After checking myself, books, and Mr. Corpse-on-spear, I had following results - either I was close to two and half meters tall, or people in this world were much smaller than I was used to.

And I did not need sleep or food too.

Ah, and yes, I was not on Earth anymore. At least not in my ordinary dimension, if we take into account Cthulhu mythos and other ideas, where extremely distant universes become dimensions next door.

I understood that from books and maps, gathered from the shelves and brought over to the platform where I previously woke up. The completely unfamiliar scripts and odd shapes of the lands were dead giveaway.

Curiously, most of the books were written in the same, line-derived runic script, while smaller part of the books (including the ones formerly owned by the late extradimensional kidnapper) contained letters vaguely resembling a mix between Greek alphabet and J.R.R.Tolkien's elves' quenya script.

And even fewer books had blank pages, that made illusions appear in the air above the open pages, working in a manner similar to projector.

Odd thing was, I could somehow subconsciously understand the writing. But as soon as I tried to focus on the separate words or sentences, they became blurry and I lost the feeling of following the lead.

Same with operating the projector-books, which were supposed to be called gyfre by the way, - I reflexively knew how to open, rotate, enlarge and flip the projected images. It felt more like using sign language than touchscreen, by the way.

My conclusion was, that the mage who tried to pull my soul through dimensions was killed by the spear in the middle of his activity. That caused his information body or spirit to loose the connection to his body.

Then the spirit broke down and was assimilated in the form of reflexes and subconscious knowledge by me as the only living person in the vicinity.

Perhaps the vortex that I had used as the doorway out, also served as funnel that pushed the escaping free energy and the information into me?

---

Anyway, after unknown period of time had passed, I could be found balancing on a shaky structure of thicker, metal-bound books.

I was humming "It's crazy shit, Hallelujah!" as a kind of a makeshift remake of an old pop song and reading the smallest book that used to belong to fol-ad-he, or as I was able to finally confidently translate, a "warrior mage, tasked by nation/clan/tribe with the duties of leader in times of great conflict".

As it was, I could confidently say that my bony body did not get stiff and I had perfect balance and coordination (I guess, lacking physical inner ear, including semicircular canals, had something to do with that).

After spending time focusing on words that I previously had only elusive understanding about, I started to build up actual memories and linguistic references to be able to read coherent text.

At the end, I had reduced the room's book collection to the role of my makeshift training gear for the body control exercises while I kept reading and re-reading warrior mage's grimoire.

The latter contained direct information about me and my current condition.

I turned the page and read once more through the lines I had previously paid special attention to -

" ..And to show the might of mine, I know that urging the council to give me right to announce myself the fol-ad-he was unavoidable, but as they die, I know more of opportunities that used to be locked out by common unwillingness of the majority…

...To fuel the shagor, a vol'iez is needed, both to guide and both to act upon the world. But danger lies within the Words, as no sage can sense the sleeping Edict, much less the Law, should one be of the Power or even Authority, unforeseen peril will befall…

...for taking vol'iez, the Spark and Soul must yet be weaker in the one that shall be taken, for time and connections untangle as ritual continues longer…

...So I decided to use the fusion of all my skills to go and pull unwitting holder of vol'iez from Beyond, so that lack of tutelage and training shall guarantee my dominance. As for the chance to stumble upon a sleeping Edict or Law, it is impossible, as among the Words to pick one of these, among all diversity that is Beyond, this is but a handful among the countless stars. And even if it happens so, as sleeping ones have yet awaken, unknown power will serve no one, so danger of taking a vol'iez is but an exaggeration, to curb the might of those who dare and will, as long as "self" will be removed before linking S and V…

...as I got rid of last of those fools, that thought that by obstructing my creation of a full shagor they will gain something, I prepared the ritual as described by Shuum of Ty to point at a potential vol'iez just across, possibly at very Nexus of the Weave, for which I used..."

As I read the long lines that sometimes degenerated into crazy ramblings, that periodically felt more like academical discussions and at times like a diary, I could not understand many points mentioned in the text - vol'iez, so often mentioned? Shagor? Words, Edicts, Laws, Powers and Authorities?

I could somewhat deduce that I should be, or have something, called vol'iez, meant to fuel a shagor, but what that could signify for me? Clearly, the ritual had failed, thanks to the spear coming from somewhere outside and skewering the power hungry mage with dangerous-sounding ideas.

But what did shagor do? For all I knew, it could be a giant hamster wheel I was supposed to "fuel" or spin? Well, to be honest I did not see one around, and I doubt that it would actually make an effective thing for whatever purposes it was needed for a combat mage.

As I read and reorganized all the new information, I determined that this world accepted the concept of extradimensional entities, foreign realities and whatsoever. Unfortunately, all the available books were rather philosophical or of scholarly nature, mulling about the vague idea of Beyond and the position of the surroundings in great Structure, without any helpful details.

I could not find any information about the political, environmental or even geologiçal structure of the world, as if the books were gathered and kept by people, far too detached from mundane matters. “Opiate for the masses, eh?”, I sighted.

---

I stood up from my book-perch, and walked around, trying out all the ideas I could come up with.

Admittedly, ideas were mostly fuelled by unhealthy amount of sci-fi and fantasy I used to read - "Status! Inspect! Inventory!", nope, not RPG-world here.

"Information! User Interface -slash- on! -Slash- YuuAai on! Command toggle interface on!..." no, ddid not feel like getting stuck in super advanced virtual game either, pity about that though.

After trying out as many computer command derived phrases and gestures as I could come up with, I was forced to admit that, I was now something, annoyingly looking like a trashy Lvl 1 skeleton, with no gear in unknown location in a world which is possibly hostile to me and definitely coming with an extra DLC of completely unpredictable dangers, common sense, culture and other variables. Hardmode on.

So, there I was, with my equipment being a belt with the DIY-grimoire salvaged from mage's, pardon, fol-ad-he's belongings, as this was the only piece of something, not coming apart and scattering into dust as soon as I touched it.

I would have really loved to have at least some sort of tunic to keep my bones together, but I could not even be sure, if everything was ruined due to passage of time or some funky magical jumbo.

I even tried to pull the huge spear out of the floor, but instead, it simply turned transparent and vanished, dropping the magician's cadaver on the tiles.

It was time to get out.

---

"Shit!" I felt red haze covering my vision and I snapped, and kicked the pedestal with my full force, as I had checked again for any exits and found nothing.

I had no way to estimate how long I had been stuck in the room, with nothing to do but read disturbingly incoherent ravings about mystical shape of the universe and quiz the correct names of a few small bones in my body I had never actually read about.

It must have been weeks - luckily, I did not need to eat or drink, although I could not sleep either (no melatonin secretion as sleep hormone either, remember?).

"Bloody bananas!" I went for my personal neologisms, as instead of fracturing my toebones, feeling pain or anything, I flipped a waist-high, solid stone platform into air where it spun and spectacularly crashlanded against the bookshelf almost twenty meters away.

I quickly put my liberated from neurochemistry's limitations mind into use - "Density of the basalt is close to 3 grams per cubic centimeter. If my height actually is two and half meters, then waist should be close to 150 centimeters from the ground, making dimensions of the platform 150x150x300, with total volume being 6,750,000 cubic centimeters, which gives the total weight of 20,250,000 grams, that is 20,25 tons..."

As I prepared to calculate the impulse required to launch twenty tons over the distance of a tennis court, I suddenly felt as if a great weight was put upon me and I sagged down on the floor. Even my consciousness went hazy and I found out that I could not move.