Headache, like his skull had been repeatedly struck by a dozen steel pipes, or like he'd been force-fed two pounds of cheap liquor in ice water after three days of a hangover.
Henry wanted to open his eyes, but his eyelids were as heavy as if welded shut, each movement making his temples throb.
He remembered just finishing overtime; the prospectus for the company's IPO was on its thirty-seventh revision. The partners had sent a string of celebratory firework emojis in the group chat, saying they were just half a month away from ringing the bell.
He walked downstairs, a cigarette unlit in his mouth. The streetlights at the entrance of his complex flickered twice, followed by a screech of brakes—an out-of-control truck charged like a mad bull, the driver's face behind the windshield as white as paper.
"Damn it..." He tried to curse, but only a strange "Hiss" sound squeezed out of his throat, thin like a rusty door hinge rubbing.
The sound startled him. He suddenly gathered his strength and forced his eyelids open. His vision was blurry, as if covered by dirty glass, and it took a while to slowly focus.
What met his eyes was a dusty ceiling, seemingly haphazardly patched together with rotten wood and mud. Sticky cobwebs hung in the corners, and black, fingernail-sized bugs occasionally crawled across.
The air smelled musty, mixed with an indescribable fishy odor, worse than the scrap yard he'd worked in when he was younger.
Henry moved his arm, trying to push himself up, but his hand froze the moment it touched the ground—it wasn't his hand.
It was a small, thin paw, its skin a grayish-green, dry and taut over bones as slender as kindling. The nails were black and blunt, and one was broken off halfway.
He instinctively curled his fingers, and the paw moved with them, his fingertips brushing the ground beneath him. The texture was rough like sandpaper, and it was covered in damp mud.
"What the hell?" Henry tried to speak again, but only the strange "Hiss" sound came from his mouth, like a mouse with its neck squeezed.
Panic seized him, and he abruptly looked down at his body—green skin, thin arms and legs, a sunken stomach, and a tattered piece of burlap wrapped around his waist, barely covering his modesty.
Not a single part of his body was familiar, and he was much shorter. Sitting on the ground, he had to crane his neck to see things around him.
This wasn't his body!
Memories surged like a suddenly torn sack, his past life flooding back.
Wasn't he Henry? In his youth, he'd been a street tough, wielding steel pipes in gang fights. With his ruthlessness and quick reflexes, he'd risen from a small-time gangster.
Later, when things got hot, he fled overnight with his money, holed up in a rental apartment eating instant noodles for three months, watching his former brothers get arrested on the news. He then gritted his teeth, took out his money, and opened a small restaurant.
After that, the internet boomed. He stared at a computer screen for three days and three nights, sold the restaurant, and dove into e-commerce, from hawking socks to building his own brand, pushing his company to the brink of an IPO...
He was clearly hit by a truck while going downstairs to buy cigarettes, so how did he wake up in this monstrous form?
Henry raised a hand to touch his face, his paw brushing his cheek, feeling uneven skin and a nose so flat it almost touched his face.
He struggled to his feet, stumbling a few steps before steadying himself. His gaze swept around—it looked like a dilapidated cave, with piles of moldy fodder in the corners and several chipped clay pots.
The ground was covered in mud pits and unidentified stains, and a hazy fog drifted from the distant cave entrance, giving it an indescribably eerie feel.
"Where is this? A movie set?" A thought flashed through his mind, but he immediately dismissed it—who would make props so realistic for a movie? The feel of the skin, the musty smell on his body, and the agility of his paw just now, it all felt terrifyingly real.
Just as he was in a daze, a "clunk" suddenly echoed nearby, as if something was hitting wood.
Henry sharply turned his head, seeing a half-worn oak barrel not far away. The lid was askew, and a slight movement could be seen through the gap.
His heart tightened, and he instinctively took two steps back—his street-fighting instincts from his past life were still there; it was always right to be cautious when encountering unknown movements.
"Bang!"
The barrel lid was violently pushed open and rolled twice on the ground.
Then, a small, green-skinned creature, much like his current appearance, crawled out. It was also skin and bones, with green skin, but it had a diagonal scar over its left eye, making it look fiercer.
As soon as the small creature emerged, it shook off the dust. Its small, beady black eyes swept over, and when they met Henry's gaze, they instantly narrowed, and a low "Hiss" rumbled from its throat, like a wild dog whose territory had been invaded.
Henry's heart sank. He realized this thing was the same "species" as him now, and from the looks of it, it meant trouble.
Before he could figure out what to do, the scarred-eye creature was already hissing and pouncing at him.
Its speed wasn't fast, but its movements were wild. It spread its claws and aimed for his face, mud still clinging to its fingernails, looking painful.
"Damn!" Henry instinctively tried to curse, but his body moved first.
When he fought in his youth, he was best at dodging. No matter how fast an opponent's punch, he could evade it.
Now, he twisted his waist, narrowly dodging the scarred-eye's claws, and simultaneously took half a step back, creating distance.
The scarred-eye missed, clearly stunned for a moment. It turned and pounced at him again, this time lowering its head and charging at his stomach like a headless fly.
