As soon as the blade entered his abdomen, Magnus gasped in pain and his eyes opened wide.
"Argh!"
Falling back down onto the floor, he clutched his stomach while breathing heavily. Weakly looking up toward Ron, he realized that the knife was no longer in his hand, instead being wedged into his own flesh. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, the weapon still being in place meant that it was plugging most of the blood.
When his eyes trailed high enough, Magnus met the cold gaze of his former friend, a silent storm hidden beneath them.
"W-why…why are you–" Coughing up a mouthful of blood, he grimaced in agony before continuing his desperate question. "–doing this?"
Ron bitterly laughed and kneeled down in front of him. His hand reached forward and grabbed the knife's wooden handle, his fingers wrapping around it tightly. Suddenly, the young man turned the blade, tearing Magnus's insides apart and forcing him to let out a loud scream.
The suffering he was experiencing at this very moment was possibly the greatest he had ever felt in his entire life, and he had had his fair share of injuries. Magnus brought his hand up and grabbed the assailant's own hard enough for his skin to turn white.
Ignoring his grasp, Ron pulled the knife out and stood up. Walking over to a chair, he dragged it across the soft carpeted floor and placed it a few feet in front of Magnus, then sat down leisurely.
"Why, you ask? Oh, my dear brother, there are a few reasons really." A dark smile slowly appeared on his features, adding to the specks of his friend's blood making him appear menacing. "Let us begin on the first one, shall we?"
Magnus, his blood now flowing freely, struggled to move. He tried to push himself up using the bed next to him but inevitably failed. The body he had once been able to control flawlessly abandoned him, making him unable to do what his brain wanted.
The knife had sliced at least one artery, prompting heavy blood flow both externally and internally now that its blade was no longer stuck in him.
By now, Magnus already knew that he was going to die. If he somehow managed to escape his attacker, he wouldn't be able to get to a hospital in time. Even an ambulance wouldn't arrive before he bled out, not that he would be able to call one.
No matter what, this day, the young musician was going to die.
Knowing this, he decided that he might as well get answers before he perished.
Ron, who was spinning the bloody weapon in his hand, started talking. "People often let their emotions dictate their actions, as I'm sure you're aware. After all, you are an incredibly perceptive person." As he spoke, the smile he donned drooped, becoming a frown. "You're the opposite of those people, though. You rarely express what you feel, and when you do, it's only in small amounts. You do things based on how logical they are, not on how others perceive them or they make you feel."
"Now, why do I have a problem with this? I don't, at least I normally wouldn't. In your case, it pissed me off because of what you do. You are a musician, Magnus. You are supposed to express yourself through both actions and the words in your songs. And yet, you do neither."
"You wasted the talent I so desperately yearned for all my life. All you do is perform the songs you are given, without caring about the message they are trying to convey. You lack the passion needed for success. You have the audacity to act indifferent to the world and your fans when you trick them and warp their minds with the songs you don't even care for."
Magnus looked at him strangely, feeling confused about everything he was saying. 'What the hell is this bastard talking about? Of course I care about the messages my music gives. I've turned down dozens of songs just because of the controversy from their topics.'
As for lacking the passion, Magnus loved what he was doing.
At a young age, he was diagnosed with a condition that caused him to have trouble feeling, as well as expressing emotions. The doctor said that there was no cure, and that Magnus had to just live his life the best he could. And that's exactly what he has been doing.
Over time, he had gotten much better at feeling emotions and recognizing them, but his ability to show them had only improved a little. His condition made it hard to build relationships with people, but he also didn't feel much need to.
He felt a sense of happiness when he was alone and away from the horrors of the world. Eventually, he began to feel annoyed when talking to strangers and instead opted to only converse with the people he was already close to.
This happened before he met Ron, so it was quite hard for him to push his way into Magnus's life. But he had managed to.
And now, he was learning the hurtful truth that the friend he thought was understanding toward him, was in fact hiding his true feelings.
"Oh, it seems I might not be able to tell you everything. You're looking a little pale, buddy. I almost pity you, truly."
Ron was right. By now, Magnus was sitting in a large pool of crimson, the thick liquid staining the pale carpet red.
He would be dead soon, perhaps in mere minutes.
Well, that would be the case if Ron decided not to kill him sooner.
"If you weren't so emotionally distant, we could have been great friends, Magnus. It truly felt like a real friendship that first year. It changed after you started to become popular in the industry though." Sighing, he stopped spinning the knife and got up.
The young man lying on the floor struggled with all his might to sit up, but ended up failing miserably once again, crashing down with a grunt of pain.
Magnus weakly looked up toward Ron with gritted teeth and said, or rather spat, "I hope you die a long and tortuous death, you jealous two-faced bastard!"
The person the slightly rude message was directed at looked down at him with an expression of surprise written on his face. "I think that might be the most emotion I've ever seen you show! Also, rude."
