The second time I opened my eyes, it was only slightly less terrifying than the first. Just slightly. After all, I was no longer surrounded by mad cultists chanting in some unholy language, or a knife-wielding zealot ready to carve me open. That was definitely an improvement. I could move my limbs again, too, which, considering my last memory of being restrained, felt like a stroke of luck. Taking a steadying breath, I pushed myself upright on a hard, uneven surface, grimacing at the sharp chill that bit into my skin.

The fire in the brazier had burned out, plunging the room into a deep, unbroken darkness. Or at least, what should’ve been darkness. Oddly, I could still see, albeit in strange, muted colors. Shadows loomed in sharp relief against stone walls lined with faded murals and empty sconces that looked like they hadn’t held a torch in decades, maybe centuries. As my eyes adjusted, details sharpened as though I was seeing them through a high-definition lens. The worn stone floor beneath me, the dust blanketing everything, the cracks spidering along the walls—they all stood out in unnervingly crisp detail, almost to the degree they would have if the room were lit by LED bulbs.

I was in a large, cavernous chamber made of dark, unpolished stone. Empty sconces, spaced at regular intervals, lined the walls like silent sentinels. Each one stood close to a faded mural, etched and painted with colors I could barely discern through the grime and dust. Strange figures, elongated bodies with twisted faces, were depicted in the ancient art. Their eyes seemed to follow me, hollow and black, and they were all staring at a massive creature with horns and claws raised in some twisted, triumphant pose. Unease twisted in my stomach—somehow, that mural felt too familiar, like déjà vu but stronger. It scratched at my brain like some vaguely remembered childhood memory.

I took in the rest of the chamber, forcing myself to focus on anything other than the foreboding murals. The air was stale, thick with dust and something metallic, like rusted iron. A brazier stood in the far right corner of the room, its contents little more than ash now, and my skin prickled with the cold. Looking down, I saw that the ground was littered with footprints and bones that had clearly been there for ages. This wasn’t some abandoned underground bunker. No, this place felt far older. Ancient, even.

Where was I? How did I get here?

A half-formed memory surfaced, hazy and uncertain: chanting voices, a blazing inferno, and words of power spoken in rapture. I distinctly remembered the sting of pain when the blade pierced my chest. A death that, by all means, should have left me very much dead. But here I was, and not a single scar marked my chest. In fact… my torso was somehow different. Stronger. I glanced down, half-expecting to find a gaping wound or some horrendous scar, but what I found instead was an unnervingly muscular body that didn’t resemble mine at all.

I blinked, then rubbed my eyes for good measure, but the sight didn’t change. I was massive, built like a wall of flesh and muscle, covered in dark crimson skin. Every line, every ridge of muscle was defined to an absurd degree, and I couldn’t deny a twinge of appreciation—until reality sank in again. This wasn’t my body. My heart thudded as I raised one hand, staring in shock at the thick, scarlet skin that coated my fingers, hands that were almost clawed. My nails were black, sharp-edged, like weapons in their own right, and they glinted in the dimness.

Then there was the face. Or what I guessed was my face. My hand shook slightly as I lifted it to my head, probing cautiously. My skin was rough, my jawline sharper, more defined. My fingers grazed the top of my head, where something hard and cold—two somethings, actually—jutted out, curving back like ram’s horns.

“This… this can’t be real,” I muttered, jumping slightly at the deep, gravelly voice that rumbled out. The voice was mine, I supposed, but it sounded less like something human and more like rocks grinding together. I swallowed, a fresh wave of dread rising in my gut.

This had to be a nightmare… or some drug-induced hallucination. That would make sense, especially since I have no idea what the pill I swallowed was. But as I ran a hand over my chest, feeling the strange texture of this new body, I knew that everything I was experiencing was too real to be a dream or a bad trip. Somehow, against all odds, I’d been forced into whatever the fuck this thing was.

Taking a steadying breath, I forced myself to look around again. Maybe there was something in here that would explain all of this. The dim corridor leading out of the room caught my eye, an ominous path barely wide enough for my massive shoulders. Forcing down a surge of panic, I pushed through it, feeling the rough stone graze my arms as I passed through the narrow entrance.

The corridor twisted and turned, narrow and suffocating. Every step I took echoed unnervingly, the sound amplified by the tight, jagged walls. A layer of dust coated everything, thick and undisturbed, as though I was the first thing to set foot in this place in centuries. Oddly, I felt no need to stop or rest. I was fully alert, aware of each detail around me, yet the indescribable weight of being deep beneath the earth seemed to settle heavily on my shoulders.

I reached a larger room, a small antechamber by the looks of it. Ancient tapestries lined the walls, fraying and half-destroyed but still clinging stubbornly to life. I reached out, touching one of the fabrics, the old threads breaking under my touch. Symbols adorned the cloth, unfamiliar glyphs that twisted and looped into each other in a language that seemed somehow familiar and foreign all at once. A part of me wanted to study them, to understand the patterns that seemed just beyond reach.

