fire magic, he'd even managed basic metalworking. Melting scraps of metal with tiny flames, joining pieces to patch holes in his armor. It was crude work, nothing a real blacksmith would be proud of, but it was functional. It would protect him better than the rags he'd been wearing when he first woke up.
He'd also fashioned a rig to hold his things. A harness of sorts that distributed weight evenly across his shoulders and back. Light crystals hung from it on leather cords, creating a sphere of illumination around him. And a single leatherskin holding a supply of drinkable water.
"Okay, Benny," he said to himself, his voice echoing slightly in the empty pit. "It's time to get out of here."
Talking to himself had become a habit during his isolation. It kept him sane, reminded him he was still human and capable of speech. Sometimes he forgot what his own voice sounded like until he spoke aloud.
He took a deep breath to prepare himself mentally. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Centering himself. Calming the fear that threatened to paralyze him.
Then he took his first steps forward into the dark pathway.
His skin literally crawled with every step. Fear. Anxiety of the unknown. Terror of what might be beyond the darkness waiting for him. He didn't know how far the passage stretched, but he was certain this was the exit. It had to be. It was the only route that made sense.
This was also the path the bugs used. He'd observed them carefully during their weekly cleanings. They always left through this passage. Always disappeared into this darkness. If they could traverse it safely, so could he.
At least, that's what he told himself. But the bugs were native to this place. He was an intruder.
---
Each step was heavy. Deliberate. He walked down the middle of the passage with his light crystals surrounding him like a protective barrier, as if warding off evil spirits.
He couldn't see far. The light crystals' illumination could only penetrate so much darkness. Beyond that sphere of blue glow, the blackness of the space simply consumed everything. It was absolute, oppressive, the kind of darkness that made you question whether your eyes were even open.
The walk felt eternal. Every step sent shivers down his spine. The walls seemed to move in his peripheral vision. Every breath he took felt observed, analyzed, judged. The sensation of being watched was overwhelming, pressing down on him like a physical weight.
Many times, fear almost gripped him to a complete halt. His legs would lock up. His breathing would quicken toward panic. His hands would tremble on his weapon.
But each time, he forced himself to stop, close his eyes, and take deep breaths. Centering himself. Pushing the fear back down. Then he would open his eyes and begin moving once more.
One step. Then another. Then another. As long as he kept moving, he could manage the fear.
---
What Benny didn't know, couldn't see, was that the walls beyond his light were indeed alive. And they were indeed watching him with intense scrutiny.
Spirits. Ghosts. The trapped souls of those who'd died in this pit and been unable to move on. They clung to the passage like moss, countless entities layered upon each other, all watching the living man walking through their domain.
They studied his movement, his gait, his posture, his breathing. They looked deep within him, seeing the core of what he was. A man full of fear and cowardice, yes. But surprisingly brave enough to walk this path anyway. To face the darkness despite being terrified of it.
This was the pit's innermost working. The place where the souls of the dead went to linger when they couldn't escape this hell they were trapped in. Curious entities who didn't immediately try to kill the living. But the moment you stopped, the moment you showed true weakness rather than just fear, that's when they would strike. That's when they would swarm you, possess you, drag you down to join them in eternal imprisonment.
But Benny, despite showing obvious fear, despite trembling and struggling with every step, kept moving. He didn't stop. Didn't surrender to the terror. Didn't give them the opening they needed.
And for some reason, these entities held back. They didn't attack him even though they easily could have.
Why? The reason was simple, though Benny would never know it.
These trapped souls wanted to see if finally, after countless failures, one living being would be able to escape this hell. They were curious. Hopeful, even. Some part of them remembered what it meant to struggle, to fight, to refuse to give up despite impossible odds.
They cheered him on silently. Willed him forward. Wanted him to succeed where so many had failed before.
But their support came with conditions. If he faltered, if he showed the kind of weakness that marked someone as already dead inside, they would overtake his body without hesitation. Add him to their number. Another soul trapped in the passage forever.
So they watched. And waited. And judged.
---
Benny continued to walk, unaware of the countless eyes upon him. The passage felt endless. The darkness is absolute. His light crystals seemed pathetically small against the oppressive black.
Time lost meaning. Had he been walking for minutes? Hours? Days? He couldn't tell. The passage looked the same in every direction. No landmarks. No changes. Just the jagged stone walls and crushing darkness.
Then, finally, at what felt like the end of eternity itself, he saw it.
A wooden door.
It stood in the middle of the passage, incongruous and ominous. Ancient wood reinforced with iron bands that had rusted to the color of dried blood. No handle that he could see. No obvious way to open it.
It felt wrong. Like something out of a terrible story he'd read once, though he couldn't remember where or when. The kind of door that led to bad endings and worse fates.
He stopped there in front of it, hesitating. His hand hovered near the wood but didn't touch it yet. Every instinct screamed at him that opening this door was a mistake. That whatever lay beyond was worse than the disposal pit he'd spent a month surviving in.
But he couldn't go back. The pit was a dead end. A cage. This door was the only way forward, no matter how ominous it appeared.
He stood there for several long moments, steeling his resolve. Building up his courage. Telling himself that he'd come this far and couldn't turn back now.
Behind him, in the darkness, the spirits watched. Waiting to see what he would do. Whether he would open the door or retreat. Whether he had the strength to face what came next or would break here at the threshold.
Benny took one final deep breath. His hand closed into a fist, then opened again. He reached for the door.
Whatever lay beyond, he would face it. Because the alternative was staying in the pit forever. And he'd already decided that death was preferable to that fate.
His fingers touched the wood. It was cold. Unnaturally cold. The kind of cold that suggested something unnatural waited on the other side.
But he didn't pull away. Instead, he pushed.
The door began to open with a groan that echoed through the passage like the cry of something dying.
And Benny stepped forward into whatever hell waited beyond.