The world pulsed, blurring and sharpening in time with the rhythmic, throbbing in Iamon's skull. Each beat of his heart sent a wave of agony through his skull. Half of his field of vision was a total eclipse, completely blocked by the cold lump of metal.
Through his one working eye, the road ahead began to tear itself apart. A car, reduced to a dark silhouette, suddenly launched into the air as if flicked by a giant's finger. One by one, the surrounding vehicles were shoved aside like cheap plastic toys. They skidded and tumbled, crashing against the metal railings with a deafening screech before some rolled over the edge.
Two figures emerged from the settling haze. They were tall, with black hair that reached their shoulders and long robes that bore the dark stains of age and travel. As they drew closer, a chill raced down Iamon's spine, making every hair on his body stand on end. The air felt heavy and suffocating. No matter how deep Iamon tried to inhale, his lungs felt as though they were pulling in nothing.
The two figures finally stopped in front of the mangled car. They were young men, likely in their early twenties. The one on the left had an older, more weathered look about him.
"Oi, look. We finally found it. This one isn't even blinking," Bramwell, the one on the right, said with a wide, manic grin. He leaned down, peering through the broken glass. "He didn't even flinch from losing his eye."
"He is not even fainting, despite sitting so close to us," Fabian, the man on the left, stated. His voice was flat, his expression as unchanging as stone.
"Is he so scared that he can't even move?" Bramwell leaned back and laughed at the top of his lungs. "I would have come here sooner if I knew people were like this!" The laughter was cut short as he vomited a spray of blood onto the pavement.
"We should hurry up," Fabian said, his eyes never leaving Iamon.
Bramwell wiped his mouth and stepped forward. He plunged his hands into the metal hood of the car, his fingers sinking into the steel as if it were wet paper. With a sharp grunt, he ripped the heavy metal apart, peeling back the layers of the engine and frame until there was nothing left between him and the seat.
"How do I take him out?" Bramwell asked, resting his hands on his hips.
Fabian, who had remained motionless, finally walked toward the side of the car. He reached for the door handle and pulled. The door swung wide, as if Fabian hadn't even noticed the car was locked.
"You could do that?" Bramwell blinked in surprise. "What is this thing? It looks fun."
He reached in and gripped the metal pillar that was still embedded in Iamon's face. Without a word, he yanked it away. The sudden movement sent a flash of fire through Iamon's brain, leaving his mind completely blank. The only thing that existed was the burning, screaming pain.
Bramwell didn't stop there—he tore the rest of the windshield frame out of the car and tossed it over the railing.
"The coward God has been waiting for a descendant like you. You're killing it. Keep staying single like the rest of us." Bramwell said, his voice suddenly grave. "Here, take this and inherit the throne."
Fabian reached out and gripped Iamon's arm. The spot where he touched grew warm at first, a gentle heat that quickly intensified until it shocked like a hundred needles were being shot into the skin at once. The area continued to burn even after Fabian released his grip.
"Ta-da!" Bramwell cheered, holding up a short stick that had popped out of thin air. "This is your twig of tricks, uh, what do they call it again? Let's do it again."
He coughed. "Ta-da. This is your magic wand."
He struck the stick against what was left of the car frame. The stick immediately flared to life, glowing with a deep, pulsing blue hue while strange, unknown symbols shimmered across its surface. He leaned over and placed the glowing object on Iamon's lap, then clapped his hands together with a wide, toothy smile.
"One more thing," Bramwell said, stepping closer. He reached out and placed a heavy palm on top of Iamon's head.
He stayed in that position for several seconds, his eyes darting back and forth as if reading something. Then, he suddenly burst into a fresh fit of laughter.
"You want a big fancy wedding with balloons and cake? You go to sleep saying, 'Oh, someday I'll find the one'? Bwahahahahaha!"
"Did we complete all the steps?" Fabian asked, cutting through the mockery.
Bramwell's demeanor flipped instantly. The manic energy disappeared, replaced by a sharp, business-like look. "Yeah," he replied.
He stood still, staring out at the road for a long moment. "My power is running out. Who'll go first?"
"I'll stay back a little longer," Fabian answered, his voice devoid of emotion.
Bramwell raised a hand in a casual wave, his body already beginning to crumble into grey dust. ""Pray the balloons don't pop. It's a long way down."
In a blink, he had vanished into the wind. The world suddenly felt empty.
Iamon didn't even try to make sense of the situation. Nothing he was seeing or feeling followed the rules of the world he knew. He slowly turned his gaze toward the remaining man.
Fabian just stood there, his eyes unfocused, looking at nothing in particular. The silence stretched between them. Awkward. Until Fabian finally spoke in a voice that sounded miles away.
"I've read your ending. Do you want to ask anything?"
Fabian glanced at Iamon, his eyes remaining unreadable. He stared for a long moment, watching the way Iamon struggled to even keep his remaining eye open.
"Oh," Fabian said, his voice a monotone. "You can't talk."
'Now you realize that?' Iamon screamed in the silent chamber of his own mind. He was still reeling, but the suffocating pressure that had filled the air finally began to lift now that Bramwell was gone.
He waited for Fabian to move, or to at least drag him out of the wreckage. But nothing happened. Minutes ticked by.
Fabian didn't blink, didn't twitch. He just watched the blood drip from Iamon's face onto the lap where the glowing stick sat.
"Do you want to talk by mind?" Fabian asked.
'Yes! Why didn't you do that from the start?'
"...I suppose you don't want to talk," Fabian replied, turning his head away.