The air was thick with the acrid smell of damp wood and an unsettling, faint sweetness. Like crushed grass left too long in the sun.
Zhou Mingrui's eyes snapped open, his body jolting as though he'd just been dunked into icy water. His chest heaved, dragging in sharp breaths that made his ribs ache as if they had been trampled on. For a moment, everything felt disjointed— his limbs alien, his vision blurred, and his mind fractured.
'Where am I?'
The question barely formed before a searing pulse of pain flared behind his temples, dragging his consciousness down into a flood of foreign memories.
It wasn't the dim, flickering memories of a dream but vivid, biting flashes that filled every crevice of his awareness. He wasn't Zhou Mingrui anymore— not entirely. He was someone else. He was Klein, a youth caught in the midst of chaos in the sprawling kingdom of the giants.
Splintered wood beneath his hands. Sharp cries tearing through the air, of giants and humans alike. The sky fractured with streaks of green, blades of wind slicing through flesh and bone. The crates that sheltered him offered no protection as the wind tore through them with ease, cutting into his side, his arm, his chest…
Klein— no, Zhou Mingrui gasped, his back shooting off the cot. His hand flew to his chest, searching for the wounds he knew would be there, expecting to feel the sticky warmth of blood and the jagged edges of torn flesh. Instead, his fingers brushed something cool and damp.
His heart thundered as he blinked, his surroundings finally pulling into focus. The green paste that covered his torso glistened in the low light, faintly pulsing as if alive. Peeling some of the paste away, he watched, horrified and fascinated, as the wounds beneath it— long gashes that should've left him bleeding out— squirmed and knit together.
'This isn't real.'
He tried to move, to sit up fully, but his body betrayed him. Weakness clung to his limbs like chains, and his muscles quivered with every attempt to exert force. The harder he fought, the tighter the chains seemed to pull, dragging him back into the bed of roughspun cloth beneath him.
His breaths were shallow, but as the sharp edge of panic receded, memories began to resurface— disjointed fragments stitching themselves together like the wounds on his body, as if to answer his unspoken questions.
Giants.
Towering beings with strength and powers that humans could only dream of. Some commanded fire, others wielded wind like a blade, and others bent the very earth to their will. They were dominant, unshakable, and utterly terrifying.
Then there were the elves, bloodthirsty killers with enviable grace. Prideful and arrogant in their every move.
He remembered them, looking more human, save for their pointed ears, their features finer and more delicate but no less imposing. They'd descended after the battle, their faces solemn and their furious eyes focused on their targets, and then it was just darkness.
When he woke up again, he found a giant kneeling over him, her expression unnervingly eerie and her fingers tracing patterns in the soil. Vines sprouted from the ground, only to be squashed into a green paste that was smeared over his wounds. Around her, others worked in silence, healing the injured— both human and giant. Those they couldn't save were laid to rest in the soil, their forms sinking into the earth as if embraced by it.
Zhou Mingrui blinked away the memory, his breath hitching as his gaze fell to his hands. They were smaller than he remembered, the skin pale and lined with faint scars. Not his hands but Klein's hands.
'No, they're mine now.'
Panic gnawed at his mind, but he willed himself to focus, to think through the haze of confusion. He was alive—that much was clear. But why? How? The last thing he—no, Klein —had seen was the flash of green wind tearing through the crates.
His chest tightened as the memory of death surfaced again. The sound of his own scream, the sharp, slicing pain, and then… nothing.
Now, he was here. Alive, in a body not his own, one riddled with wounds that were almost healed, and surrounded by the faint, lingering traces of supernatural power. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to calm the spiraling questions in his mind.
'What is this place? Have I transmigrated into another world? A book I've never read about? A cliche novel about me bringing humanity from servitude to greater heights?' As a keyboard warrior versed in numerous works of fiction, the entire situation was very familiar, yet he did not see himself as a main character capable of bearing the weights of an entire race.
His thoughts circled back to the number of beings in this world. To their dominance over it. Their superpowers and abilities.
