Dave blinks.
The last thing he remembers is an impact—something like a whirlwind of dark energy tearing him from his place—and then... nothing.
Now, standing in a dark alley, he smells that all-too-familiar stench of sulfur, laced with something even more nauseating: the scent of ancient, tangible hatred.
It's not the first time his life has taken a turn toward the absurd, but this time feels different.
The cold creeps down his spine, and the irony of it all pulls a sarcastic smile from his lips.
"Well, how lovely. Are they welcoming me to my own funeral, or what?" he mutters, taking a cautious step forward.
The streets are deserted. The buildings old and neglected, like the world had been abandoned centuries ago. Nothing new there.
What really unsettles him is the voice he hears next—echoing in his ears like a blade made of ice.
"Dave."
It's a whisper, barely audible, but every fiber of his being recognizes it.
Axel.
Only... something's wrong. Something feels *off*. In his world, that voice never sounds this hostile. But here, it's like his mere presence is enough to set Axel on edge.
Dave turns—and there he is: his brother.
Tall, imposing, silver hair flawlessly styled, ice-blue eyes, and a cold expression hiding a lethally magnetic intensity.
And he's looking at him with disdain.
"Well, well, little brother. Been a while since our last family chat," Dave tries to sound casual, but Axel cuts him off.
"Don't you dare call me that, bastard. You know exactly what's coming for you."
Dave raises an eyebrow, confused.
What's coming for me?
Since when is Axel this melodramatic?
And more importantly…
*What the hell has changed?
Because in his dimension—and yes, by "dimension" he really means *that reality where Hell still makes sense—he and Axel are... more than just brothers.
Even the word sounds strange to him now.
There's a deep, intimate connection between them, something that goes beyond human or demonic comprehension.
And here, judging by what he's seeing... that bond has turned to hatred.
"Did you hit your head or something?" Dave asks, smirking. "Because that tone is definitely new, brother."
Axel answers with nothing but a look of steel, and Dave feels a knot twist in his gut.
This is not his Axel.
Definitely not.
But before he can process it any further, Axel draws his sword with chilling precision, the blade pointing directly at his throat.
The message is clear.
Here, his brother wants him dead.
"Great. So we're doing the whole *kill me if you can* thing again, huh? Just like old times… except this time," he forces a grin, "I have no idea what the hell is going on. Maybe I'll just leave—you pretend you never saw me, cool?"
Axel doesn't answer.
He attacks.
Dave dodges—at first.
But when it becomes clear there's no reasoning with him, he counters every strike with one of his own.
Luckily, he's still quicker, more agile than Axel. But this version of Axel won't back down, and Dave, not wanting to drag this out, fakes a stumble and bolts.
Time to run like hell.
He escapes the fight, barely, lungs burning, body aching—not because Axel's stronger (he never is, obviously), but because the air here is saturated with an inexplicable hatred.
Thick, suffocating.
Every corner oozes with it, like a fog of pure resentment clinging to the walls and skin alike.
The cold clings to his body as he moves through the dark alleyways.
The city feels like a maze with no exit.
In the distance, someone watches—with calculating eyes.
The figure steps forward, as if they've been waiting for him.
"What are you doing here?"
The voice is low, hesitant.
Dave turns, alert.
And sees a familiar face. Familiar... but not quite.
It's been a few years since he last saw him.
Heiz.
The man in front of him is hypnotic.
Tall, pale skin, piercing green eyes that seem to light up the darkness.
His black hair falls in carefully crafted disarray—elegant in a way that borders on dangerous.
His lips curl into a half-smile, promising secrets Dave isn't sure he wants to uncover.
"You here to welcome me too?" Dave asks, half joking, half irritated by how surreal everything feels.
Heiz doesn't answer right away.
He studies him, eyes scanning every detail of his face like he's inspecting a glitch in the system—like something doesn't belong.
The messy blond hair, the worn black jacket, that cocky grin—they're all there.
But still... something's off.
His eyes.
Heiz fixates on them: gray, with a spark of rebellion he doesn't recognize.
Then his gaze roams Dave's body language—the careless posture, the insolent calm.
It's Dave, and yet… not.
"You're not the Dave I know."
That brings him up short.
The bluntness of it knocks the wind out of him.
Not the Dave you know?
(Apparently, someone here has more information than he does.)
And for some reason, Heiz is watching him with interest—and something that feels suspiciously close to affection.
It unsettles him, but he can't help being intrigued.
"I'm the only Dave that matters, if that's what you're asking. Now, you gonna tell me what's going on, or are you just gonna keep giving me those puppy-dog eyes?" he replies with a sarcastic grin, aiming to provoke.
Heiz watches him in silence, that faint smile still hovering on his lips.
"Tell me something, Dave. In your world... are you and Axel close?"
The question hits like a punch.
He doesn't know why, but it gets under his skin.
"Close? That's none of your business, don't you think?"
But Heiz doesn't back off.
And the weight of the question presses down on him until he cracks.
"Axel and I are... more than words can explain.
It's not about being close, or brothers, or even blood.
It's something deeper. Something that..."
He trails off.
"But here... he hates me.
And that bothers me more than it should."
Heiz nods slowly, taking it in.
"You're definitely not the Dave I know."
Dave crosses his arms, cautious.
"And what does that mean to you?"
Heiz smiles.
There's something in that smile that unnerves him—and fascinates him.
Something magnetic, like the last breath of air before drowning.
"It means I can help you understand what's going on.
And maybe... help you find a way back to where you belong."
Dave eyes him warily.
But there's something in Heiz's gaze—in that mix of curiosity and something deeper, something that borders on desire—that makes him think...
Helping him isn't the only thing Heiz has in mind.