Staying alert and aware at every step, he made his way through the house, opening doors to each room until he finally stepped into his own. A wave of nostalgia washed over him suddenly—he found himself missing his family, even though they were bastards.
Without warning, a cloaked figure lunged at him with a sharp needle. Luckily, he reacted quickly, slamming the attacker to the floor and kicking them repeatedly, not stopping until he heard teeth crack and a jaw snap or dislocate.
Exhausted from the struggle, he felt his anger fade enough to calm down and reconsider his choice to return to this wretched house. Still, he pressed on. In the storage room where his clothes had once been kept, he found a hidden button: pressing it revealed an entrance to the basement, the sound of shifting bricks loud and grating to his ears.
He stepped inside without looking back, walking deeper into the darkness until he pulled out his fully charged phone and switched on the flashlight. The basement was dusty and grimy—forgotten for over a decade, ever since he was a small child.
"This place looks so abandoned..."
His voice echoed through the basement. In the first section stood the sewage pipes—his father had once fixed them whenever there was a blockage in the sinks or toilets. But since drainage problems had been rare, and the house long forgotten, the pipes hadn't been touched in years.
The second section was cluttered with broken chairs and tables, left to rot among patches of moss where they'd been set aside for recycling.
To the right of this area lay the third part of the basement: mannequin dolls, so terrifying and lifelike that his skin crawled. Instinctively, he pulled the kitchen knife from his pocket and stabbed one of them—and blood seeped out.
"...What the hell."
Horrified, he scrambled back up the stairs without hesitation, slamming the basement door shut and piling whatever he could find against it. His room was soon a chaotic mess, but he didn't stop to clean up—he stormed out of the house and didn't look back.
"That was... terrifying."
Standing across the road, he watched as a truck veered off and crashed into the roadside embankment. Pieces of debris flew through the air, nearly hitting him—but luckily, they fell just far enough away to leave him unharmed. Almost instantly, police sirens blared in the distance, and officers were on the scene within moments. He paid little mind to the commotion, though, he had more pressing matters to attend to, so he simply stepped aside and let others handle the incident.
◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆
He ended up sleeping at the crossroads, shivering in the cold. With no blanket or cover for his legs, he still curled up and closed his eyes.
Then the dream came—the nephilim appeared once more, poised and ready. They reminded him he could ask any questions he wanted, or make two wishes to save for later. He chose to start with questions.
"Hey, being... When I die, will I come back here?"
The nephilim looked at him with sincerity.
"Yes—no matter how you die, you will return to this place. Do you have more questions?"
He nodded and asked another.
"Okay then... What if I want to use just one wish instead of both? Is that allowed?"
"...Yes, that is possible. Anything else?"
A curious look crossed his face as he asked his final question.
"One more thing—if I die and wish to go to a fantasy world... would that work?"
The nephilim offered a soft smirk.
"Yes."
He also gave a soft but wide smirk—he knew exactly what he planned to do with the wishes after he died.
"Alright then."
He woke up and looked at his phone; three days had passed. He wondered if entering the dream meant he'd skipped time in the real world. What would happen to his real body while he was dreaming? He wanted to ask these questions, but the moment had already passed, leaving him disappointed as his smirk faded. Eventually, he got up feeling fully energized and limber, ready to head out for another long walk. But before he could reach the city, a man stepped right in front of him, his voice striking a familiar chord in his memory.
"Yo! Haven't seen you since freshman year of high school!"
He spun around, his face shocked.
"Javier?"
Javier let out a chuckle, placing one hand on his hip and scratching the back of his head.
"Yeah, it's been way too long! When I failed out of high school, I could never compare myself to you. You were always the smartest of our bunch, and you still are—sharp as a tack!"
He paid no mind to the compliment whatsoever. Instead, he cut straight to asking a few questions.
"How are you still alive? You should've been dead a long time ago."
Javier's charming smile faded the moment the question left his lips, replaced by a wide, sinister grin. His voice took on a cunning edge as he spoke.
"Oh... well, about that—I wasn't technically fully dead! Because I—"
"Enough with the damned jokes! Since freshman year, everyone said you died in an accident!"
"..."
Javier pressed a hand to his face, laughing as he glanced up at the sky, then back at him.
"So you really want to uncover the secrets of someone like me, huh? Do you miss me that much? Want a pat on the head from your old classmate?"
"You are dead! I saw everything—the news showed photos of your body covered in blood, dozens of them to prove the tragedy! I have proof right here... let me—"
As he reached into his pockets, his heart sank—his phone was gone. He spun around sharply.
"Dammit!"
Javier chuckled with a psychopath's grin, seeming almost impressed. He held up the missing phone, then dropped it to the floor and stomped down hard, shattering the screen to pieces.
"You're too smart for this world."
He flinched as he watched his phone crumple like an empty chip bag under heavy boots.
"What do you want?"
"Well—to get straight to the point—I came here to end your life."
Without warning, Javier lunged forward, a dagger clutched in each hand. He barely dodged the attack and reached for his own knife—only to find it missing too. Javier seized the moment while he was distracted, but he managed to dash sideways at the last second, slamming hard into a wall.
"Hmph... I've never seen you fight this well. Back in high school, you were bullied nonstop by people you hated—people you'd never call friends. I wasn't one of them, of course... but I was pulling the strings the whole time. That's how I made you suffer."
With one final, swift strike, Javier slit his throat, cutting deep through his esophagus. Blood poured out as he tried desperately to stem the flow with his hands—but it was useless. He felt himself drowning in his own blood as Javier waved from a distance.
"See you again, Maximus."