He remembered some snippets of Klein's world, half-formed recollections pieced together from stories told in hushed, trembling voices. Tales of humans captured and dragged off to become livestock for creatures that looked like nightmares given flesh. Stories of people pressed into servitude, their lives chained to labor under beings too cruel or indifferent to care about their suffering.
And then there were the lands beyond the giants' territory— practically a wasteland of horrors.
Mutated monstrosities that prowled the forests and plains, creatures twisted by something far worse than nature. Massive, slithering things with too many eyes and limbs. Wolves with eight legs and scales, bearing howls said to summon death itself. Dragons that blotted out the sun, heralds of fiery destruction and madness.
Zhou Mingrui shuddered. This world wasn't just merciless and scary, it was basically designed to break anything fragile enough to hope.
And worse yet, the knowledge of multiple gods and deities that are known to exist, overseeing all these races— beings even more powerful, that existed beyond comprehension. Beings who could demand sacrifices and none of their people would hesitate to lay their lives to please them.
A shudder ran through him. Whatever this place was, it wasn't Earth. And whatever it is that had brought him here— fate, chance, or something far more sinister— he wasn't sure he'd ever escape, but he wouldn't stop trying if there was a chance.
For now, all he has to do is survive. Thoughts of being a messiah would do nothing other than get him killed.
Light suddenly shone through as the curtain at the entrance was pulled aside, piercing through the dim hut. Zhou Mingrui squinted, the sudden brightness cutting through his shadowy haze of thoughts.
His eyes darted to the source, his body instinctively tensing despite its frailty. A figure stepped into the hut, silhouetted by the bright daylight outside. Zhou Mingrui blinked, his vision adjusting, and as the door closed behind the newcomer, the light dimmed just enough for him to see clearly.
The man wasn't a giant, that much was obvious from his height and frame. He was human, though rough around the edges. His face was gaunt, shadowed by days of dirt and fatigue. He wore a crude garment stitched from various animal pelts, the seams uneven and hastily tied with strips of rawhide. It wasn't elegant or refined— it barely even qualified as clothing.
The man ignored Zhou Mingrui completely, shuffling across the room to a larger patch of fur spread out on the ground. It was a makeshift mattress that matched the one Zhou Mingrui realized he was lying on. The man collapsed onto it with a heavy sigh, his back to Zhou Mingrui as he sank into the layers of stitched hides.
Zhou Mingrui's gaze travelled downward, finally noticing the garments draped over his own body. Like the man's, they were cobbled together from animal skins, roughly sewn into a crude tunic that hung loosely around his frame. He shifted slightly, feeling the texture of his own "mattress" beneath him— thick, furry, and surprisingly warm despite its crude appearance.
His lips twisted into a grimace that slowly softened into something resembling a grin. The absurdity of it all hit him at once, a strange, fleeting humor cutting through the despair.
'What is this? The Stone Age?' he muttered under his breath. 'Am I to be a messiah of fashion sense as well?'
The triangular walls of the hut, made of tightly woven thatch and hardened clay, gave the structure a primitive yet sturdy appearance. It was larger than it had seemed at first glance, with several other "beds" lining the walls, each spaced just far enough apart to give an illusion of privacy. The hut's air was thick and earthy, the faint smell of dried grass and smoke clinging to everything.
Zhou Mingrui let out a soft huff, a hollow laugh that escaped before he could stop it. 'Transmigrated to the land of no electricity, no internet, and—' he glanced down at his makeshift tunic, wrinkling his nose.
The humor at his own expense was half-hearted, a feeble attempt to lighten his own mood, but it still helped. Even as the weight of Klein's memories pressed down on him, the fear, the loss, the violence, Zhou Mingrui clung to that thread of humor. It was his way of coping— of grounding himself in the absurdity of the situation. The fact that he may possibly never return to his old world— the life he was used to, as well as his family and friends.
