Benny had recovered from his thirst. Now food was the second issue demanding his attention.
He couldn't see well in the darkness. Only his enhanced vision and a few glowing light crystals embedded in the stone walls provided illumination. The crystals gave off a dim, sickly blue light that barely penetrated the oppressive black. It was just enough to navigate by, but not enough to see details clearly.
He rested for a while before moving again, gathering what little strength he had. Then he began exploring, wanting to understand how big this place was and what resources he could scavenge from it.
After an hour of crawling systematically through the disposal pit, mapping out the space in his mind and on the mini-map interface, he'd discovered several useful features. There were a few small pockets and crevices scattered throughout the main chamber. Natural caves carved from the stone, probably by water erosion long ago.
These caves were easy to defend. The entrances were narrow, forcing anyone or anything trying to enter to come at him one at a time. The ceilings were low, maybe five feet at the highest point. The spaces inside were small, enough to fit three to five people if they didn't mind being cramped together.
He didn't know why defensive positioning mattered to him, why his mind immediately evaluated tactical advantages. But he felt he needed to consider these things. Some instinct warned him that if he didn't think strategically, he might regret it later.
Now, for other considerations beyond shelter.
Food would be the second priority with water already secured. The watering hole remained pure despite the filth surrounding it, some quirk of the labyrinth's design or magic maintaining its cleanliness.
Third would be weapons and armor. He'd seen several pieces lying scattered around the disposal pit. Well, "seen" wasn't quite accurate. He'd felt them rather, his hands encountering metal and leather as he crawled over the decaying bodies thrown into this place. There were plenty of options to choose from. He only needed to find what would fit him best.
Again, he didn't know why, but there was a sense of familiarity in acquiring weapons. Some human instinct maybe, or perhaps something deeper. Either way, he understood it wasn't a bad impulse. Given his hazy memory and the atmosphere of this place reeking of literal death, it was safe to assume violence would be coming sooner or later.
Being prepared for it seemed wise.
Now he went around the pit, crawling because his legs remained useless. Or rather, they had no strength in them. He'd realized during his earlier attempt to stand that his legs had atrophied significantly. He must have been unconscious for a long time, long enough for his muscles to waste away. His legs were like jelly now, with no formal structure or power left in them.
He would need to rebuild that strength gradually. But that was a problem for later.
After finding weapons, armor, and anything else he could possibly use, he chose one of the cave systems to serve as his storage location. It was near the watering hole, close enough that he could access fresh water easily. And it was defensible, with a narrow entrance that could be blocked if necessary.
It wasn't as secure as the furthest cave he'd discovered, the one deepest in the pit. But the convenience of this location made it worth the risk. Being close to water was a significant advantage that outweighed the marginal loss of security.
The weapons he'd collected were in poor condition. Rusty blades. Cracked hafts. Corroded metal. But some were better than others. He chose a short sword that still had most of its edge intact and a dagger with a solid grip. For armor, he found a breastplate that more or less fit his frame and some leather bracers that weren't completely rotted through.
It wasn't much. But it was infinitely better than being naked and unarmed.
Now, after exhausting himself to the point of collapse with no food in his system, only water, it was time to rest properly. His body was literally screaming at him with every movement he'd made over the past few hours. Every muscle ached. Every joint complained. He was running on fumes and stubborn willpower alone.
He retreated to his chosen cave, wearing the rusty armor and gripping the weapon in his hand. He positioned himself in a sitting posture, his back against the wall, his upper body supported by the sword planted point-down on the ground. His hand remained wrapped around the grip even as exhaustion dragged him toward unconsciousness.
Some instinct told him to sleep armed. To never be caught completely defenseless.
His eyes began to close. The next moment, his consciousness faded and slipped into dreams.
The dream was hazy but felt beautiful. Faces of people appeared, though their features were blurred out, impossible to recognize. It felt like an adventure, similar to being in a place like this labyrinth. Tragic but beautiful. Surreal in ways he couldn't articulate.
