My Journey In Another World

into the moment

Atlas stares in disbelief. "What the fuck is this? A group of ghouls! This isn't normal behavior for them. They're just walking around like they're mindless!" He readies himself, unsure whether to approach or avoid the bizarre scene. His hand hovers over his weapon, instincts on high alert.

Atlas takes a cautious step forward, eyes scanning the ghouls for any sign of aggression. The ghouls, oblivious to his presence, continue their aimless shuffle.

"This can't be right," he mutters to himself. "Ghouls are never this passive."

He inches closer, trying to get a better look. As he does, one of the ghouls suddenly stops and turns its head, locking eyes with him. Atlas freezes, heart pounding. The ghoul seems to hesitate for a moment before resuming its mindless wandering.

Atlas lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "What the hell is going on here?" he wonders. Deciding he needs more information, he cautiously approaches the nearest ghoul, ready for anything.

Approaching the ghoul, Atlas grabs his weapon and, with a swift motion, cuts the ghoul's head off. The body crumples to the ground, lifeless. He watches it for a moment, expecting some reaction from the others, but they remain unaffected, continuing their aimless shuffle.

"Something's definitely wrong here," Atlas mutters. He scans the area, searching for any clues that might explain this bizarre behavior. The air feels heavy with an unnatural stillness, making his skin crawl. He decides to move forward, staying alert for any signs of danger or answers to the mystery surrounding these ghouls.

Atlas looks around, the unsettling silence only amplifying the strangeness of the scene. He decides it’s time to use one of his relics, hoping to gain some insight or protection. But as his hand instinctively reaches for the relic pouch, his fingers brush against thin fabric. He glances down and realizes, with a sinking feeling, that he’s still in his pajamas.

"Fucking hell," he mutters under his breath, the absurdity of the situation hitting him hard. Here he is, in the middle of what could be a dangerous encounter, dressed like he just rolled out of bed. The thought almost makes him laugh, but the ghouls' eerie presence keeps him on edge.

Atlas quickly assesses his options, feeling the chill of the night air through the thin material of his pajamas. He can't help but curse under his breath again. "Of all the times..."

But there's no turning back now. Pajamas or not, he knows he has to press on. He tightens his grip on his weapon, adrenaline starting to kick in, and continues forward.

Atlas pauses, glancing down at his pajama-clad form with a mix of frustration and urgency. "I have to go back for my relics and get dressed," he mutters, realizing that he can't afford to be unprepared in this situation. Now isn't the time to criticize himself for looking stupid; there’s too much at stake.

He turns on his heel, moving quickly but carefully away from the bizarre scene. The ghouls remain oblivious, continuing their aimless wandering as Atlas makes his way back to his camp. As he hurries, he can't shake the feeling that something is very wrong here, and he knows he'll need every bit of gear and preparation he can muster to face whatever’s coming.

As Atlas walks back to his bedroom, his thoughts shift to Retro. The lack of his usual presence gnaws at the back of Atlas's mind. "Where could he be?" he murmurs to himself. Then he remembers, "Well, I did tell him to deal with the anti-magic that's in the air."

But the reassurance does little to ease the growing tension in his chest. As Atlas approaches the door to his room, an eerie feeling washes over him, stopping him in his tracks. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and a chill creeps up his spine. Something's not right. He hesitates, listening intently, his instincts screaming at him to be cautious.