As he crawled away from his starting position, Benny's senses led him toward something he could only identify as water. Drinkable water, hopefully. There was no way to confirm it without testing it himself, but something deep in his instincts told him he was heading in the right direction.
It wasn't proven to be scientifically factual by the bright scholars of this era, but common wisdom held that a person driven by delirium or near-death desperation developed heightened awareness of their surroundings. The body's survival mechanisms kicked into overdrive, sharpening every sense in a desperate attempt to find what it needed.
And Benny's already enhanced body made this effect even more pronounced. He was stronger than a normal human, his perception sharper, his senses more acute. Though he couldn't remember how or why his body had changed, the effects were undeniable.
He crawled and crawled, forcing his body forward through sheer willpower. Every movement sent pain lancing through his muscles and joints. Every inch of progress was agony. But gradually, the pain became bearable. His groans of effort grew less frequent. His grimaces of pain softened into gritted determination.
His body was remembering how to function. Muscles that had been dormant were relearning their purpose. Joints that had seized up were working loose.
He reached a place far from the pit he'd started in, that incredibly foul-smelling and disgusting hole where he'd been buried. But beggars couldn't be choosers. He'd survived the pit. That was what mattered.
Unbeknownst to Benny, he'd been crawling through a dumping site. Literally a disposal area where the rat kingdom threw everything they wanted to get rid of. Bodies. Refuse. Organic waste. Anything they didn't want cluttering their actual territory.
There was also the fact that this place existed in a separate space. Another Sub-Space, similar to the one where the rat kingdom proper existed but isolated from it. The rat men's magicians and wise men considered it their greatest achievement, a dimensional rift separate from the one they normally used to cross into the labyrinth.
What they'd discovered was that the cleaners, those creatures called "labyrinth roaches," would come and consume all the organic waste thrown here. Once a week like clockwork, the roaches would arrive and reduce the mountain of garbage significantly. It was an efficient disposal system that required no maintenance or effort from the rat men themselves.
Right now, it wasn't time for the roaches' cleaning service to begin. But tomorrow, everything in this space would be devoured by those hungry creatures. Every scrap of organic matter. Every corpse. Every piece of flesh and bone.
If Benny had still been unconscious in that pit tomorrow, he would have been eaten alive along with the rest of the refuse.
He didn't know it yet, but his next trial, his second real challenge in this new life, would come with the morning. When the roaches arrived.
---
For now, though, he'd reached the watering hole.
The sight of it triggered something in his fractured memory. It felt familiar. The pristine clarity of the water. The way it pooled in a natural basin carved from stone. He'd seen something like this before, though he couldn't remember where or when.
But he didn't care about the mystery. He was about to quench his thirst, and that was all that mattered.
He dunked his entire head under the water without hesitation. No testing it first. No careful sips to check for contamination. Just pure, desperate consumption.
He took a massive gulp. Then another. And another. The cool water flooded his parched throat, soothing the burning sensation that had been driving him mad. He felt his rather dried-out self absorbing the moisture like a sponge, his body crying out in relief as it finally got what it desperately needed.
He looked like a camel at an oasis, drinking with single-minded intensity as if the water might disappear if he slowed down.
It seemed like a long time, though it was probably only a few minutes. He enjoyed every big sip, every gulp, every moment of relief from the dehydration that had been slowly killing him.
When he finally pulled his head from the water, gasping for air, he felt human again. Or at least more human than he had since waking up.
His mind cleared significantly. The fog of confusion and desperation lifted somewhat, replaced by cautious awareness of his surroundings. He stayed there at the water's edge for a good while, catching his breath, letting his body stabilize.
The water pooled near what appeared to be a natural spring or seepage from the stone walls. It was clean, miraculously clean considering the filth everywhere else in this place. Perhaps it filtered through enough rock to purify itself. Perhaps the labyrinth's magic maintained it for some unknowable purpose.
Either way, it was safe to drink. His body wasn't rejecting it, wasn't cramping or showing signs of poison. That was good enough.
After a bit more rest, letting his body absorb the hydration and recover some strength, Benny decided it was time to try standing. He couldn't crawl forever. He needed to regain full mobility if he wanted to survive whatever came next.
