Peter right away noted that some kind of explosion had taken place here. What looked like bookshelves and cabinets had been blown to bits with their remnants spreading out in a semi-circle originating from the breach in the wall.

He forced himself to take a deep breath of the acrid air to try and relieve the knot in his stomach.

Body tense he cautiously delved deeper into the chamber. [How am I going to find anything worth a crap in this mess?]

From his position, the room looked vast. The only wall he could make out being the one he crossed. Further into the room and to his left he could just about make out what looked like a natural occurring rock pillar. Shadows danced on it, mirroring the dying flames he couldn’t see yet.

Though the darkness didn’t seem to affect his visibility much, the smoke did, and it was getting thicker as he progressed. This had the added bonus of making harder to breathe. Luckily the ceiling was high, so slouching a bit did help. He wasn’t a tall man to begin with.

Considering the lack of oxygen in the room, Peter decided he needed to reach the flames quickly. For them to still be going meant a source of fresh air and likely an escape route. He would search for anything he could use on the way.

He found walking barefoot through the debris not to be as uncomfortable as he expected. He treaded carefully to reduce the sound of his feet crushing the debris seeded throughout his path, wincing each time there was a particularly loud crunch. The sound travelled far too easily through the silence.

Yet, besides the noise he made and the odd echo of the crackling coming from the fire, he hadn’t heard a thing. It was dead quiet.

His eyes kept roaming what he concluded to be the remnants of an ancient library. All the while wondering to himself, “Where the hell am I?” Especially, after he started seeing not the so burnt to a crisp pieces of scrolls and pages of books that gave him the creeps. They actually brought memories of a book from a set of movies he loved, the Necronomicon.

All of a sudden his impression of wherever the hell he was took a nose dive, and it hadn’t been great to begin with. [I could do with Ash’s boomstick right about now.] The revelation of the library’s origins and its likely affiliation with a dark cult practicing various forbidden arts and occult rituals significantly colored Peter’s perception of his environment and the dangers he was facing.

“I need something to bash some skulls in.” With renewed vigor and despite the air getting harder to breathe, Peter started moving faster through the rubble. With the state the room was in, it wasn’t likely for there being anyone alive, he would’ve heard something by now. And he needed to get something to defend himself with before the damned cult freaks started streaming in.

He reached the pillar still naked and empty handed. Though the damage caused by the explosion had lessened the further in he walked, all he saw was furniture and books and scrolls. Nothing he was the least bit interested in right now. Barely even registering their detailed craftsmanship.

High up on the pillar itself, he could now make out, a ring of a metal of some kind was held around and to it by four equidistant rods of the same metal. Forged into this ring were eight smaller rings, each binding some kind of not quite round white marble stone. Peter could just about tell there was a design engraved into the stones. If he were a betting man, he'd say this was some kind of lighting gizmo.

The fire seemed to be almost out, and if that was, indeed, the entrance to this place, Peter needed to hurry the hell up and be ready for a fight.

He made out another natural rock pillar ahead. Still somewhat centre of the room lengthwise, but more to the left of the pillar he had just arrived at. Definitely not in the direction of the flames. Symmetry was clearly not a priority for these cultists. Paying a bit more attention to the pillar he could see another light gizmo, just like the one above him now.

On the way to the next pillar, Peter finally reached furniture that was still standing, and finally, he saw hope. “This is a God damn isekai.” Jutting out from behind a cabinet two rows over, he saw the pummel of a sword on the ground and rushed to grab it. Just as he reached for it, he froze, his jaw slack and his eyes wide. [One, two,... three… is that another one?] Down that aisle, in the general direction of the flames, four bodies, barely more than bones lay strewn across the floor.

Only now did he recognise what he was sensing under the overpowering smell of burning.

Peter picked up the sword, or what was left of it. Little more than a third of it had survived whatever happened here, and even that was rusted over.

Standing up straight, Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the stress washing off of him. The first thing that clicked in his mind was that he was in no danger. Whatever happened here was ancient news. No one was coming.

Breathing more easily, he opened his eyes and assessed his surroundings with a little more care. Protection no longer his main concern, he looked to find something to cover himself with. His dangly bits were still dangling and soon it would get cold again.

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He also wanted to understand what happened here, as well as find why and how he got to be here.

The one closest body to him lay face down, a large chunk missing off the top of its skull. It wore a black robe. Though it was riddled with tears, it would do. Peter noted the broken staff with a yellow gem fixed atop it as he moved to undress the skeleton. As he grabbed hold of it, the fabric crumbled to dust. He tried several times, but the result was the same. “Well, fuck!” he sighed as he stood back up.

