"What? Where am I?"
Perlì opened his eyes. He was sitting on a church pew. At first glance, he appeared to be in an ancient medieval church, empty, surrounded by deadly silence.
The whole place was dark, interrupted only by the warm light of strangely still-burning candles, wax unmelted. Distorted Gothic archways supported a rotting ceiling, and rusty chains hung down like forgotten sins.
Perlì stood in front of a shattered altar, behind which lay a beheaded statue toppled onto the presbytery, most certainly the result of some sacrilegious act.
"What is this? How the hell did I end up here? This must be one of those transmigrations into other worlds... like in books, right?"
The air was thick with dust and long-lost memories. Each step on the checkerboard floor echoed like thunder. Perlì stepped out from behind the bench and picked up a candleholder from the altar to light his path through the darkness.
The church had ten naves. Trying to make sense of his surroundings, Perlì looked to the right, where broken idols lay scattered on the ground and ancient depictions lined the walls, including one of a man clad in black armor wielding a claymore, his face obscured by a large black blot, likely censored.
"This must be a dream. There's no other explanation. Either that, or I'm crazy. Why am I here? What was the last thing I did before this? Damn it, I can't remember!"
The air felt suspended, as if waiting for something impossible to return. Time itself stood still, crushed under the weight of devastation.
Approaching the solid wooden doors, Perlì set down the candleholder and pushed with both hands.
He slowly opened the heavy door and was greeted by an apocalyptic landscape, as if the world had reached its epilogue.
The sky was dark gray. There were no stars, no moon. The only light came from above: a sun eclipsed by a stationary moon, revealing only a thin rim of sunlight escaping its grasp.
"What happened here? This feels like something straight out of one of Henry Paget-Lowe's books. Oh dear... don't tell me I got transmigrated into one of those."
Before him stood a seventeen-step staircase, black and ruined, with no railings, leading into a sea of blackened dead grass and ash, where life once might have flourished.
Fragments of ancient buildings were strewn across the land. Crumbling columns and fallen arches jutted out like gravestones of a forgotten civilization.
Perlì froze, stunned by the haunting beauty. He stepped back, quickly retrieved the candleholder from the ground, and clutched it as if it were a sacred relic.
And I'm supposed to go out unarmed, not knowing what might attack me?! he yelled in his head, careful not to utter even a whisper aloud.
With no other option, he gripped the candle stand tighter and moved forward. His heart pounded with each step until it finally calmed when his boot struck solid ground.
This must be a nightmare. None of this makes sense.
He thought, taking a moment to admire the ruinous landscape while trying to reason through it.
Nobody's chasing me. I have time to think this through. What? Where? Why?
I am the last heir of the noble house of Nemunas. And right now, the world around me is falling apart. Beautiful... but it would be even more beautiful to live.
Having descended the staircase, Perlì marched forward in ignorance, with no clear plan.
First of all, why would I be transmigrated? I don't remember dying, and even if I had, I'd be the last person worthy of this sort of thing... Unless some Kamu took pity on me and gave me another life. That would be fantastic, actually.
As he advanced into this new and seemingly dead world, he passed a mossy wall stained with dried blood, remnants of a collapsed home.
Turning a corner, he suddenly came face to face with the rotting corpse of a knight, his chest torn open, still clutching a broken, rusted sword.
Perlì rushed to the body. He wasn't a doctor, but he could tell what had happened.
No stab wounds. From the blood on the wall, he was probably thrown, then ripped apart. That means there are predators here. Shit.
He pried the sword from the knight's grasp and, while inspecting it, continued walking.
What if I stabbed myself? If it's a dream, I might wake up. And if it's real... well, maybe not. Yeah, let's not try that. For now.
Despite having no answers, Perlì wasn't terrified, not in the traditional sense. There were beasts nearby he had never imagined, ready to feast on him. But at least this was different, not some arranged marriage to organize or a degree to earn.
Ahead lay a mound of ash. Beyond it, Perlì could just make out what might be a village or a group of survivors, people who might help him… or kill him.
With great effort, he climbed the ashen hill, and wished he hadn't.
On the other side was a monstrous creature, about three meters long. Its head was hidden beneath a mass of white, tentacle-like appendages, giving it the appearance of a grotesque flower. Three spiked, bloodstained tails lashed behind it. Its body was raw and rough. It had three pairs of legs, two for movement, one for killing.
How the hell am I supposed to kill that?! Or maybe I'm not supposed to, maybe I'm meant to die here. Well, considering everything, I guess one has to imagine Sisyphus happy.
Perlì ducked behind a nearby rock, careful not to make a sound. The creature hadn't noticed him yet. It wandered the area, searching for prey.
From up close, Perlì could see beneath its flower-like head, a vertical mouth that stretched from the jaw down to the chest, jagged and hungry. He forced himself to focus on escape.
I can do this, he thought, inching forward.
Just as he started to move, he heard a bellow behind him.
Rolling to his side, Perlì spotted a grey wolf, blindfolded, its jaw broken, its limbs uneven, and a spear embedded where its tail should've been, charging at him.
With only seconds to act, Perlì hurled the candleholder at the wolf and bolted as fast as he could.
"SON OF A BITCH!"