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Pushing further into the chamber, my eyes caught the glint of metal. At first, I thought it was another trick of the dim light, but as I moved closer, I realized it was a weapon—a long, rusted sword lying amongst the skeletal remains of what I guessed had been a would-be tomb raider. Its blade was chipped and worn, but still seemed to be in decent condition considering its age, not that it did the poor bastard much good.

I briefly considered taking it, but a quick glance between my hands and the blade put that thought from my mind. The thing would have been more like a dagger for me than the longsword it was supposed to be.

I glanced around, catching sight of a narrow staircase leading up. The steps were uneven and worn, and each one groaned as I climbed, my bulk barely fitting within the narrow passage. After what felt like an eternity, I finally emerged into another room, one with a single exit—a tall stone archway that led to the outside world. The brightness of daylight beyond was a jarring contrast to the dark corridors I’d just left behind, and for a moment, I hesitated.

I could feel warmth even from here, a soft breeze tickling my skin. It was like waking from a nightmare and finding the sun waiting. I pushed forward, stepping through the archway and into the sunlight.

The world beyond the crypt was almost painfully bright, yet calm in a way I hadn’t expected. Trees encircled the clearing, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. Birds chirped somewhere in the distance, and a small brook babbled nearby, its water clear and crisp, winding through patches of wildflowers and in between the moss covered ruins of whatever building had once stood in this place. I took a deep breath, feeling the warmth seep into me. This was real, then. This strange, unfamiliar world. A small sliver of hope blossomed, a thought that maybe, just maybe, things weren’t as bleak as they seemed.

But the thought was quickly followed by a new wave of dread as I looked down at myself again. I was still trapped in this monstrous form, and if anyone saw me, they’d likely run or, worse, try to kill me. My heart sank. My family—Erik, Jamie, everyone back home—they’d never know what happened to me. I’d just be the guy who partied just a little too hard one time and choked on his own vomit, a victim of Las Vegas. No one would ever know that I was still alive. The thought hit me harder than I expected, a deep ache settling in my chest.

I turned back to the crypt, studying its entrance. The building was decrepit, its stones worn and weathered, but I felt a strange sense of kinship with it. This place, for whatever reason, felt like the only thing that understood what I’d become. But there was no sense lingering here. If I had any chance of figuring out what was going on, I had to move forward.

The rustling of leaves broke me out of my thoughts, and I glanced around, looking for some type of sign that could point me in the direction of civilization. After a few moments of careful examination, I spotted a faint trail winding through the trees. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. I took one last look at the crypt’s dark opening, then turned and set off down the path, my steps heavy but determined.

The trail was narrow, barely visible, but it led me through towering trees and thick brush. I kept moving, mind churning with questions. Where was I? How had I ended up here? And was there any chance I’d ever be able to go back?

I wasn’t on the trail very long before the events of the last few days started replaying in my head. A part of me was angry that I’d wound up here, and another part was equally shocked that such a thing was even possible—outside of fiction, that is. But bizarre as my situation was, I kept thinking of my family. What would they think? Would they be okay? Would Erik or Jamie be blamed for my death?

The grief that rose up was nearly unbearable, yet I knew there was nothing I could do about it. The odds of finding my way back to Earth seemed impossibly slim, and outside of my family, it wasn’t like I’d had much going for me. I was a soon-to-be-divorced, depressed, middle-aged man stuck in a job I hated. I had no children, and no future prospects. Under different circumstances, I might have given anything to be transported into one of those fantasy worlds I read about so often. Instead, I’d landed in a nightmare.

I sighed and shook my head, forcing myself to focus on my surroundings. The forest around me seemed ordinary enough. Trees, some of which I recognized, stood tall, and I could hear birds calling faintly in the distance. So far, so good. I stomped along the path, doing my best to avoid anything that might make a grab for my… scarcely protected genitals.

Several hours passed before I stumbled upon anything that might be considered civilization. By that time, I’d started to grow anxious—the sun would set in a few hours, and something told me that being alone in a strange forest, naked, at night was not going to be ideal. Even if I was a twelve-foot-tall, muscle-bound demon.

When I finally came to a break in the trail, my determination was rewarded. Through a gap in the trees, I could make out a small clearing, and at its center, a little wooden cottage.

Relieved yet cautious, I approached the clearing and the quaint little home nestled within it. I took careful steps, wary of my demonic appearance and the fact that I was, after all, a stranger in a strange land. Apparently, my stealth wasn’t quite as good as I thought, because a high, shrill voice cut through the air, sending a jolt through me. If I’d been wearing any, I’d probably have jumped out of my pants.

“Who dares trespass in my domain?”

You’ve got to be kidding me, I thought as my eyes zeroed in on the surprising source of the voice, where a little old woman in a frilly dress stood beneath the awning of the roof. A short walking stick clenched tightly in her gnarled hands.