The afternoon sun in the city was stifling, reflecting off the glass buildings and baking the asphalt. Armen adjusted the strap of his backpack, his eyes glued to the glowing screen of his smartphone. He had just finished a grueling three hour lecture on macroeconomics, and the only thing on his mind was reaching his apartment, ordering a pizza, and grinding for levels in his favorite mobile RPG.
He didn't notice the screech of tires at first. It sounded like distant construction work until the noise evolved into a violent, rhythmic slamming of rubber against concrete.
"Watch out!" someone screamed from across the street.
Armen looked up, but it was too late. A black sedan, out of control and swaying wildly, jumped the curb. The grill of the car expanded in his vision like a predator's maw. There was no pain, only a momentary sensation of being weightless, followed by a sound like a dry branch snapping under a heavy boot.
The world went black. Armen died before his phone even hit the pavement.
Awareness returned not with light, but with the smell of rot and wet hay.
Armen tried to inhale, but his chest felt heavy, as if a stone slab were resting on his lungs. When he finally forced a breath, the air was cold and tasted of copper. He opened his eyes and immediately wished he hadn't.
He was lying on the floor of a wooden wagon. The wood was splintered and stained with dark, dried fluids. Right next to him, inches from his face, was the wide, staring eye of a young man. The boy looked to be about eighteen, but his skin was a sickly, translucent grey. There were no wounds on him. No blood, no bruises, no signs of a struggle. He simply looked empty, like a grape that had been dried into a raisin from the inside out.
Armen tried to move his arm and realized he was wearing filthy, oversized rags that smelled of sweat and old earth. His own hands were pale and skeletal. To his left lay another body, a teenager with his mouth frozen in a silent, hollow O.
"What the hell," Armen whispered, but his voice came out as a dry rattle.
Outside the wagon, the heavy clop of horse hooves echoed against cobblestones. Two voices drifted in from the driver's seat, loud and casual, as if they were discussing the weather rather than a pile of corpses.
"I'm telling you, Tak, the Baron's beast is getting pickier," the first man said, followed by a coarse laugh. "Did you see how it took them? Just a touch of the shadow and whoosh. Soul's gone. Like blowing out a candle."
"Aye, it's a clean way to go, I suppose," the second man, Tak, replied. Armen could hear the creak of leather as the man shifted in his seat. "Better than the rack. These three were scum anyway. Thieves from the lower wards, right? The city guard said they were caught looting the grain stores. Criminals don't need souls, if you ask me."
"Exactly. It's a civic service we're doing. Feed the Baron's pet with their spirits, then feed the physical husks to the hounds at the gate. Waste not, want not. Some of the guards' beasts haven't had fresh meat in three days. They'll tear through that lot in the back before we can even unhook the horses."
"Suppose so. Hope the meat isn't too tough. That one in the middle looked a bit scrawny."
Armen's heart hammered against his ribs. He wasn't just in a different place; he was in a different world, inhabiting a body that had been discarded as literal animal feed. The casual cruelty in their voices made his skin crawl. They weren't villains in a movie; they were just two guys doing a job, and his "death" was their afternoon chore.
He shifted his weight, trying to sit up without making the floorboards groan. As he did, a translucent blue window shimmered into existence a few inches from his nose.
[Transmigration Successful]
[Host: Armen]
[Soul Integration: 100%]
Armen froze. A UI? It looked exactly like the games he played back on Earth. He scanned the text rapidly, his mind racing. He was dead, but he was also here. This body was his now, and if he didn't move in the next few minutes, he was going to be chewed into pulp by whatever "beasts" the guards kept at the gates.
"The excitement can wait," he hissed to himself, his fingers clawing at the rough wood. "Move. I have to move."
The wagon jolted as it hit a pothole. Armen used the momentum to slide toward the back. The rear of the wagon was covered by a heavy, tattered canvas curtain. He crawled over the legs of the two dead boys, the coldness of their skin sending shivers through his new nerves.
He reached the curtain and peeled back a small corner.
The wagon was rolling through a narrow, medieval-looking street. The buildings were tall, leaning inward, made of dark stone and timber. People were walking about, wearing tunics and heavy cloaks. It looked like a bustling town, but there was an air of gloom hanging over everything.
"Almost at the gate," Tak called out from the front. "Hey, you hear that? The hounds are already barking. They can smell the rot coming."
"Let 'em bark," the other driver replied. "I'm looking forward to a pint once this lot is off the wagon. My throat is bone dry from the dust."
Armen didn't wait for another second. He gripped the edge of the wagon, ignored the protesting ache in his limbs, and rolled out the back.
He hit the cobblestones hard. The impact jarred his shoulder, and for a moment, he lay there, expecting a shout or a whip crack. But the wagon kept rolling. The two men were too busy arguing about which alehouse had the best mutton to notice their cargo had lightened.
Armen scrambled to his feet, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He looked around wildly. A few passersby turned their heads. One woman carrying a basket of shriveled vegetables looked him up and down, her eyes lingering on his rugged, dirt-caked clothes and the deathly pallor of his skin. She simply scoffed, pulled her shawl tighter, and walked faster. To them, he was just another starving wretch, a piece of human trash not worth the effort of a second glance.
He needed to hide. He needed to understand what this UI was and how he was breathing in a body that was supposed to be a meal.
Armen ducked his head and darted into a narrow opening between two stone buildings. The alley was damp, smelling of sewage and discarded offal. He ran until the sounds of the main street faded into a dull hum, eventually collapsing against a wall in a dead-end corner where the shadows were thickest.