Transmigration and Atlas.

Author Note:

The […] brackets will be used to portray 'Non-Human and/or Other Language' dialogue. The words spoken by these characters will not be understood by the characters speaking in quotes ("…").

This rule is an exception to our MC. The reason will be given in time.

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"I'm…not dead?"

That certainly didn't seem to be the case.

The sharp pain within his throat, the dull ache across his body, the piercing headache upon his temple, all of these factors told John that he wasn't dead.

'If I'm not dead, then where am I? And why does my throat hurt so much?'

He reflexively reached for his throat only to find his arms immovable. He then lowered his gaze towards his arms and was hit by a wave of astonishment.

'These are my arms!?'

Well, seeing as how they were connected to his body, those were certainly his arms. However, to his confusion, John discovered his arms to be too short and…slender.

Calling it slender would be an understatement. All that he could see were toothpick-like bones and a very thin layer of bruised, pallid skin. There was no mass or muscle.

While finding this sudden change strange, John's gaze quickly fell upon something else. The reason why he was unable to move his arms.

'Chains!?'

Quickly lifting his head, John looked at his surroundings.

Cold, damp, dark, makeshift bars built out of wooden logs. It is a dungeon.

'Fu*k! It's a dungeon!'

He immediately panicked.

He panicked to a degree that he hadn't reached even when he was facing death in his previous life. And who could blame him?

Can you imagine waking up and finding yourself chained up to some dark basement? Who knows what kind of pervert is running this place?

'Wait! That's it! Previous life! I died once and now I'm…'

"DID I TRANSMIGRATE!?!"

He screamed at the top of his lungs. In fact, he screamed so loud that he coughed up some blood.

No, really.

He really did cough up blood.

"Cough! Cough! Ar-cough-gh! Da-amn it. M-my thr-roat."

'My throat is very dry. I should avoid straining it until I drink some water.'

Just as he had decided on that, John heard a weak, feeble voice.

"…Atlas? Are you okay, my son?"

'Is he talking to me? Atlas? Son? Is that my—this body's name?'

Since he was severely lacking in information about who he was, where he was, and why he was being chained up in the bottom of someone's basement, John decided to do the most rational thing that he could.

Assume character and fish for information.

"I-I'm fine, father."

He weakly replied and for the first time noticed the sound of his voice.

'Atlas seems to be very young.'

"I see. Hearing your scream, I was afraid that those monsters got to you, my son."

'Monsters? Is that literal or metaphorical? No, judging from the tone of his voice, fear was his most prominent emotion. Monsters…he might mean that literally.'

This was bad. Possessing a young, weak body, chained up in a dungeon inside a den of monsters…this was the worst possible start to a transmigration journey.

'God is really not making it easy for me, huh?'

"I-I can't lose you too, son." The voice from the other side began once more. This time, he seemed to be sobbing.

"A-after watching your mother by dragged away a-and he-hearing her screams a-as t-they feasted on her, I can't bear to relive that once again!!"

"Forgive me, my son! D-due to my incompetence, I've led our family and our kingdom into this dire situation. I-I—"

BANG!

The sudden sound of something being blasted open was heard, abruptly cutting off Atlas' father's repentance.

[Grab him!]

"AAARGHH! NOO!! LET GO!! LET GO OF ME, YOU MONSTERS!!!"

John heard the heavy footsteps of his capturers, their yell, the subsequent struggle, and the blood-curdling screams of his father.

It was frankly a disquieting and wildly uncomfortable experience for the man who had come from the modern era.

"NO! NO! NO! LET ME GO!! AAARGGHH--!"

SNAP!

The screams abruptly cut. John heard the loud snap of what he definitely knew to be the sound of bones breaking. The loud snap was soon followed by the sounds of crunching and munching.

[Good flesh.]

[Very meaty.]

Listening to the capturers' bone-chilling remarks, he heard their footsteps gradually grow fainter.

Unable to hold it in any longer, John hurriedly leaned over to the side and hurled his guts out. His vomit did not contain any substance other than his yellow-colored gastric juice.

In the quiet, dark dungeon John continued to audibly vomit.

---

After what felt like an hour, but was really just a few minutes, of hurling his guts out, John finally calmed down. He took deep breaths to calm himself down and placated his chaotic emotions.

'That was…unpleasant. Man, those screams reminded me of the time I played Ev*nicle.'

He tried to make a little joke to lighten his mood. It seemed to work as his mouth struggled to form a smile.

'Ah, screw this. Let's just put that aside for now and sort the information that I obtained.'

'First things first, I, John Doe, the fifty-nine years old genius politician who earned the title of 'Bloody Tyrant' have now transmigrated into the body of a prepubescent young boy called Atlas [last name still unknown].'

'How did this happen? I don't know. How will this information help me? I don't know that either. Where is the influx of memories that people usually get after undergoing such a thing? Error 404, file not found. However, since this HAS happened and I get to have a second shot at life, might as well take full advantage of it.'

'I still don't know where I am, how I ended up in such a situation, or what this world even is. However, if popular media from my previous life is anything to go with, then this is probably a world of magic and other fantastical stuff.'

'I mean, my fath—well, I suppose it's late-father now, did mention the word monsters and was then subsequently eaten by those monsters a few seconds later. It wouldn't be a stretch to consider this a fantastical world with magic, right? Maybe, Tolkien style?'

'Moving on, I'm currently chained within a dungeon inside what is definitely a den of man-eating monsters. Not the start that I would've hoped for, but I guess I have no choice but to work with what I've got.'

'Getting out of this place is priority number one.'

'On the bright side, my father did mention something about a 'kingdom'. So maybe, it's smooth sailing after getting out of here?'

Hopes and dreams were very important concepts for a confined/imprisoned person to have. Not only did it give them a goal to work towards, but it also filled them with motivation.

After arranging the information inside his head, John exhaled a breath of bad air.

"John Doe is dead. Starting today, my name is Atlas. And my first goal is to get out of this place."

He solemnly declared and quietened down.

"Preferably, alive."

He quietly added after some consideration.