The celestial light that had enveloped Marc began to fade, dissolving into particles of ether. Marc was floating once more. The electric euphoria of moments ago had given way to an absolute peace, a serenity that flowed through his soul as he descended with an almost surreal delicacy toward his new destination.
This feels... good. I feel far too calm, yet I can't stop smiling. Is this true happiness? How much time has passed? It feels like I've been descending for days... or perhaps it's only been seconds. In this state, time is an irrelevant variable. It seems this God actually knows what he's doing.
Then, the peace shattered.
The light extinguished instantly, and gravity claimed its debt. Marc stopped floating and entered a brutal freefall. He was tearing through the sky, shredding clouds at a terrifying speed. He tried to scream, but he couldn't; he had no body, no lungs, only a terrified consciousness hurtling toward the abyss.
AHHHH! I TAKE IT BACK! I RETRACT EVERYTHING! THIS GOD IS AN INCOMPETENT!
Midway through the chaos, his soul flipped in the air, leaving him upside down. For a few seconds of pure wonder and terror, he glimpsed the vastness of the world beneath his feet as the sun rose triumphantly on the horizon. But the beauty was fleeting. An invisible force, heavy and violent, yanked him downward, accelerating the impact.
Just before slamming into the ground, Marc distinguished a figure. A silhouette dressed in black, with horns, lay motionless face-up at the exact spot where he was about to collide.
The world went black.
Marc jolted awake, his new body arching violently as he bolted upright in a reflex action.
"What the fu—!" he tried to roar, but only a choked gasp escaped his throat.
He felt an oppressive knot in his neck; the air refused to enter. He clutched his throat, seized by a primal desperation, fighting for every breath of oxygen. It took several seconds of agony before his new lungs accepted the rhythm of respiration.
"What... what the hell was that? I nearly died before I even started," Marc wheezed, falling back onto the grass.
He lay there, motionless, letting his pulse slow down. His eyes fixed on the celestial vault. The soft, golden light indicated it was the early hours of the morning; the birth of a new day.
The sky... the clouds... Marc blinked, analyzing the atmosphere with his customary curiosity. They look exactly like they did in my world. At least there's some logic in that.
Marc turned his head cautiously. To his left, an infinite plain stretched as far as the eye could see; to his right, the thickness of an ancient forest claimed the landscape. Amidst the sea of trunks, he spotted a stone structure in the distance that broke the green monotony.
Perhaps that's the temple Amir mentioned.
He tried to stand, but the world tilted unexpectedly. His center of gravity had been sabotaged. He stumbled, his limbs responding with a length and strength he didn't recognize.
It's the height... or this new body. I feel strangely alien to my own bones.
After a few seconds of struggling for balance, he managed to stand upright.
Good. The first step is taken. So far, I'm on the right track.
In that instant, a sharp, unprecedented sensation on his forehead captured his attention. He raised his arms hesitantly, and his fingers felt something solid sprouting from his skull, right where his hairline began. It was a hard substance, cold as bone, emerging symmetrically on each side. Marc recoiled a step, his heart racing for a moment, fearing an open wound or an impalement... until Amir's voice echoed in his memory.
Right. The horns. I'm a full-fledged demon now.
Looking up, he spotted a modest but solidly built cabin a few meters away. It was a cozy sight of dark wood with a stone chimney and, beside it, a small vegetable garden gleaming under the dawn light. Marc moved forward. His legs faltered at first, but with every stride, his feet found a new, powerful firmness. He was adapting at a superhuman speed.
This body feels light, almost weightless. Is it demon physiology, or is the gravity on this planet lower than Earth's?
He reached the garden. It wasn't just a plot; it was organized with almost military precision, as if an invisible gardener had prepared it minutes before his arrival. A low wicker fence protected it, and the earth, black and fertile, was impeccable. To the right, rows of potatoes, carrots, and legumes peeked out vigorously. To the left, the scent of garlic, onion, and basil perfumed the air, flanking bushes heavy with bright red tomatoes. At the back, a row of low apple trees bent their branches under the weight of the fruit.