He was torn between the truth and the dream, unable to distinguish which was real and which was his memory. It felt like reliving a life before everything he currently knew, which admittedly wasn't much. But he couldn't tell for certain. He only knew it all felt vaguely familiar, like watching a play he'd seen before but couldn't quite recall.
The next moment, as if someone had shocked him with lightning, he was jolted back to life.
He heard rustling sounds. Many feet. Thousands of feet. Maybe millions. Running, scurrying, clicking across the stone walls outside his cave. The sound was overwhelming, like rainfall made of chitin and claws instead of water.
It felt concerning. More than concerning. It felt terrifying.
His instincts screamed at him, warning of danger on a level he couldn't comprehend. Every fiber of his being told him that whatever was making that sound could kill him easily if it found him.
Thankfully, there were no dead things in his cave. No rotting corpses to attract attention. Only him, a living being hiding in the darkness.
Though he didn't know what the creatures outside were or why they were here, he was certain of one thing. This wouldn't end well for him if they discovered him inside this cave.
So with every ounce of power he could muster, fighting through the exhaustion and pain, he hurried to hide deeper in the cave. He moved away from the main entrance, from the narrow passageway that led outside. He found a crevice in the stone, a crack in the wall just wide enough for him to squeeze into.
He buried himself in that crevice, wedging his body into the gap until he was as far from the entrance as possible. His sword remained in his hand, positioned so he could attack or defend if something forced its way in.
His breathing was shallow, controlled. His heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to remain still. Silent. Hidden.
---
Outside in the main pit area, the roaches had arrived.
The labyrinth cleaners, as they were properly called, and they had come to perform their weekly service. They occupied every available space, covering the ground in a living carpet of chitin and legs. Millions of them, each one about the size of a small dog, with mandibles designed for consuming organic matter.
They ate everything in their path. Every rotting corpse. Every piece of decayed flesh. Every bone that still had marrow to extract. As long as it was organic, they would clean it. That was their purpose. Their function in the labyrinth's ecosystem.
And they were damn good at their job.
The sound was deafening. The clicking of mandibles. The scraping of legs on stone. The wet tearing sounds as they consumed flesh. It was a symphony of consumption that would drive most people mad if they had to listen to it for long.
The roaches normally wouldn't attack living beings. That wasn't their purpose. They were cleaners, not predators. They preferred dead things, things that wouldn't fight back.
But who could say they wouldn't attack if threatened? If some fool decided to confront them or get in their way?
Besides, there were millions of them. What could anyone who stood against that swarm possibly hope to accomplish? They would be overwhelmed in seconds, consumed alive as efficiently as any corpse.
---
Meanwhile, Benny remained hidden in his crevice, listening to the sounds of feeding outside his cave.
Would they find him? Would one of them wander into his hiding spot, drawn by the scent of living flesh?
And if they did, would he be able to survive?
Those were the questions racing through his mind as he clutched his rusty sword and tried to control his breathing. He tried not to panic. He tried not to think about what it would feel like to be eaten alive by millions of those things outside.
Whatever happened next, he knew one thing for certain.
It would be bloody.
His hand tightened on his sword. His body tensed in the crevice. His enhanced senses strained to detect any movement near the cave entrance.
He'd died once already. He couldn't remember it, but some deep part of him knew it had happened. And that same deep part of him absolutely refused to let it happen again.
Not here. Not like this. Not consumed by mindless insects in the darkness.
If they came for him, he would fight. Even if fighting was pointless. Even if there were millions of them and only one of him.
He would fight because that's what survivors would do. They refused to go quietly. They made death work for its meal.
The sounds outside continued. Scraping. Clicking. Tearing flesh apart. The wet consumption of organic matter by creatures designed for nothing else.
And in his hidden crevice, Benny waited with his sword and his fear and his stubborn refusal to die.
The labyrinth cleaners had arrived. And they were hungry.