The Pit & Weapon
Raghu found himself standing in a new landscape, the remnants of the palace disappearing behind him as the space around him transformed. Before him lay what could only be described as the Pit—a vast, inverted trapezoidal abyss enclosed by jagged black rock walls that seemed impossibly steep to scale. Moonlight spilled across the terrain, casting an eerie glow on the rocks and illuminating the edges of the pit, which looked perilously sharp. The silence was suffocating, and Raghu realized that this was a place meant to push both body and mind to their limits.
A chime resonated inside his head: "Survive the Pit for 3 days. Kill as many as you can. Your points will determine your rank and title." The words echoed ominously, and before Raghu could fully process them, a loud bang reverberated through the abyss. Rocks exploded around him, fragments scattering like shards of glass. Dust and debris filled the air, forcing him to cover his face and struggle to breathe. By the time the particles settled, the landscape had transformed—rocks were no longer static obstacles but the building blocks of life itself.
Stone fragments began to vibrate and converge, assembling into creatures of all shapes and sizes. Dogs, rats, bulls, horses, tigers, wild boars, and bears emerged from the debris, each creature radiating raw strength and menace. Some were familiar, yet terrifyingly exaggerated, while others were humanoid golems with rough, jagged edges that made them seem almost indestructible. Even from a distance, Raghu could see the sheer number of entities—this was no ordinary survival challenge; it was a relentless gauntlet.
Raghu instinctively reached for his knife, only to find it inadequate. When a stone rat leaped at him, he swung with all his strength, but the blade snapped into pieces. Pain lanced through his hand as the creature retreated, leaving a shallow but stinging cut. Bare-handed combat proved equally futile; the smaller creatures were resistant, and his strength alone could not defeat them. It became clear that raw aggression would not suffice—he needed strategy, awareness, and endurance.
For hours, Raghu ran in circles, dodging attacks from rats, dogs, and other smaller creatures. The larger animals stayed at a distance, seemingly observing him with a predator's patience. He realized that the Pit followed a hierarchy of threats: only when he became a visible danger did more formidable creatures engage. Using this observation, he maintained a cautious distance, weaving around the terrain to minimize direct confrontation while keeping a steady pace to conserve energy.
His body screamed from fatigue, each movement carrying the weight of his growing exhaustion. The pain in his previously injured hand flared at intervals, reminding him that survival required careful resource management. Yet, Raghu's military training and years of combat experience provided him with a framework to navigate this chaos. Every duck, jump, and slide was calculated, a delicate balance between evasion and observation.
After six hours of relentless motion, a rare silence fell over the Pit. The creatures froze, the dust hung in the air like a suspended cloud, and even the wind seemed to hold its breath. Raghu's heart pounded as he crouched behind a jagged rock, seizing the opportunity for a moment of rest. Sweat dripped from his face, and every muscle screamed in protest, yet he allowed himself to pause, knowing this brief respite was a gift he could not squander.
But relief was short-lived. As the seventh hour struck, the creatures returned, now with doubled speed and ferocity. Their attacks were relentless, and Raghu sustained fresh injuries—cuts across his forehead and arm, blood mingling with dust as he evaded their assaults. The rhythm of survival became a dance of instinct, his mind tracking the patterns of movement and predicting the next strike. Every moment demanded precision, and every pause invited danger.
Amid the chaos, Raghu spotted a glimmer in the mud. Black soil reflected a faint, shimmering light. Recognizing the need to investigate, he waited for the temporary silence to return. When the creatures froze once more, he approached cautiously, stooping to examine the source. There, half-buried in muck, was the hilt of a weapon, adorned with dark crystals that emitted a subtle glow.
Touching the hilt sent a sharp pain through his thumb as a drop of blood fell onto the metal. The weapon reacted immediately: a blood-red glow pulsed along the surface, accompanied by a strange hissing and buzzing sound. The hilt lifted from the ground, floating as if drawn to him. To Raghu's astonishment, the full weapon materialized—a falchion sword with slightly nicked edges, repairing itself using the blood he had provided.
Grasping the falchion, Raghu examined it. On his halo watch, the weapon's appraisal read:
Name: ????
Item: Falchion Sword
Grade: Unknown
Type: Soul Weapon
Condition: Poor
Description: An ancient falchion sword with unknown origins. Soul weapons possess extraordinary abilities, bending to the user's will over time. The will of the previous wielder lingers; the sword must be conquered to gain full mastery.
The blade was a Soul Weapon rare and sentient, with a will of its own. He could feel resistance as he attempted standard slashes; the sword subtly redirected his motions, offering only partial control.
Raghu understood immediately—this was not just a tool. It was a living entity, and mastery required alignment of wills. To conquer the weapon meant more than skill; it demanded patience, attunement, and perhaps even trials of spirit and mind.
He began practicing, first testing the sword's flow rather than forcing it. Each movement became a conversation. The falchion's blade adjusted, guiding his swings, sharpening strikes, and enhancing precision. Realizing that the previous wielder's experience is embedded in the sword, influencing its movements. Slowly, he felt a connection forming, a tentative synchronization that allowed the weapon to partially obey his commands.
Hours passed as he honed this delicate dance. The Pit's creatures circled in the distance, their threat ever-present, yet Raghu focused on mastering the falchion's will. By observing, listening, and responding rather than striking blindly, he began to unlock the sword's potential. The weapon responded with subtle flares of energy, testing him, probing his instincts, and rewarding correct intuition with smoother movements.
Raghu's confidence grew. The sword was no longer a foreign object but an extension of his intent. Every strike, every parry became more fluid. Though the path to mastery was incomplete, he now had a formidable ally. Survival was still uncertain, but hope—rare and precious—burned bright. The Pit, once an endless gauntlet of despair, now became a proving ground. The falchion was not just a weapon; it was a key, a teacher, and a companion in the trials to come.
Raghu's first day in the Pit ended with no fatalities on his part, but his body ached, and his mind swirled with calculations for the next day. He knew the trials would escalate, but armed with the falchion and a growing understanding of its sentient power, he felt the first stirrings of true strength.