"Hey! MOVE!" the worker screamed, his voice filled with sheer panic as it echoed through the construction site. His desperate cry was aimed directly at Dylan, who stood frozen beneath the looming trajectory of a massive stone slab suspended high above.
"Huh—?" Dylan's eyes flicked upward, confusion clouding his face as he registered the urgent shout. Instinctively, he tried to move, his body reacting just a second too late.
'Oh shit!' he thought, eyes wide with terror as time seemed to slow. In that split second, his entire life flashed before him, a kaleidoscope of memories blurring in his mind—before everything was overtaken by the overwhelming presence of the stone slab descending with terrifying speed.
*Thud* *Crack* *Splatter*
It was already too late.
The stone slab, crashing down with the force of a myth—like Hercules himself had hurled it—slammed into Dylan, crushing him beneath its enormous weight. Death was immediate, mercifully sparing him from any pain, though what remained was a gruesome spectacle for the surrounding workers to witness—a bloody testament to the construction company's negligence.
His head, once recognizably human, was now reduced to an unrecognizable mess—flattened like roadkill under the slab's relentless pressure. Brain matter splattered in every direction, painting the ground and nearby surfaces in a grotesque display of red and gray. Blood pooled in thick rivers along the footpath, while shattered fragments of bone protruded from the pulverized remains of his skull. His eyes, once full of life, were crushed like brittle candy, and bits of his face clung to the underside of the slab—a grotesque amalgamation of flesh and stone.
Dylan never imagined his life would end so abruptly, so brutally. His final conscious thought—'Oh shit'—was a hopeless realization of the doom that had already claimed him. He hadn't even been granted the chance to utter a final prayer, to process the horror of what was about to happen. Ironically, he had wished about how a boulder might as well fall on his head to end it all—never truly believing he was foreshadowing his own demise.
And as the last image to fill his eyes was that of the stone slab, just a foot away from his face, everything faded to black.
His life ended in an instant.
---
'What's going on…? Am I still alive?'
Dylan's eyes remained tightly shut as he struggled to make sense of the sensations coursing through his body. It felt... real—too real. His mind was in turmoil, trying to reconcile the vivid feelings with the cold certainty of his death just moments ago.
He could feel the warmth of the air gently brushing against his skin, carrying with it a faint sweetness—a scent that lingered softly in the area around him. His other senses, too, seemed to be fully functional. There was no pain, no numbness, no void—only life.
'Did I survive somehow?' he wondered, incredulous. How could he still feel anything when he was certain he had died? Every sense was alive and alert, yet the last thing he remembered was the crushing weight of a stone slab slamming into his face, ending everything in an instant. The thought of surviving something so horrific was beyond impossible. He knew it. His skull had been obliterated, his body left in ruins.
'What…? Where am I? Whose voices are those?'
A flicker of panic shot through him as faint, unfamiliar voices began to seep into his consciousness, growing clearer with each passing moment. They were nearby, speaking in tones he couldn't quite decipher, yet their presence was unmistakable.
Confusion wrapped around him like a fog. His mind screamed for answers. If he had died—if he had truly been crushed, turned into nothing more than a splatter of blood and bone—how could he now hear, feel, and breathe?
The truth, however, was far stranger than he could have ever imagined.
Unbeknownst to Dylan—still lost in thought with his eyes tightly shut—he hadn't just survived. He had transmigrated, reborn into the very kind of world he had often dreamed about. The world of fantasy he used to daydream about, filled with magic, adventure, and wonder, was no longer just fiction. It was now his new reality.
He just didn't know it yet.
-----
"I still can't believe the Lust Lord actually ordered the execution of his own newborn son," one of the demons muttered, glancing uneasily at the infant cradled in his arms.
"You clearly don't understand what it means to be the Lust Lord's offspring," another demon interjected, his tone laced with bitterness.
"He's his heir, isn't he? His successor?" the first demon replied, confused.
"Exactly. That's why the lord wants him dead," the second demon said with a grim nod. "You can't become the new Lust Lord unless you kill the current one and absorb his core. It's tradition—a brutal, twisted one, but tradition all the same."
He paused for a moment, glancing over his shoulder before continuing, "Since this kid carries the lord's blood, he's bound to grow up strong—maybe even stronger than the current lord. And the Lust Lord? He's a paranoid bastard, scared of losing his power. He's terrified of anything that might one day rise up to challenge him, especially his own son."
With that, the group continued moving deeper into the oppressive shadows of the Dark Demonwood Forest, its ancient trees twisted and gnarled like the claws of some monstrous creature.
"You shouldn't speak ill of the lord," the eldest among them growled, breaking his silence. His voice was low, but firm. "If someone hears you, you'll be executed without a second thought."
"Relax, old man," the second demon chuckled, giving the elder a playful pat on the back. "No one's around to hear us. This forest is dead—nothing lives here. Honestly, it wouldn't be a lie to say we're the only ones breathing in this cursed place."
"…" The eldest demon didn't respond. Instead, he fixed the other with a cold, piercing stare that spoke volumes—one that made the younger demon shrink back instinctively.
"A-Alright, alright! No need to get all serious on me—I was just joking," the second demon muttered, taking a few cautious steps away as the weight of that stare pressed down on him like a physical force.
"Where the hell is the damn execution point?" the fourth demon in the group snarled, clearly fed up. His patience had long since worn thin from hours of trudging through the dense forest, carrying what he called "the little bastard."
"We're almost there. Just keep moving," another demon replied, trying to calm him down.
"Ugh, this is driving me insane!" the fourth demon snapped, kicking a root out of his way. "Why can't we just slit the brat's throat right here and be done with it?"
"We do not question the lord's orders," the eldest stated firmly, his tone brooking no argument.
"Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever," the fourth grumbled, rolling his eyes.
And so, the group pressed on, each step bringing them closer to the execution point—where they would end the life of the Lust Lord's newborn son, an child doomed by the fear and paranoia of his father.
---
Suddenly—
"Hey! Hey—what the hell is happening?! What is this?!" one of the demons shrieked in terror.
****
The forest smells sweet.