[ Execution #2: Clearance of Level 1 failed. ]
[ Remaining attempts: 37. ]
[ "Haaaah!!!" ]
Tom's lungs seized again, his chest convulsing as his eyes snapped open, sucking in the air around him while his hands scrambled over his body. To his dismay, the sword that had been lodged in his abdomen was still there, the cold steel biting into his flesh as he suppressed a groan, and the feeling of blood bubbling up in his throat was enough to steel his nerve as he tried to calm his racing heart.
"I could have sworn I fucking died just a moment ago," he said, looking around at his surroundings as he confirmed that everything still looked as it did when he was alive just a few seconds earlier. Looking down to examine himself, his heart nearly stopped when he saw the sword, its large frame deeply embedded in his abdomen and almost sticking out the other side of his body, as a sizable amount of blood leaked from the gaping wound where the sword's blade didn't fully cover.
He grimaced, shifting slightly to ease the pain and positioning himself in a more relaxed posture so as not to lose any more blood, ignoring the agonizing pain that flared through his body all the while he was doing it.
Tom clenched his teeth and forced himself to be still. Movement was death. He needed time, and time required composure. His hand hovered near the hilt of the sword, his instincts screaming at him to pull it out, but he knew better.
Pulling out the sword would be a deadly move, and he didn't want to repeat the last event. At least with the sword in there, he would have a much higher chance of living, but moving was going to be near impossible.
But if he wanted to live, he would have to do something. Waiting around for someone to come help was just as deadly as staying still, so with that thought in mind, he began searching through his belongings. For some reason, he was wearing some kind of medieval-like battle armor, his chest covered in chainmail, with a slight iron hoodie hanging around his neck that was probably meant to defend his head, along with two back pockets containing a dagger inside them.
Pulling the dagger out of his left pocket, Tom weighed it in his trembling hand, surprised at just how light it felt. Though it looked sharp despite being thin, he somehow instinctively knew that it was not nearly strong enough to be used for leverage or defense, but it was something.
He clutched it tightly in his hand, using his other free arm as best as he could to take off the chainmail armor covering his body, his abdomen flaring up in pain from the sudden movement as a realization dawned on him.
There was no real way to take off the armor without removing the sword first.
"Shit! —Nnggh!" He coughed, blood welling up from his stomach as he tried to keep it down, his vision swirling in dizziness for a bit before he finally got his bearings and leaned back against the wall behind him, trying to slow his breathing.
'Think, Tom, think…' Tears began forming at the edges of his eyes as the pain in his gut pulsed in sync with his heartbeat, and it was at that moment that he knew for sure that he was going to die again. He wanted to cry, yelling that it wasn't fair. He was just a normal guy. How the hell did he end up here? Who the hell put a sword in him and decided to ditch him for dead? And how in the world could he freaking come back to life? It was almost as if God himself was the one doing all of this.
He did not cry, because crying would certainly accelerate his blood loss. So instead, he grabbed at his pants quickly, making contact with his belt as he took it off and threw it to the side, looking at the dagger hopefully as he began to cut the leather cloth of his pants.
After cutting for a while, he stopped, turning back the blade and applying pressure to the hem of the torn pant leg as he once again used the knife, this time at the opposite angle from where he had cut, doing that for a while before it finally gave out, grabbing a sizable amount of cloth from his thigh area and tearing it off with a strained grunt.
The rough fabric frayed at the edges, but it was thick, thick enough to be used for what he needed.
"A tourniquet... sort of," Tom mumbled to himself, his voice cracking as sweat trickled downward from his forehead. He wasn't a doctor. He had barely passed high school biology. But he'd seen enough war movies and survival videos to know that pressure was key. Compress. Tie. Hope.
He wadded up part of the cloth and pressed it directly against the open wound where the blood spilled around the sword's edges. It stung like hell, the pain so terrible that he nearly passed out from the initial contact as his vision blurred again, but he clenched his jaw and stayed conscious by sheer force of will.
"Now for the hard part," he told himself, and with trembling hands, he wrapped the remaining strip of cloth around his torso as tightly as he could, biting back a scream as he cinched it just above the wound and knotted it with one hand, then used his teeth to pull the final knot tight.
It was not as good as receiving actual medical help, but it would do.
Sighing with relief now that the blood loss has at least slowed down significantly enough to not be an issue, he was about to try to get up when a sudden red screen appeared in his vision.
[ Congratulations on changing the fate of Alex Westbain! Please take the provided potion to fully heal his wound as we escort you to the next level of the pit. ]
Tom blinked.
"Wait, what?"
Before he could piece it all together, a faint shimmering sound filled the air, and in a flash of light, a small vial appeared in front of him, completely suspended in midair as it glowed with a gentle blue hue, swirling with iridescent liquid that pulsed like a heartbeat.
Tom reached out with a shaky hand, still clutching the dagger in the other. He hesitated for just a second because, why wouldn't he? It wasn't every day that some magical healing potions just spawned in front of him like a reward in a video game.
Then again, it wasn't every day that he got stabbed through the gut and, like magic, came back to life after dying.
For a moment, he thought that he had probably lost too much blood and was more than likely hallucinating, but his curiosity won out and he reached out.
Inching forward until his fingers closed around the cool glass of the vial, his eyes widened in shock as he realized that it was real. It was actually real. It felt a bit warm to the touch, but it was actually real. Shaking it for a bit, the liquid splashed from within the vial, its blue color turning into a bright green hue as he marveled at the magical scene in front of him.
"Shit," he spat, "I better get this over with before I die again," and without further ceremony, he popped the cork off. An agonizing second passed by with him removing the sword and yelling in pain, before he thumbed and downed the contents in one go.
The effect was immediate.
A warm surge rushed through his body as the pain dulled first, then receded before the searing agony melted away as warmth settled into his bones. He gasped as his muscles unknotted, the wound in his abdomen tingling, tightening, and then… closing.
He looked down just in time to see the last bit of torn flesh knit itself back together, the blood around the wound disappearing as if it were being rewound in time, while the world around him slowly began to unravel.
[ You have pleased the gods immensely by demonstrating your competence in a very desperate situation, and as of this moment, we are currently working diligently to elevate you to the next level of the pit. Please wait as your soul is placed into the next vessel, the fate of which you must change. ]
The last thing he saw was his vision going completely dark, the world around him unraveling completely as if it were made entirely out of strands, while an invisible force pulled him upward into the sky.