The panic in Henry's heart gradually faded with this attack.
What kind of fights hadn't he been in during his past life? He'd even used knives against people, so why would he be afraid of such an uncoordinated little thing? He accurately judged the scarred-eye's charge, sidestepped, and simultaneously raised his paw, slapping it on the back of the scarred-eye's head.
With a crisp "smack," the scarred-eye stumbled, rushed forward two steps before regaining its balance. It turned to look at Henry with even fiercer eyes, hissing more urgently, as if cursing.
But it touched the back of its head and then shrank back, clearly having taken a hard hit.
"Still coming?" Henry felt his temper rise. In this life, from the streets to the business world, he had never suffered such an inexplicable loss.
Without waiting for the scarred-eye to pounce again, he actively charged forward two steps, grabbing the scarred-eye's arm with his left hand—this was an old fighting move from his youth, grabbing an arm to dissipate force, preventing the opponent from exerting strength.
The scarred-eye didn't expect him to attack first and was momentarily stunned when grabbed. It struggled to shake free, but Henry's paw, though thin, held on tight.
In his previous life, Henry had practiced grip strength, able to crush walnuts. Although this body was weak now, the knack for applying force was still there. He twisted the scarred-eye's arm to the side, simultaneously tripping it with his right foot.
The scarred-eye let out a "Hiss," lost its balance, and fell to the ground with a "thud," face-first into a mud pit, splashing mud all over its face.
Henry didn't give it a chance to react.
He knew that to deal with this kind of wild fighter, you had to finish it quickly, otherwise, it would be more troublesome once it recovered.
He followed up, pouncing and straddling the scarred-eye's back, pressing its neck with his left hand, and clenching his right hand into a fist—oh no, into a paw—and relentlessly smashing its back.
"Let you pounce on me! Let you Hiss!" He silently cursed, his paw landing on the scarred-eye's back again and again, each blow with force. He could feel the small creature beneath him struggling frantically, kicking its limbs wildly, letting out a shrill "Hiss" sound, but he held it down firmly, unable to flip over.
The commotion in the mud grew louder, and the scarred-eye's struggles gradually weakened. Its back was bruised and purple from the blows, some areas even broken skin, seeping blood.
It no longer hissed aggressively; instead, it let out a soft, whimpering sound with a hint of crying, shrinking its neck to the ground, as if begging for mercy.
Henry was tired from hitting and realized the small creature was truly scared.
He panted heavily, released his hand from the scarred-eye's neck, and grabbed its scruff, lifting it up.
The scarred-eye hung its head, not daring to look at him, its body still trembling slightly. One paw cautiously touched its own back, then quickly retracted, letting out a soft "Hiss" at Henry, its voice gentle, without its previous ferocity.
Is this... submission?
Henry paused, a complex feeling suddenly welling up inside him.
He'd been in many fights in this life, from street brawls to open and covert struggles in the business world, winning and losing, but this was the first time he'd beaten such a strange creature into submission.
He released his paw, and the scarred-eye fell to the ground with a "thump," but it didn't run. It just curled into a ball, head down, not daring to look at him.
Just then, a emotionless mechanical voice suddenly echoed in his mind, as clear as if someone was speaking in his ear:
[Host consciousness detected as stable, binding conditions met...]
[Warhammer System is activating...]
[Activation successful. Warhammer System officially awakened.]
Henry froze, his paw suspended in mid-air.
System?
He had heard that term.
The young people at his company always talked about web novels, saying that when you transmigrated, you'd get a system to fight monsters and level up.
He used to think it was all made up, but this voice was clearly ringing in his head, leaving him no choice but to believe it.
He looked down at his green-skinned paws, then at the scarred-eye goblin trembling on the ground, and then thought of the "Warhammer" mentioned by the voice—he vaguely remembered his company's artist mentioning it, that it was a world full of slaughter and monsters.
So, not only had he transmigrated, but he'd transmigrated to this hellish place, become this monstrous form, and now... he even had a system?
Henry stood rooted to the spot, his mind in a chaotic mess.
The glory of his past life, the moment he was hit by the truck, the fight with the scarred-eye just now, and the sudden system voice in his mind, all churned together, making his head ache again.
But he quickly calmed down.
Henry was able to rise from the streets to almost taking his company public not just because he was bold, but more importantly, because he could handle things.
No matter what his current situation, the priority was to survive first—just like when he was cornered in an alley in his street-fighting days, just like when thugs bothered him after he opened his restaurant, just like when his competitors left malicious negative reviews when he first started e-commerce, he had endured it all.
It's just a new body, a new world, isn't it?
He took a deep breath, and though he still inhaled that musty smell, the panic in his heart had subsided considerably.
He glanced at the scarred-eye cowering on the ground, then looked up at the fog at the cave entrance, finally focusing his attention back on the voice in his mind.
"System?" He silently thought the word.
The mechanical voice in his mind didn't sound again, as if everything just now had been an illusion.
But Henry knew it wasn't an illusion. His new life, or rather, his new struggle for survival—had truly begun at this moment.