He positioned himself near the wall, using it as support. His hands pressed flat against the cold stone as he slowly, carefully began pushing himself upward. His legs trembled under his weight. His knees threatened to buckle. His ankles felt weak, like they might snap at any moment.
But he kept pushing. Inch by inch, he raised himself from the ground. The effort was exhausting, far more difficult than it should have been for something as simple as standing. Sweat broke out across his forehead despite the cool temperature of the dungeon.
It took him what felt like forever, though it was probably only a few minutes. But eventually, miraculously, he stood upright. His back against the wall, his legs supporting his weight, his body vertical for the first time since waking up.
The feeling was satisfying beyond words. A small victory, but a real one. Proof that he was recovering, that his body could still function, that he wasn't completely broken.
He allowed himself a moment to savor the accomplishment. Standing. Such a simple thing. Something he'd done thousands of times before without thinking. Now it felt like climbing a mountain.
Then he tried to take his first step.
His right foot lifted from the ground. His weight shifted to his left leg. He moved his right foot forward, intending to plant it firmly and take another step.
But his ankle gave out completely. The joint simply collapsed, unable to support him. His balance, already precarious, vanished instantly.
He stumbled forward, arms windmilling uselessly, trying to catch himself. But there was nothing to grab onto. No wall within reach. No support to arrest his fall.
He hit the ground hard. His shoulder took most of the impact, sending a spike of pain through his entire side. His head bounced off the stone with a sickening crack. His momentary achievement, all that effort to stand, was undone in an instant.
He could only groan in pain, lying on the cold floor once again, right back where he'd started.
"Fuck," he muttered through gritted teeth. The first real word he'd managed since waking up.
His ankle throbbed. His shoulder ached. His head felt like it might split open. Every part of him hurt in a different way, a symphony of pain that threatened to overwhelm him.
But he was still conscious. Still breathing. Still alive.
And that meant he could try again.
He lay there for several minutes, giving his body time to recover from the fall. His breathing gradually slowed. The sharp pain faded into a dull ache. His mind, clearer now with proper hydration, began working on the problem.
His body was too weak. Too damaged. He'd pushed too hard, too fast. He needed more time. More food. More rest. More gradual rehabilitation before he could walk normally.
But he didn't have time. Something told him that staying here was dangerous. That remaining in this dumping ground was a death sentence, even if he couldn't remember why he felt that way.
So he would have to adapt. Use what he had. Work within his limitations.
If he couldn't walk, he would crawl. If he couldn't run, he would drag himself. Whatever it took to keep moving forward, to keep surviving, to keep refusing the death that seemed determined to claim him.
He rolled onto his hands and knees once more, resuming the crawling position that had carried him this far. It was humiliating, undignified, pathetic. But it worked. And survival didn't care about dignity.
The mini-map still floated in his vision, updating with each movement. It showed the chamber he was in, the water source, the entrance he'd crawled through. And beyond that, unexplored areas still blacked out on the display.
Somewhere in this place, there had to be an exit. A way out of this disposal pit. A path back to... to what? He didn't know. He couldn't remember where he'd come from or where he should be going.
But anywhere was better than here. So he would keep moving. Keep searching. Keep surviving.
The dead had risen. Death had rejected him, spat him back into the world of the living. Now he just had to figure out how to stay there.
He crawled away from the water, following the mini-map's guidance toward what might be an exit. His body protested every movement, but he ignored it. Pain was just information. It told you what was wrong, but it didn't control you unless you let it.
And Benny, whoever he had been before, whatever he'd lost to death and resurrection, still had one thing intact.
The stubborn, cowardly refusal to just lie down and die.
He would survive this. He would escape this pit. He would find answers.
Or he would die trying. Again.
But at least this time, he'd die on his feet. Or his hands and knees. Whatever worked.
---
High above, in the rat kingdom proper, Captain Vrek reviewed reports from the disposal site. Everything was proceeding normally. The weekly cleaning was scheduled for tomorrow. The roaches would consume everything as usual.
He had no idea that one of the corpses thrown into that pit had stopped being a corpse and was now crawling around looking for a way out.
No one knew. No one expected it. No one was prepared for what the labyrinth had returned to life in that darkness.
The dead had risen. And the rat kingdom would eventually learn to regret not making sure he stayed dead.