The huge monstrous beings, at least, seemed to react to his command, though the meaning of their immediate reaction was ambiguous at best; they seemed to simply perk up abruptly, as if awakened from a trance by the sound of his voice, and stared at him in silence, but with keen focus that clearly suggested that these creatures, whatever they were, were not mindless. They did not move right away, but simply stood there, watching him. Perfect was torn between feeling annoyed and impatient at their inability to follow his orders, and a feeling he rarely admitted to himself, but which had the hairs on his arms stand on end: fear. Had he misinterpreted his own position here? He was their king, certainly, but with every kingdom there were rebellions, traitors, usurpers... If these creatures turned against him, he would not have the strength to fight them. He was thirsty, hungry and tired, and although he had killed many, he had never fought. He realized the truth in this statement only when he stood before the threat of those monsters, a threat that could very well mean certain death for him, and felt it resonate within his body as his muscles told him what his mind had forgotten. He had never fought, really... he had always picked victims weaker than himself to abduct, and he had only ever targeted those stronger than himself when he could surprise them, and he could slit their throat without resistance. He was a murderer, not a fighter. Even the armored man he had not fought, but simply executed once these beasts had rendered him helpless.
So in the face of this realization, yes, Perfect was afraid. He was strong, fast and cunning, but he had never brawled with an opponent he could not pin down with the weight of his body alone and who did not tremble in horror before him. These creatures would neither; they were powerful beyond the capability of humans, and they knew no fear. Even a psychopath knew fear, even if they were not as strongly affected by it - fear was a vital part of staying alive, after all - but these things were fearless.
When the armored man seemed to crumble into nothing but the dust that seemed to be perpetually present in this world, Perfect's attention turned momentarily to that, and he watched the phenomenon with a curiosity that chased away his fear. Not only the man, but his armor as well, seemed to disintegrate and fade into nothing, and Perfect was stricken by a profound realization. [I]I'm in the well![/I] He sensed a powerful truth in that statement, but also that his comprehension of the fact was not yet entirely complete. [I]Part of me is in my well, at least, but the real me - the one I am now - is here, and this world is a well in and by itself. There is no need to find a well in which to hide away unfortunate mishaps; this world hides things on its own. This is the well. My well. I am in my well.
The ones that killed me threw me in my well![/I]

Then the moment passed, and Perfect actually started in surprise as one of the beasts let out a cry that was familiar to him - very much so - but at the same time struck him as being deeply and disturbingly [I]wrong[/I]. It was the sound made my his parents after he had slit their throats, the sound his sister had made after he had punctured her neck; the sound of a life ending. Perfect, an emissary of death as he was, knew this sound better than most, but also knew that no living thing should ever be able to produce a noise like that without its end being imminent. What were these monsters, exactly? What was this world? [I]Death never ends here; in the well, everyone is dead. Even I died. It is the sound of this world.[/I]
When the creature suddenly went to seize him, Perfect's fear returned with newfound intensity as he felt suddenly certain that this monster was about to attack and slay him. Startled, he tried taking a step backwards, holding up his newly acquired halberd as if hoping to ward off the grasping claw, but he knew even before he had a chance to attempt any such that resistance would be futile. He was grabbed, pulled in and held immobile against the body of the beast. Much to his surprise it did not crush him, as he estimated that it would easily be capable of, but simply held him there so that he could not move, while it and its fellow abomination went to climb out of the valley with surprising speed and agility for creatures their size. [I]It is carrying me somewhere,[/I] he thought, not at any point considering the idea of struggling against the grip that held him in place. [I]They want to take me with them for some reason. I suppose anywhere is better than here, where there is no food or water to be seen anywhere... they smell disgusting, though. What a stench.
I hope I won't have to endure it for long...[/I]

The trip he was going on, it turned out, was significantly longer than he would have liked it to be. The monsters were fast and covered a lot of distance very quickly, and interestingly never seemed to get exhausted even when they sustained this speed for what felt like many hours, yet they simply kept going and going, farther and farther into the distance, until the valley they came from was nothing but a memory several horizons past. Perfect saw much of the world during the journey, and what he saw only affirmed the conclusion he had reached and tried to share with the armored man in his last moments: this land was anything but empty. There were things here, beings that could have been spawned straight from some grotesque nightmare, living and thriving on their own strength and the weakness of others. Perfect admired and approved of the order of this world - it felt as though this world was much more orderly and honest than the old one, one where he could thrive as the one he was instead of being forced to pretend to be something else to survive - but despite everything he was still human enough to unnerved by how unnatural and alien it all seemed. This land was alive, yes, but the life and soul of the land had its source in death. Death was everywhere, wherever one looked, and it was enough to cause even Perfect to avert his gaze. This world was... revolting. It did not kill for pleasure, self-preservation or just satisfaction, but rather killed for the sake of killing. Perfect was a monster, but as bad as he was by human standards, this place was infinitely worse. In a place as mad as this, even he seemed normal. Another reason to like this world.
After an eternity of running, much of the latter half of which Perfect had spent with his eyes closed to try to block out the horrors of this land and preserve whatever semblance of sanity he might have left, the monsters finally stopped. Perfect opened his eyes and immediately saw the tower they had arrived beneath, which he kept staring at even as the beast placed him back onto the ground. His legs were numb from the long trip in the monster's grasp, and he stumbled, but avoided falling by trusting the butt of the halberd into the ground and using it for support. There was a jingle as he did so; only then did he realize that a small bell was tied to the weapon. Not that he cared.
The tower... the creatures wanted him to go there. They brought him all this way just for him to visit the tower. The tower. The tower. The tower.
The seat. The throne.
He headed for the tower.