Still, the reality was undeniable. He had really transmigrated. Not into some grand palace or a world of advanced magic, but into the heart of what felt like the edge of civilization. Survival here wasn't about political intrigue or high-stakes battles for power— it was about keeping yourself alive against the cruel monsters that stalked the land.
The man on the other mattress stirred slightly, pulling Zhou Mingrui's attention back to him. He seemed to be settling in for a rest, his back still turned. Zhou Mingrui's gaze lingered, his mind turning over the possibilities. Who was this man? A hunter? A villager? Someone who could explain where exactly he was?
The questions buzzed in his mind, but Zhou Mingrui didn't dare speak. Not yet. His body was still weak, his thoughts too muddled to form a coherent plan. For now, all he could do was observe and pierce together what little he knew. Not risking a chance that the man was the type to take offense to stray questions, or even suspect the original Klein had been replaced by a stranger.
One wrong move— one wrong thing to say, and it might be the end for him. It'd be best to observe and listen instead, and wait for whatever memories his past life had to filter through until he knew what he was dealing with.
Zhou Mingrui laid motionless, the soft fur beneath him providing little comfort as his thoughts swirled around in relentless loops. The faint hum of activity outside the hut drifted in— voices rising and falling in a language that seemed to twist his head in knots. Yet, beyond the ache and confusion, he forced himself to think clearly, to assess his situation.
This world wasn't kind to humans. The memories lingering in his mind, remnants of Klein's short and uneventful life, painted a bleak picture. Humans here were at the mercy of their oppressors— giants, elves, and other beings who wielded bizarre powers that dwarfed anything humans could muster. Even in this fragile peace under the giants' protection, the balance of power was still painfully one-sided.
Zhou sifted through the fragments of Klein's life, searching for any hint of how this world worked— how one could gain the power needed to survive or fight back, but there was nothing. Klein had lived a small, cautious existence, his world shrinking even further after his parents died in a mining accident when he was just an adolescent. Orphaned and burdened with countless responsibilities, Klein had chosen the safer path of farm-keeping and tending livestock and plants, instead of risking the mines or pursuing anything greater.
"How ironic," Zhou muttered to himself, lips curling in wry disdain. "This place is a dog eat dog world, where the strong prey on the weak. Lowering your head really isn't going to cut it."
The thought of transmigration pulled him back to his own past. His real past. Zhou Mingrui. Who he was.
He remembered the dull uneventful moments of his life, strings of bad luck and missed opportunities. Always scraping by, always hoping for something better, but never quite catching a break. He'd been unlucky, sure, but not unlucky enough to die. His life had been mediocre at best, yet it was still his. Until…
The memory hit him like a cold slap to the face. The ritual.
The luck enhancement ritual.
He vividly remembered it now. The four staples of food, the strange incantations, the required steps in the middle of the room. It had seemed harmless at the time—a silly experiment to break the streak of misfortune that had plagued him for weeks. But then…
His memories ended there.
Could that ritual have been the cause of this? Of all this?
His heart raced at the thought. If the ritual had brought him here, could it also take him back? Zhou Mingrui felt hope slowly rising as he tried dredging up every detail of the ritual from the depths of his memory. Four staple foods, placed in the corners of a room, 4 different incantations, each taken with a counterclockwise step until he stood in his original position, then wait for a few minutes.
Privacy. That was the key. He couldn't attempt anything here, not in a hut filled with strangers. Not without drawing attention to himself or, worse, offending someone who might decide his life wasn't worth the trouble.
'Guess I'll just have to bide my time,' Zhou Mingrui thought with a grim smile. '"Play" the part of the sickly guy still recovering and wait for everyone to sleep.'
And so he lay there, still and silent, as the hours crawled past. The voices outside continued, muffled but persistent, listening as others came inside, sometimes alone or talking amongst each other. The ache in his skull flared again as the words twisted into meaning, Klein's memories weaving themselves seamlessly with his own understanding until the once-alien tongue became clear.
