The screech of tires caught Lloyd's attention—but when the headlights blinded him, he knew it was already too late.
His muscles tensed instinctively, bracing for the impact.
"Fuck... that hurts!" he thought as pain ripped through his body.
It hit him all at once—his torso felt crushed beyond repair. He tried to breathe out, but every attempt only sent a sharp wave of agony through his dislocated jaw and broken teeth.
"FUCK! It hurts—it fucking hurts!"
He tried to move, but something held him down. His limbs wouldn't respond, like they'd been pinned in place.
"Please... please, make it stop."
And then, in that moment of desperation, something inside him woke up. A strange tingling spread through his body, like a surge of invisible energy filling him from within.
When it reached his wounds, that unseen force erased them—as if they'd never existed.
Lloyd's eyes snapped open, and he gasped for air.
"Ahh... haaah... hah..."
His breathing slowed as his vision cleared, blinking away the blur.
"Where the hell am I?"
Bit by bit, the world came into focus: a wide, dusty abandoned factory with tall concrete pillars and old machinery. The only light came from a flickering industrial lamp hanging overhead.
The road—where he'd just been seconds ago—was gone.
"What the hell happened?"
Confusion hit him like a wave.
His first instinct was to get up—but that's when he realized he was strapped to a chair. Thick leather belts bound his wrists and ankles.
"Shit. I need to get out of here."
He struggled, pulling his arms inward, trying to loosen the restraints.
"Come on... just a little more..."
Finally, one hand slipped free. He wasted no time unbuckling the rest.
He jumped to his feet, breathing hard, finally free.
"Ugh..." A sigh of relief escaped him as he rubbed his sore wrists.
Now that his head was clearer, he tried to make sense of everything.
"This makes no fucking sense," he muttered, pressing his palms to his temples as a sharp pain shot through his skull. "Wait... hold on."
He patted himself down. Everything seemed fine—except for his clothes. They weren't his.
"Do I still have it...?"
To his surprise, there was something in his pocket. His phone. Somehow, he still had it—with that same ugly "speaker case" he'd gotten for Christmas.
"Figures. No signal, no data," he groaned, staring at the screen. "Guess I'm on my own. Great."
He looked around, trying to get his bearings—then froze.
The table beside him wasn't what made his blood run cold. It was what was on it.
Torture tools—laid out neatly, their edges stained with fresh blood.
"Oh, shit... no, no, no... this can't be real. What kind of sick joke is this? Stuff like this doesn't happen in real life! Just how messed up is this place!?"
No time to think. He had to get out—now.
But it was already too late.
A rusty door creaked open. Someone else was there.
"This is bad..."
Lloyd ducked behind the nearest pillar, heart pounding.
Footsteps echoed as a figure walked in confidently.
He didn't fit the scene at all. His fiery red hair was styled like actual flames, and he wore a flashy gold jacket with bronze trim, matched with the same ridiculous pants.
"Who the hell is this guy? And why does he look like he's in a damn cosplay contest?"
"Lloyd... I'm back," the redhead announced, spreading his arms wide with a grin. "Hope you missed me! HAHAHAHA!"
"How the fuck does this clown know my name?"
"I've taken care of everything," the guy continued, voice dripping with arrogance. "Now I just have to chop you into pieces, bag what's left, and toss it in the river. You'll be floating downstream before anyone finds a trace."
He was getting closer.
"Okay, not the time to make fun of the psycho. Time to move."
Lloyd scanned the area. The dim light made it hard to see, but he spotted a possible exit.
"Eh?" The man's cheerful tone vanished, replaced by confusion and anger. "Where the hell did he go? Son of a bitch! How did he get loose!?"
He stormed over to the chair Lloyd had just escaped from, glaring at it like it had personally betrayed him.
Lloyd ignored him. He needed a distraction.
"Shit... SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!" the redhead shouted, stomping the ground and clutching his head.
Lloyd hesitated. The guy didn't look all that strong. Maybe he could sneak up and knock him out with a metal pipe.
"No... what if he's armed? Better throw him off first."
He nodded to himself and picked up a rock. He'd played baseball for a few years—his coach used to say he had a good arm. He'd just found the game too easy and quit.
With a smooth motion, he threw the rock at one of the old windows. It shattered into a hundred pieces.
"What the hell was that!?" the redhead flinched, eyes darting toward the sound.
Then, with a smug grin, he raised his hand.
Lloyd frowned. What was he doing? Then he saw it—an odd, silvery tattoo glowing faintly on the back of his hand.
"What the hell is that? Some kind of gang mark?"
"Durandal—Wind Slash."
"Oh great. A full-blown chunibyo. Just what I needed."
The man swung his hand down.
And a massive shockwave ripped through the air.
A deafening crash followed, filling the room with dust and debris.
"What the...!?"
Not just the windows—the wall and even one of the concrete pillars had been blown apart.
Lloyd's mind blanked. His curiosity demanded to know what had just happened, while his rational brain scrambled for an explanation.
Maybe it was some kind of chain reaction? A hidden gun? A gas leak? An explosion?
No. None of it fit. There was only one answer left—one that was far too impossible to believe.
"Magic..."