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Eyelids blinked open. A large pupil surrounded by emerald green. The black shrunk at the pale sky.
He sat up with a groan that merited his current state. Shutting eyes against the settling dust. With a headache the size of a continent weighing down on his mind, he tried to stay focused. Tried to figure out where he left his sword - or boots, for that matter. Which muscles he pulled and which bones he broke. And what was the name of the city he accidentally razed to the ground.
The hand he wiped his forehead with came away bloody. Bleeding without even a wound on him. That wasn't good. After a feat like that, there should be some uncomfortable consequences - like a tsunami was an uncomfortable consequence of a shock wave. His body clearly didn't get the memo yet.
Coughing, he took a deep breath to clear his lungs, which caused him to realize another problem. The taste of air didn't contain only the expected dust. No, it was something much filthier, damp and acidic.
This wasn't the world he last remembered being on.
The devastation turned out to be a single temple with underground catacombs that he managed to collapse, causing the whole building to sink into the ground. It had to be at least a hundred yards across. He'd seen smaller cities.
Surrounding the temple had been an oasis. Once. Now it was just a pile of upturned dirt that started mixing with sand after about a half-hour walk. An unrecognizable lone mountain loomed in the distance, further proving his lostness. The sun's light never left the horizon - a pink-orange glow, where he last remembered it to be yellow. No matter how hard he tried recalling anything after last night - or the night before that, whichever one placed him at the spot he recognized - he still had no idea how one could jump worlds without knowing what the hell they were doing. Any portal was a week's walk from where he's been, and he hadn't seen a portal-stone in a year.
The desert was populated, even if there was no establishment to be seen. A caravan stood far away on surrounding dunes, pausing to see their culture's crown jewel in shambles.
Every cell in his body suddenly decided to give him chills. Blood rushed to warm him, carrying with it unjustified rage. Other functions shut down.
In retrospect, it probably wasn't the best idea to clock the first person he came across in the face.
Well, he knew where he was. Mostly.
There were only two worlds with wargs - a beast resembling a dog the size of a rhino - and only one that managed to tame the said smelly beasts.
Being dragged behind one in chains wasn't his idea of a good time. The thing pissed just about everywhere. Not so different from his mentor in that regard. No smell of alcohol on this one, though. But the acidic taste lingered in the air, and the orange light made him want to die. A high-pitched sound started whistling in his ears. A hangover like that should at least be accompanied by a nice warm bed and a good-looking girl next to him. But no, he got some apocalyptic world with a too hot sun shining through the poisoned atmosphere and a frigin' warg leading a line of chained captives to some prison.
Strange world or no, these people knew their power-rocks. His shine was taken before he woke up from his second blackout. Leaving his mind without any plan and his body feeling like shit.
He really needed to hit something.
As soon as the bars behind him rattled closed, a fight erupted.
Perhaps it was caused by someone else, but he clearly remembers punching the closest person in the face just to make sure the numbness in his hand didn't mean something worse than it falling asleep. Those chains were tight, and the consequences of whatever destroyed the temple still frenzied inside him.
He got a split lip in thanks and a kick in the crotch to remind him that his pain receptors still worked in at least some places.
They were given yellow jumpsuits and marched into the mine to dig some reddish ore that seemed soft to his fingers. "The mountain's blood", they called it. Used for dyes by the rich. The officers' suits were red, possibly in its honour and to hide the blood spraying around during whipping.
Nothing disturbed him half as much as the silence underneath the mountain. Even his tinnitus was gone. He got over the initial shock and should be hearing the rhythm by now. Nothing but the chiselling of the precious rock. An ant's work on the hill. Otherwise, complete and utter stillness. Not even a shake of the earth. No heartbeat of the planet.
This world wasn't recovering after the apocalypse. It was already dead.
It woke him up in the middle of the night. A single hit that almost threw him out of the covers. He clutched to it like a feezing man to a coat. Hugging the cold hard ground behind bars, he let it roll through him.
Damn, but was he thankful for it. To have finally figured out the frequency, rumbling and deep. So deep that it took ages to reach the surface. He synced his breath to it, his own heartbeat, to keep the cadence as long as he walked this ground.
That day he got in a fight. The loser was found in an otherwise full container, and nobody thought twice about where the ore, the place of which the unconscious body was taking, went.
In the evening, he hung the sheet for privacy. Not that he needed any since he knocked out half of the group cell on day one. But still, this way, nobody saw him dye his yellow jumpsuit red.
He broke out of his cell at night and walked out of the complex as if he owned it. His destination was a storehouse where they kept the valuables stolen from prisoners. Not a soul stopped him when he climbed on the nearest sleeping warg and mushed it on.
It didn't like being mushed. Instead, it snorted awake and roared and crashed straight through the wooden door of the guards' quarters, making him wish the old headache was back because at least then he wouldn't have the mental capacity to realize and analyze the stupid decisions in his life. He almost got his wish fulfilled when he tumbled to the floor, furniture crashing under the weight of him and the pissed-off beast.
But there it was. The familiar touch to his energy within.
He found the shine in the mess of a broken table with some cards and coins. The raging warg and overreacting guards provided an exciting background noise as he clutched to it tightly. Calling for the old familiarity. Waking the fire in his muscles and the strength within his bones. The power refused to be contained inside with the storm of chaos outside.
The world's heart didn't suddenly wake up, but the destruction he caused reclaiming himself could be described as the ground having a freakout. The warg whined and disappeared, either under the collapsing roof or running away; he wasn't sure. The guards weren't dead, but they were talking to him at last. Answering some questions and pointing out directions to the nearest portal.
And begging him to return home.