The day passed in a haze of disjointed observations. People came and went, the triangular hut filling with weary figures as evening approached. Each mattress became occupied, though a few remained conspicuously empty. Zhou Mingrui's gaze lingered on those spaces, a sinking realization dawning on him. '...Those are the ones that didn't make it?'
Nightfall soon arrived. The once bustling hut was now blanketed in a hush, save for the soft breathing of its occupants. Zhou Mingrui stirred, his limbs stiff but his determination stronger than his wariness. Slowly, carefully, he pushed himself up and slipped out from under the rough furs. The air was cool against his skin as he made his way to the door, the faint rustling of the soft leathery flaps marking his exit.
The sight that greeted him as he took a step outside, froze him in his tracks.
A full moon hung high in the sky, its surface a deep, bloody red that bathed the world in a dim, otherworldly glow. The light wasn't soft or comforting— it was stark, almost oppressive, and casted long, jagged shadows over the uneven ground.
Zhou Mingrui stared up at it, his breath catching in his throat. The sight of that moon, so alien yet so hauntingly beautiful, left no room for doubt.
This truly wasn't his world.
A strange feeling that settled over him— a mix of awe and dread that seemed to seep into his very bones. This moon had now become a symbol, a declaration that everything familiar was gone. That this place, with its giants and monsters, its crude huts and bloodied survivors, was his reality now.
Zhou Mingrui's fingers tightened around the flaps of the door as he tore his gaze away from the sky. "No way I'm just gonna die here," he whispered, the words more a promise to himself than anything else.
He had a ritual to perform, and a way home to find.
Under the ominous light bathing the village in stark crimson hues, Zhou Mingrui moved cautiously, his bare feet brushing against the packed earth, each step deliberate and silent. The sharp chill of the night bit at his exposed skin, but he paid it no mind. His thoughts were focused on a single destination— the dome-shaped hut he'd glimpsed earlier. Half-formed memories from Klein's life guided him like a map etched into his mind.
The food storage hut stood at the edge of the settlement, its curved silhouette blending with the shadows cast by the towering wooden stakes that formed a protective perimeter around the village. Zhou paused at the entrance, his heart thudding as he glanced over his shoulder. The triangular huts scattered across the area were dark and still, their occupants likely deep in exhausted sleep.
No giants lived in this section, only humans. And they had no need to pose anyone as security when all of them would be required to work once daylight broke. Besides, giants were territorial beasts, and they lived inside such territories. Anything that could reach them, would make no difference if a human stood guard.
As he took shallow breaths, he pushed aside the leather flap that served as the hut's door and stepped inside.
The interior was dim, with only the red moonlight filtering in from small gaps between the woven thatch walls. The faint smell of dried grass and faintly fermented produce hung in the air. His gaze swept the room, noting the sparse contents— bundles of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, baskets of roots stacked against one wall, and a small pile of dried fruits, their skin gleaming.
It was pitifully empty, the harvests still weeks away, but it would have to do. Zhou crouched beside the fruit pile, his hands trembling slightly as he selected four pieces. Each one was round and firm, their rough texture catching the light as he placed them carefully on the ground.
Zhou recited the information as though guiding his hands as he worked. He split the fruits into four portions, with almost reverent movements. Each portion was placed in a different corner of the room, forming a perfect square within the hut.
Zhou straightened, his chest rising and falling as he steadied his breathing. This was it. The same ritual, the same steps, the same chants. If it worked once, it might work again.
Standing in the center of the square, he let his eyes fall closed. The red light filtering through the walls painted the darkness behind his eyelids, turning his thoughts vivid and surreal. He exhaled slowly, grounding himself, and then he began.
One step back, counterclockwise. "The Immortal Lord of Heaven and Earth for Blessings."
The words left his lips in a low murmur, trembling slightly as if the air itself resisted his voice.
A second step, forming the second corner.
"The Sky Lord of Heaven and Earth for Blessings."
The room felt heavier now, the atmosphere thickening with an almost imperceptible hum.
A third step, his foot dragging slightly as he positioned himself.
"The Exalted Thearch of Heaven and Earth for Blessings."
