"Benny. Benny, wake up."
His name was being called. Sprawled in his own pool of blood on the stairwell between the first and second floors of the labyrinth, someone was calling to Benny. It was the voice of a woman—familiar yet alien, soothing like a mother's voice. He'd already forgotten his mother's face and what she sounded like. It was a long time ago, a painful past.
But right now he felt at ease when he was being called. He tried looking up but only saw a bright white light. It was blinding, yet an arm stretched toward him. He wanted to rest a bit more, but the voice kept calling his name. The more he could process it, the more urgent and concerned it sounded.
"Benny. Benny, it is time for you to wake up."
As if he'd finally regained his sanity, he was jolted back into the real world. He didn't know how close he'd come to death this time. He could feel his hand. He could finally twitch his fingers, though his head ached terribly. There was no light except the dimness from another light crystal he always kept hanging at his side.
He was back in the real world, trying to make sense of himself and his surroundings. He began checking himself to confirm it was truly him. He was certain now—he could feel the sensation of his rough fingers running down his skin, his face, his head and hair. The blood had already dried, and now he was only covered in dirt.
"Fuck, my head hurts. My limbs are complete, my body looks fine, right?" he said to himself. Slowly he recounted what had happened, making himself comfortable with his back against the wall. "I guess I did make it alive. As to how? I don't know. Why do I always get unconscious during the most important parts of my near-death experiences?"
He just sat there, eyes wandering while his mind wasn't quite there yet. He could feel his body was still in pain, and he wasn't in any condition to move immediately.
He remembered he'd left his things somewhere nearby. He slowly climbed the stairs, or rather crawled his way up, finally seeing the light of the crystal he'd thrown at the rats. The creatures were still there, thankfully. As for his belongings, he finally got his hands on them again. Searching through his food pouch and water pouch, he felt hunger surge through him as if he could devour even that dead rat. Thankfully, he still had some control over his cognitive will and function.
He began rummaging through the food pouch to eat the remaining rat jerky he'd brought before. After the filling meal, he was satisfied. It didn't take as many resources to feel full now with this changing body of his.
After resting a bit more, he could finally feel at ease. Exhaustion overtook him, and he fell asleep once more. Would he be able to see that person again? He didn't know.
Time passed as Benny slept peacefully. His body slowly but surely recovered. His mana heart was once again filled, his mana veins pooled with magical energy.
When he woke up, he felt refreshed. His body felt light yet strong at the same time. It was time for him to return to the sanctuary. But what about the rat meat? "Well, I guess I'll come back for them later," he thought. He was sure they would have been feasted upon by now by the beasts of this floor, including those bug cleaners.
After some time walking, he finally reached the sanctuary. He laid what he'd brought on the ground. Smelling himself was disgusting, so he made sure to clean up the dirt, grime, and hardened blood splattered on his body.
After washing up, he planned to fetch the two rat carcasses—the prize of his victory.
The mysterious voice lingered in his mind as he moved about his tasks. Who was it that had called him? The voice had felt so real, so caring, unlike anything he'd experienced in years. It reminded him of a time before the streets, before his fears crippled him, before he'd learned that the world was a place where weak people got crushed.
But that was probably just his dying brain playing tricks on him, right? People saw things when they were close to death. It was just hallucinations from blood loss and mana exhaustion.
Still, the memory of that gentle voice calling his name, the outstretched arm in the light, felt more real than anything he'd experienced in this labyrinth. More real than the monsters, more real than the pain, more real than his own survival.
He shook his head, trying to focus on practical matters. He was alive, he'd won his fight, and he was getting stronger. That voice, whether real or imagined, had pulled him back from whatever edge he'd been teetering on.
And for the first time in longer than he could remember, someone—or something—had seemed to actually care whether he lived or died.
That was probably worth more than all the rat meat in the world.