Chapter 14: The Pit of the Forsaken
Kim Han's world blurred. His vision swam, his limbs felt like lead, and the cold bite of the wind barely kept him conscious. Blood soaked his leg where the arrow had struck, and every step sent white-hot pain searing through his body.
But he couldn't stop.
Not now.
Kenji's weight on his back was suffocating, his breathing shallow and ragged. Han knew he was barely holding on to life. If he stopped, they would both die.
The forest was an endless abyss of darkness, the twisted branches clawing at the sky. The moon barely peeked through, casting eerie shadows along the ground.
Somewhere behind them, the hunting hounds were already being released. Daichi wouldn't let him go so easily. This was all a game to him.
And Han was the prey.
He pushed forward, his body screaming in protest. One step at a time.
Then—
CRACK.
The ground beneath him gave way.
Han barely had time to react before he was falling, tumbling into the darkness below.
He crashed onto cold stone.
Kenji rolled from his back, his weak groan barely audible.
Han coughed, struggling to his hands and knees. His head throbbed, and his leg was bleeding badly. He looked up, trying to see where they had fallen.
The pit was deep. The jagged walls rose high above them, the faint glow of the moon barely illuminating the top. There was no way out.
A new scent filled the air.
Rot.
Decay.
And something far, far worse.
Han forced himself to stand, every muscle in his body screaming in agony. His eyes adjusted to the darkness. Then he saw them.
Corpses.
Dozens of them.
Piled against the walls, their hollow eyes staring into nothingness. Some were fresh, others decomposed beyond recognition. The stench was unbearable.
Han clenched his jaw, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat. This wasn't just a pit.
This was a grave.
A faint rustling sound came from the shadows.
Han's grip tightened on his sword. His instincts screamed at him—he wasn't alone.
Then, they emerged.
Figures crawled from the darkness, their bodies gaunt, their eyes sunken and wild. Their clothes were in tatters, their skin clinging to their bones.
Prisoners.
Survivors.
No—
Monsters.
These people weren't human anymore.
They were starving.
And they were looking at Han like a meal.
The first one lunged.
Han sidestepped, but pain flared through his leg, slowing him down. The creature's nails raked against his shoulder, tearing fabric and flesh.
A second rushed him.
Han reacted on instinct, swinging his blade. Steel met flesh, and blood sprayed across the stone.
The attacker crumpled.
But the others didn't stop.
They swarmed.
Han gritted his teeth and fought. His sword flashed in the darkness, cutting through limbs and throats. His movements were precise, but his body was failing. Too slow. Too weak. Too injured.
One grabbed his arm. Another latched onto his leg.
He stumbled, falling onto one knee.
The hunger in their eyes was unbearable.
They weren't fighting him.
They were devouring him.
A bony hand wrapped around his throat.
This is it.
Han's vision darkened. His body was too weak.
His life—everything—it would all end here.
But then—
A whisper.
"Stand, Han."
His breath hitched.
Kenji.
The old man, barely conscious, had used the last of his strength to speak.
Han's fingers twitched.
No.
Not yet.
With a roar, he forced himself up, shoving the monsters away. His blade arced through the darkness, cutting down anything in his path.
The hunger in their eyes turned to fear.
Han wasn't prey.
He was a beast.
The last survivor hesitated—and Han drove his sword through his chest.
Silence fell.
The pit was once again still.
Han swayed, his breaths ragged, his body drenched in blood. His vision blurred, but he remained standing.
He looked down at his hands.
Shaking.
Stained.
Monstrous.
A bitter realization settled in his chest.
He had survived.
But he was no longer the same man.
He was something else.
Something far worse.
And Daichi Sato had known this all along.
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