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He once had a question that read: What does it feel like to be hit in the head by a rock while wearing a helmet?
Ryan Walker wasn't sure if that was real or just internet nonsense, but after tonight, he finally had an answer.
He groaned, pushing himself off the ground. His skull buzzed like a struck gong, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
"Too damn exciting," he muttered, still rattled. "Good thing I brought the helmet. Otherwise, they'd have cracked me open like a melon."
He tugged off the helmet with shaky hands and examined it under the moonlight. The matte surface bore a huge scraped patch where the stone axe had hit, but no cracks. The armor had done its job.
Rolling up his pant leg, he checked the bite on his ankle. Just two faint red dots—nothing serious.
"It seems the primitives are strong, but not… inhuman," he whispered, his expression darkening.
Ryan touched the dented helmet again, jaw tightening. "But me? I'm a transmigrator. And I got chased off by a bunch of cavemen? That's beyond embarrassing."
Humiliation burned in his chest, quickly hardening into resolve. He had to strike back. He would strike back.
After all, this was the only intelligent tribe he'd found in this wild, alien forest. Information, resources, maybe even dominance over the new world—all of it ran through them. He couldn't just hide forever.
He lit a cigarette, inhaled, and sat cross-legged on his bed, staring into the smoke. His mind raced.
"First point: I can freely travel between Earth and that other world. That's a fact now. Second: the other side is a primitive, dangerous wilderness. Alone, survival is nearly impossible. Third: the tribe is both a threat and an opportunity. To survive, I need to either integrate with them… or conquer them."
The words tasted heavy, but the logic was clear.
"To do either, I need leverage. I need to show strength. Something they fear instinctively."
He flicked ash into a tray, his thoughts sharpening. "And what do primitives fear most?"
The answer came instantly.
Fire.
Thunder.
To people who ate raw meat and huddled in caves, fire was heaven's gift. Thunder was heaven's wrath. Both were awe, terror, and mystery rolled into one.
"Perfect," Ryan breathed. "Not to kill them. Just to intimidate. To show I hold the power of gods."
He turned to his desk, powered up his computer, and typed furiously. "Where to buy firecrackers near Shanghai…"
Images and listings scrolled by. His brows knit in frustration. Shanghai itself was barren thanks to regulations. But in the nearby towns? There were still options.
A grin spread across his face. He fired off a text to his boss, asking for a few days off, then booked a train ticket without hesitation.
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Jiangnan. Whitewashed walls, gray rooftops, ancient canals shimmering in the spring light. Poetic scenery, but Ryan had no time for poetry.
He slipped back into his hotel with bags in tow—firecrackers of every kind stuffed into them. The front desk hadn't even noticed.
Back in his room, he stared at the pile, his pulse quickening. For the first time, he considered the obvious: could he actually carry things across worlds?
Last time, panic had forced him to flee with only his life. He hadn't tested it.
"Well… only one way to find out."
He steadied himself, activated the mark on his palm, and watched as the gray vortex unfurled.
Taking a deep breath, Ryan shoved the cart forward.
When the light cleared, he was standing once again in the alien forest—two moons hanging in the night sky above, the cart of firecrackers solid and real beneath his hands.
"It worked!" he whispered, trembling with excitement. "Not just me… the resources come through too. The place I re-enter is exactly where I left. This—this changes everything."
Wealth. Power. Two worlds at his fingertips. The possibilities were endless.
But first came survival.
He scanned the forest. Darkness pressed in. Somewhere beyond the trees, the primitive tribe slumbered in their cave.
"Tonight," Ryan muttered, eyes hard, "they'll learn what it means to anger a transmigrator."
He got to work quickly, unpacking the firecrackers, rigging batteries, and assembling the crude props he'd prepared earlier. In less than an hour, the trap was ready.
Helmet strapped on, Ryan lifted a cheap loudspeaker he'd bought off a fruit seller. He stared at the mouth of the cave glowing faintly under the moonlight.
His finger hovered over the button.
"Fire and thunder," he whispered. "Let's see how gods are born."
And then he pressed it.
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