He looked at the skeletal remains to his left. It sat against a bookcase with a whole blown through it behind where the skull should have been. This one was wearing mostly leather armor. Only the chest, shoulders, forearms and chins were covered in metal, though the metal seemed to be rivetted onto the leather armor. There was a huge gash cut into the leather below the breastplate all the way to the waist, going from left to right. The cut on the chest plate itself proved it had done its job, though it clearly wasn’t enough.

What Peter found strange though, was that the breastplate and bracers were rusted over, but the epaulettes and shin guards were not. As he looked closer Peter noticed a very faint sheen on the epaulettes and shin guards, which was not present on the rusted metal. Another thing he noticed were the patterns etched into the metal. All the pieces had them. However, what the rusted metal also had was damage. There were slash marks and what looked like melted metal.

“Right! You either gone mad, or this is Dungeons & Dragons.” Peter said out loud. “This armor is clearly enchanted. Some of it was pushed too hard and the guy got murked.” He kept talking to himself through the spinning room.

His legs dropped from under him as a memory flashed in his mind. It was from the day before, just after he buried Zeus. He was in the forest sitting by the fire, gun in his hand. “I did it!” Peter whispered. “I pulled the trigger!”

[Keep breathing, keep breathing, keep breathing.] Eyes closed, he mentally repeated this mantra. His body curled inward as he rocked back and forth, his arms wrapped tightly around himself. Tears flowing.

Kkeeeeeee!

Peter's head shot up, his eyes wide and straining to absorb any and all input coming from down the aisle to his right. [...the fuck was that?] Peter thought. He stood back up, broken sword in hand and finding the ground solid and his legs firm once again. He stood his ground waiting.

Kkeeeeeee!

The hair on the back of his neck rose and he spun anti-clockwise, sword arm swinging upward in-line with his rotation. Though his sword swing was atrocious, his feet moved expertly and his aim was true. A whole lot of good that did him. Though some symbols he had noticed before did glow on the blade as it passed through the thing in front of him, all it managed to do was piss it off. Peter only had time to throw himself into a roll towards his left over his right shoulder as his sword arm swung back down before the apparition tried to bite his head off.

His plan to bolt down the aisle toward the dying flames was brought to a screeching halt as the saw another apparition – the first one he heard – floating over from that direction.

“Ah, hell no!” Peter, barely even looking out the corner of his eyes to confirm whether it would work, angled left and dove through the hole blown through the bookshelf God knows how long ago. Burning, old age and desperation came together as Peter burst through the hole that was a bit too small. The stunt wasn’t free though. Peter felt his skin giving way in several places. But he had no time to assess the damage.

Cre-e-ak!

As he crashed onto the floor, his eyes locked onto the empty eye sockets in front of him. He was not looking at a human skull – it had a bit of a snout and sizable fangs – but it was attached to a very human-looking skeleton wearing the same leather and metal place armor he'd seen before and was working its way onto its feet.

[Fuuuuck!] Peter just about got his feet under himself before he frog leaped at the skeleton and drove the broken blade through its eye socket. As its movements ceased, Peter was stabbed through both his temples. He dropped to his knees and cradled his head in his hands, falling on his side soon after. Rolling from side to side was all he could do as he screamed.

Kkeeeeeee’s and Cre-e-ak’s from all around him went unheard.

It wasn’t until his own blade was pushed into his side and his roll forced it to cut deep towards his back that he snapped out of it. He forced his way through the pain threatening to burst his skull open and reacted; opening his eyes as he swung wide and his fist connected. He sensed more than saw his attacker smash into another bookshelf barely keeping itself standing.

Pain racked his side as Peter forced himself to his feet, hand on his wound. The skeleton moved to stab him again with a right handed thrust. Peter felt a rage build up inside him and a growl escaped through his clenched teeth as darkness took over.

A moment later, he was reeling from another stab to his temples. He fought through it and found himself leaning over the skeleton. One palm holding most of his weight, the crushed remains of his foe's skull between it and the floor. His left hand clamped tightly around the half of the skeleton’s forearm that was no longer attached.

His whole body burned and he had to fight to stay conscious through the pain in his skull. He’d felt his before, but couldn’t think clearly enough to make the connection.

Kkeeeeeee!

Cre-e-ak!

He bolted.

He threw the skeletal hand at an apparition about to reach him along with the broken blade it still held. At the end of the aisle, he shouldered through the heavily armored skeleton blocking his escape, smashing it into a display case. He kept going and shattered the next skull with his mace. Confusion at the mace in his hand short-lived as he crumpled to the ground while letting out gut wrenching scream, interrupted only by sobs.

Kkeeeeeee!

Cre-e-ak!

He couldn’t see anymore, yet his feet moved anyway.

Then his mace found another skull…