The Pit of the Forsaken

Chapter 20: The Pit of the Forsaken

The first few days were the hardest.

Kim Han lay in the darkness, his body curled in on itself, his stomach gnawing at him like a beast trapped in his ribs. His throat was raw, his lips cracked, his body trembling from hunger and thirst.

The Pit of the Forsaken was a graveyard of the living. A place where the unworthy were thrown away, left to rot, to die, or to become something worse.

The air was thick with decay. The scent of dried blood, sweat, and filth clung to the damp stone walls. The pit was deep underground, a vast cavern of jagged rock, with only a single shaft of light from a grated opening high above—too high to reach.

He was not alone.

At first, he heard them in the shadows. Ragged breathing. The scrape of bare feet on stone. The occasional snarl, like animals fighting over scraps.

He did not know how many were down here. But he knew one thing.

If he wanted to survive, he would have to kill.

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The First Kill

The first man came at night.

Han had not eaten for days. His vision blurred at the edges, his muscles weak, his mind teetering on the edge of delirium.

The man was little more than a skeleton wrapped in skin. His eyes were wild, his teeth rotting. In his hands, he gripped a jagged piece of bone—sharp enough to stab, sharp enough to kill.

Han barely moved in time.

The bone blade slashed his arm, searing pain ripping through him. He stumbled back, his foot slipping on something soft—a corpse.

The man lunged again.

Han didn't think. His hands moved on instinct. He grabbed the man's wrist, twisted, and drove his elbow into his throat. The man choked, staggering.

Han tackled him, pinning him to the ground. His fingers found the bone blade.

And then—

He stabbed.

Again.

And again.

Warm blood sprayed across his face, across his hands. The man shuddered beneath him, gasping, twitching—then nothing.

Silence.

The first kill was always the hardest.

Han did not weep. He did not hesitate.

He tore into the corpse, searching for anything.

The man had nothing. No food. No water. Nothing except a few scraps of cloth and the bone knife.

Han took them all.

Then, as his stomach twisted in pain, as the hunger clawed at his ribs, he did something unspeakable.

He stared at the body.

At the flesh.

His hands shook as he reached forward.

And then—

He ate.

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Losing Humanity

Days turned into weeks.

Han no longer hesitated to kill.

The pit was a battlefield. There were no allies, no rules, no mercy. Only hunger and blood.

At first, he tried to ration what little he had. But food did not exist here. The only nourishment was the dead.

So he became the hunter.

He was no longer the prey.

At night, he moved like a shadow. His body grew lean, his muscles hardened by starvation and combat. He learned how to strike first, how to aim for the throat, how to silence screams before they could alert others.

The pit was full of monsters.

And he became the worst of them all.

But it was not enough.

He had to get out.

And for that, he needed a plan.

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The First Attempt

The only way out was up.

The pit's walls were slick with moisture, jagged in places, impossible to climb with bare hands.

He watched the guards above, studying their movements, their routine. They threw down the bodies of the unworthy once every few days. Sometimes, they lowered a rope ladder to remove the bodies of the dead—when they bothered at all.

Han waited.

One night, he hid himself among the corpses. His body was covered in dried blood and filth, his breathing slow, his pulse steady.

When the guards lowered the ladder, he made his move.

He climbed fast. Faster than he ever had. His fingers ached, his muscles screamed, but he climbed.

He could see the top. Freedom.

Then—

A boot slammed into his face.

Han's fingers slipped.

He fell.

The world spun.

And then—darkness.

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The Price of Failure

When he awoke, he could not move.

Pain racked his body. His ribs were cracked. His leg bent at an unnatural angle.

But the worst part—

The others had seen his failure.

They knew he was weak.

And in the Pit of the Forsaken, weakness meant death.

He heard them before he saw them. The shuffle of feet. The quiet growls.

Then they pounced.

Hands clawed at him, nails ripping at his flesh. Teeth sank into his shoulder. Someone's fingers wrapped around his throat.

Han thrashed, gasping for air. He would not die here.

With his last strength, he grabbed a rock and smashed it into the nearest skull. A sickening crack filled the air. Blood sprayed across his face.

The others hesitated.

Han lunged.

His broken body screamed in agony, but he ignored it. He ripped, tore, and killed.

By the time it was over, he was the only one left breathing.

His chest heaved. His body shook.

But he was alive.

And he would not fail again.

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The Monster Awakens

Han spent weeks recovering. He bound his broken leg with strips of cloth. He set his own bones, biting down on leather to keep from screaming.

The hunger never left him. But he controlled it now.

He was no longer just a survivor.

He was a predator.

The pit had broken him.

But from the shattered pieces, something new emerged.

Something darker.

Something unstoppable.

And when the time came to escape again—

Nothing would stop him.

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