Leaning down to be in range, Ron brought the blade up, and swung, intending to sever his jugular.
Just before the blade met flesh, however, Magnus swayed to the side, narrowly avoiding the silver metal.
"Wha–" Ron was cut off by the dying man grabbing his wrist and twisting. The dagger fell from his hand, and Magnus caught it out of the air by the blade. Ignoring the sharp pain, he spun it so the grip was resting firmly in his hand.
Without wasting a second, his instinct took over and his hand shot forward, the blood on the weapon glinting in the sunlight peering through the window.
Ron watched with fear as the blade bit into his own neck, instead of the one he wanted it to.
Magnus did not stop there though. He twisted the blade, just like Ron had done to him. Blood spurted from the wound and covered his face, forcing him to shut one of his eyes.
"It's a shame really. I wanted you to suffer more before you died. Unlike you though, I'm not going to give you the chance to retaliate…well, not that you need to anyway."
Magnus was used to pain, so that, mixed with his absurdly high tolerance to it, allowed him to trick his former friend. While the wound was fatal, and definitely more painful than anything he's felt before, it did not hurt as much as he had made Ron believe.
He baited him into thinking that he was unable to move and defend himself while waiting for the perfect, only chance. Once the fool fell into Magnus's trap, all he had to do was finish the gruesome job.
It pained him greatly to see the once bright light fade from the eyes of the man he had used to call brother.
A couple of seconds after the blade entered his nape, Ron died.
Looking down at the corpse in front of him, Magnus was overtaken by sorrow. He had just taken a human life–his closest friends at that–for the first time in his short time alive.
While he may have seemed cold and ruthless in the moment, it wasn't him that controlled his body. The youth's instincts had taken over, making his limbs move on their own and with unnatural efficiency.
The sin he committed filled Magnus with disgust, not at the vulgar scene in front of him, but himself.
He forced the bile that was threatening to show itself to return to its rightful place and silently cursed.
A couple of seconds later, he coughed up more blood, this time mixed with the vomit he wanted to keep down. Looking back at the body of Ron for the last time, a single tear rolled down Magnus's bloodied face and he turned around.
He started slowly walking toward the door to the hallway with harrowing breaths. Without looking back, Magnus weakly muttered, "May your existence be forever gone."
It was a phrase he had heard his mother use, long ago. When he asked about it, she said that it was a send off for when somebody passed away. It was meant to have erased the memory of their existence from the minds of the deceased friends and family, letting them forget the pain and suffering their death had caused them.
Magnus knew that it was just a saying, but this time he hoped that it turned out true. Knowing that Ron's parents would most likely become depressed after they found out what happened, he would rather have them forget about their son and stay away from the agony and misery.
Walking out of the room that was now only filled with despair, Magnus slowly moved to the living room.
Every step he took caused a sharp pain to embrace his entire being and more blood to seep through the wound on his stomach. He had no idea how he wasn't dead yet–his skin was completely white and he must have lost at least two liters of the crimson liquid that kept him alive.
Finally reaching his destination, Magnus briefly let his eyes fall over a painting of his parents and him all smiling at a small form his father was holding.
'I'm sorry, Nora…Mom, Dad, I…I hope you keep her safe. I love you all.'
With small steps, he shuffled over to the couch nestled underneath the large painting.
Laying down, his mind traced back to the last moments he had spent with his family. Before the trip, he had gotten into an argument with his parents. Magnus had wanted to choose where he would perform next, but his mom and dad both refused. He had lashed out and said a few words–which was very out of his character–and never had the chance to reconcile.
And his baby sister…
Letting out a heavy sigh, Magnus closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable. The pain throughout his body didn't let him focus on anything for too long, but luckily he did not need to wait for long.
Soon after the young man laid down, he passed away, shifting through memories of his life.
Before his death, he spoke six words.
"Goodbye, everyone. I'll…miss you all."
****
Somewhere in the universe, a lone figure could be seen floating, surrounded by shattered planets and cracks in the very fabric of reality.
The being resembled a human male, with horns framing the crown of his head. He had long golden hair with white tips and eyes that looked as if they were housing endless colors in them, constantly swirling.
He was clad in beautiful silken robes, although there were small tears every now and then. The right sleeve was gone and tattered edges were dyed red, sticking to the man's blood arm.
If there were air in space, one would hear the sound of laughter. A single, long, deranged, mad laugh.
After a moment, the figure disappeared before suddenly reappearing far away, standing on the surface of a planet.
The sound of his insane laugh could finally be heard, echoing across the world. The man slowly stopped and a dark smile grew on his face. He spoke, his voice demanding authority and reverence, even in his strange state.
"The time has come! The eradication of the gods is nigh! Just you wait, Destiny, your wish shall soon be complete!"