These are all species I know. Are they native, or did Amir "install" them for my convenience? He said he didn't want me to die out of ignorance, but he also made me immune to poison. Well, one less problem; I've saved myself the sweat of plowing, planting, and waiting. Though I suspect the maintenance will be up to me. Marc looked at his hands again. I wonder if I can make these grow using magic.
Marc approached one of the apple trees, selected a deep red fruit, and plucked it with a sharp twist. As he took the first bite, the pulp exploded in his mouth; it was so juicy that a thread of syrup ran down his cheek.
I've never been a fan of apples, but I have to admit this one is out of this world. I suppose crops grown by a God play in a different league.
He stood there chewing slowly, his gaze lost in the vastness of the celestial sky.
A God, huh? Who would've thought.
Marc swallowed the mouthful, feeling the sweetness travel down his throat. I wasn't an atheist all my life. My parents were devout Christians; they raised me amidst hymns and prayers, trying to seal my faith from the cradle. But upon entering high school, the cracks appeared. Unanswered questions began to corrode the dogmas, and by the time I set foot in university, the verdict was in: it was statistically impossible for something like a God to exist.
A bitter smile curled his lips as he looked at the remains of the apple.
And yet, just moments ago, I was having a trivial chat with the Creator himself. What a twisted irony. I still don't know how to process everything I've lived through, but I'm glad the universe proved me wrong; otherwise, I never would have reached this place.
He took another bite of the fruit, savoring the triumph of reality over his own logic, and headed firmly toward the cabin.
Upon opening the door, an unexpectedly familiar aroma greeted him. The air wasn't stagnant or heavy with dust, as the logic of an isolated cabin would dictate; instead, a clean fragrance of polished wood and honey floated about, with a subtly smoky note reminiscent of dried herb tea.
Smells way too good for a shack in the middle of nowhere.
Marc traced the scent to the ceiling, where a garland of dried wild herbs hung from a beam. However, the secret lay in the walls: the dark wood had been recently treated with beeswax and linseed oil, giving the space that warmth of a sun-warmed hive.
That God is more detail-oriented than he admits. I didn't expect this level of hospitality.
The interior was deceivingly spacious, optimized for functionality. Morning light flooded the room through a wide window framing the garden. Above him, the beams were robust and visible, supporting a high ceiling that gave the room air, while the polished floorboards gleamed beneath his feet. In the center, a coarse oak table presided over the place, flanked by long benches.
At least I won't be uncomfortable while I decide the fate of the world.
In a corner, a queen-sized bed with thick wool blankets promised a rest superior to anything Marc had ever known in his previous life. But it was the opposite wall that truly took his breath away: an imposing bookshelf that climbed from floor to ceiling, guarded by a small wooden ladder. Hundreds of leather spines, yellowed scrolls, and grimoires as thick as a fist watched him with the promise of infinite knowledge.
I suppose this is what Amir was talking about. There are... too many. At least I have enough food for a year.
The kitchen was no less impressive. Equipped with a stone hearth and a smooth wooden countertop, it featured a pantry that was, in Marc's eyes, a masterpiece of order. Sealed jars of preserves, sacks of grain, unknown spices, and small barrels of oil and wine stood in perfect formation.
Thank you, Almighty God, he thought with a trace of devout irony.
The fireplace, located opposite the entrance, housed a fire that burned in an unnatural silence. Suddenly, a prickle of intuition ran through his mind: that fire would not go out unless he commanded it.
Magic. I'm sure that fireplace is magical... but how do I know? Is this my "perception" waking up?
Curiosity led him to the only side door. Behind it, he found a bathroom that defied the medieval aesthetic of the place: a ceramic toilet and a copper tub with a showerhead. Again, his new senses whispered to him that the water flowed via invisible threads of power.
"I guess they shit in this world too," Marc muttered, letting out a dry laugh that broke the silence of the cabin.
He returned to the main room and stopped before the library. His fingers brushed the spines of the history and geography books, but his gaze inevitably drifted toward the volumes with dark covers and ancient engravings.
I should start by understanding where the hell I am... but who am I kidding. I want the magic.
Without further hesitation, Marc grabbed the first grimoire he found and dragged it to the oak table, ready to dissect the secrets of the universe.