Something stirred in the air around him, faint whispers at the edges of his hearing.
The final step, completing the square. Putting him in the exact spot before he started his first step.
"The Celestial Worthy of Heaven and Earth for Blessings."
Zhou Mingrui stopped, standing motionless in the center of the ritual space. His heart pounded in his chest, loud and insistent, but the room itself was deathly silent. Even the faint rustle of the wind outside seemed to have stilled, as though the world held its breath.
After roughly five minutes, he suddenly felt the surrounding air halt, turning thick and mysterious.
Immediately after, he heard a low whisper beside his ears that sounded at times real, at times sharp, at times imaginary, at times alluring, at times maniacal, and at times crazy.
He clearly did not understand the murmuring that went on, but Zhou Mingrui still couldn't help himself from wanting to listen to it and distinguish what it was saying.
His head was in pain once again, so painful that it felt like someone had stuck a steel drill rod into it.
Zhou Mingrui felt like his head was going to explode. His thoughts were filled with a susurration that plagued him with psychedelic colors.
He knew that something was wrong and tried to open his eyes. However, he wasn't even able to complete such a simple action.
His entire body was getting tighter and tighter and it felt like he could just break apart at any time. At this time, a self-deprecating thought came up in Zhou Mingrui's mind:
'Well, now I know how I died and transmigrated into this world, let's hope the next one will be kinder.'
He could no longer bear it. Just as his mind was going to break, the murmuring of voices abruptly quieted and his surroundings became very still again.
Zhou Mingrui felt his own body going through the same sensations as well.
He tried once more to open his eyes, an extremely easy task this time.
The dim room was gone, replaced by an endless expanse of gray mist. Zhou's legs buckled, yet he remained upright, his senses overwhelmed by the sudden shift.
He was no longer in the food storage hut. Zhou's breath hitched as he took in his surroundings.
There was grey fog—flowing like water— and crimson stars dotted the expanse, their faint glow pulsing like distant heartbeats. Some of them were enormous while others were tiny. There was a sense of them being hidden in the deep depths, while others floated over the surface of this water-like fog.
Looking at the seemingly holographic sight, Zhou Mingrui reached out his right hand in a half-confused, half-exploring manner to try to touch the crimson 'star' that was seemingly floating on the surface. Maybe they held a secret to finding his way home.
When his hand touched the surface of that star, a water mark suddenly appeared from within his body and agitated the stars into a 'crimson' burst. It looked like a dream-like burning of flames.
In his fright, he retracted his right hand in a panic, but in doing so, accidentally touched yet another crimson star, causing it to burst into resplendent light.
Zhou's mind momentarily blanked.
—
The air beneath the canopy of the massive oak tree was thick with reverence, a silent hymn carried in the faint rustling of its branches. Mutated creatures of all kinds knelt in concentric circles around the tree, their grotesque forms still and worshipful. Each bore the mark of their devotion—bloody branches sprouting unnaturally from their bodies, their flesh fused with the tree's will.
Among them was a lamia, her serpentine lower body coiled around a patch of soil darkened with blood and sap. Her turquoise scales shimmered faintly in the dim light, a dull sheen masking the jagged scars that marked her battles. Her upper body, humanoid but far from truly human, bore the signs of old wounds, her pale skin marred by the unmistakable mark of a diamond-fitted dagger.
The dagger remained lodged just below her ribs, its hilt blackened and warped. She had been stabbed by it in her last skirmish with the elves— a grueling fight in the dense, treacherous woods. The elf—her prey— had been nimble and fierce, a blur of speed and sharp steel. But her venomous, barbed tail had found its mark, injecting its poison into the elf's veins. The dagger left behind as a futile, final strike. However, the blade had been unmovable ever since, resisting all attempts to remove it, as though it had become part of her.
Now, kneeling among her kind, her head bowed in devotion, the lamia felt its presence as an ever-present ache, a reminder of the life she had claimed and the price she had paid. Not that she cared much, it was all but forgotten. The king's right hand had blessed them beyond their normal strength, and such minor wounds were useless to think about.
