What comes next?

Upon opening his eyes, the first thing he felt was pain.

Stranger even, was how this pain encapsulated him from top-to-bottom.

“Where am I?" He groaned. Scanning his surroundings, he was quick to discern that he'd been transported to somewhere unfamiliar.

His body lay flat atop an unknown, cushioned surface. Moreover, four wooden walls encapsulated him; each of them ending in a square opening at the top that was reminiscent of an open box.

Apart from those few broad details, his vision was too distorted to make out anything else that was noteworthy.

With sweat covering his forehead, he contemplated jumping to his feet. That was until he remembered a piece of advice a teacher had given him back in high school.

“Moving an injured person carries the risk of death.” He recited inside his head.

Taking note of his unusual agony and awkward lack of memory from recent events, he chose to remain still; hoping that help would be on its way soon enough.

With time to kill on his hands, he tried to piece together what had happened to him.

“I was driving on an excavator … No, I finished doing that.”

Minutes passed, as the pain slowly began to dissipate.

“ … Yeah, I was walking to my car and then … Something hit me on the back of the head.” He thought, shivering as if coming out of a daze.

Eventually, his body had relaxed enough for him to shrug away any concerns of serious injury. 

He tried to rub his eyes but weirdly enough, wasn’t able to reach them. “What’s the meaning of this?” He thought as he bent his neck down to peer at the rest of his body. When he did, his jaw suddenly locked in place; agape and trembling from a sudden gush of fear.

He tried to lift himself up, but failed as both of his arms were far too weak to properly carry the rest of his body. The reason for his terror? Everything that pertained to 'himself' was completely out of proportion; his arms, his legs, his torso, and even his privates had been shrunk.

Moreover, his body also appeared to be coated in a mysterious fluid of some sort. Unsure as to what it was, he warily examined it with one of his tiny hands and rubbed it in between his fingers.

There was no doubt in his mind. It was blood. He was covered from head-to-toe in fresh, carmine blood. Though, if the sight didn't convince him, the strong scent of iron sure as hell did.

He tried to scream in terror, however, only incoherent wails emerged from his shortened throat.

Without his consent, Than Nimrod had been reborn.