The oak's branches creaked, a sound that reverberated through the gathering like the whispered words of their god. The mutants pressed lower, their foreheads nearly touching the ground.
Suddenly, the dagger embedded in her side grew warm— not the sharp, stabbing heat of pain but something… different. Her eyes snapped open, slit pupils narrowing as she froze. No one else stirred.
And then, silently, the blade shattered.
A burst of red light engulfed the fragments, and for a fleeting moment, she alone could see it— a radiant crimson glow that pierced her chest and seared into her vision. Her body trembled, and before she could scream or move, the fog had consumed her entirely.
___
The forest was dark, the air heavy with the scent of rot and the faint, metallic tang of old blood. This was no ordinary woodland— it was a graveyard. A testament to centuries of brutal conflict that once took place here.
Every tree bore its scars.
Some had branches twisted into grotesque, claw-like shapes, while others oozed a viscous black sap that shimmered faintly, like oil on water. The mere sight of the trees could fill even the bravest of creatures with an instinctive, bone-deep fear. The land was either charred with the lack of life, or covered in stygian waters, dark swamps that bubbled with death. This was a forest born of hatred, nourished by the blood of countless bodies.
Long ago, this stretch of land had seen a war unlike any other. Giants, vampires, demonic wolves, and mutants had clashed in an endless tide of death and destruction. The fighting had raged for days, the land stained red with the blood of mortals and demigods alike. When the battle finally ended, balance had been forced, but the land had already been corrupted beyond salvation.
The bodies of the dead were never fully recovered. Instead, they had become one with the soil, their essence twisting and feeding the land until the forest itself became a creature of malice. From this corrupted ground, treants were born— living trees with mystical abilities and a primal, instinctual sentience governed by the very forces that had created them.
Most that entered this part of the forest rarely left it alive, even those worshiped as minor gods of some races, were cautious whenever in its vicinity.
This section of the forest, far from the prying eyes of any race, was eerily quiet. The treants, rooted yet aware, swayed faintly, their movements slow and deliberate. One such tree had a thick and gnarled trunk, its roots spreading deep into the corrupted earth like veins feeding on old memories.
Beneath this tree, hidden deep within the soil, lay a shard of a mirror.
It was a fragment of something ancient, something that had once belonged to the beings whose corpses had been absorbed by the forest. Its surface, though dulled by dirt and time, still bore traces of its former brilliance.
And then, without warning, the shard erupted into bright light.
A burst of crimson illuminated the roots of the towering tree, casting jagged shadows across the forest floor. The treant above shuddered, its branches creaking as the red light surged upward, pulsing through its trunk. The glow spread like veins of molten fire, crawling up its bark and illuminating the jagged patterns carved into its surface.
For a moment, the forest held its breath.
The treant stilled, its limited sentience overwhelmed by the alien energy coursing through it. Deep within its rudimentary awareness, something stirred— an echo of the lives it had absorbed, a whisper of thoughts and memories long forgotten.
The crimson light pulsed once more, brighter this time, before fading. The forest was silent again, but the treant stood as still as it once was, unchanged
And beneath its roots, the shard of the mirror was no more, its power spent and its purpose completed.
___
Zhou Mingrui froze, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes darted between the two figures that now loomed before him.
The half woman-half snake was momentarily puzzled before her long slithering body coiled onto itself, the act aggressively enlarging her form, glistening with the faint sheen of her iridescent scales. Her upper torso raised and poised with a predatory grace that sent a chill racing down his spine, her eyes— slit and glowing faintly through the grey fog covering her eyes, and her barbed tail shifting with an unnerving lethality.
Opposite her stood the treant, its massive, gnarled form alive with faint crimson veins that pulsed like a heartbeat through its bark. It exuded an oppressive aura, its warped branches creaking softly as if anticipating violence.
Zhou Mingrui's thoughts scrambled the moment both creatures tensed in unison.