The endless desert stretched out before them, its sands glowing faintly under the pale, silver moonlight. Diego and Stallion trudged onward, their journey as uncertain as the twisted path behind them. The mansion was far out of sight now, a distant memory—or nightmare—disappearing into the haze of the past. The desert seemed to mirror Diego's thoughts: barren, lifeless, and full of an eerie, deafening silence.
Diego sighed, glancing at Stallion, who walked beside him with an exaggerated cartoonish bounce that seemed oddly out of place in this bleak world. Stallion's wide, expressive eyes darted around as if expecting some form of humor or gag to break the tension, but nothing came. The world they were in wasn't built for jokes—at least not the kind that made you laugh.
Diego: (rubbing his temple) "So, Stallion, any ideas on how to get back to 1946? Or are we just gonna wander the desert until we fade into obscurity like some forgotten spaghetti western?"
Stallion: (giggling nervously) "Heh, well... you know... you don't exactly have your Gyro Sphere anymore. That was kind of our ticket to... well, anywhere. But I guess now it's just you, me, and some good old-fashioned wandering!"
Diego gave him a sidelong glance, his usual sharp retort tempered by exhaustion. He hadn't felt this kind of fatigue before—it wasn't just physical, it was everything. His body, his mind, his spirit—they were all running on empty.
Diego: (quietly, almost to himself) "I wonder if there's even a way back. Maybe this is it. Maybe we're stuck."
Stallion: (cheerful, almost in a mocking tone) "Oh, c'mon! You're Diego Kuwait! You never give up! You're the guy who broke races, smashed records, and faced down gods! Surely a little time distortion and lack of magic machinery can't stop you!"
Diego shot him a tired look, his usual fire flickering but not quite dead. He paused mid-step, looking up at the starry sky as if searching for answers among the constellations.
Diego: "What if... I don't want to go back, Stallion? What if going back means nothing's changed? What if it means I'm just... stuck in the same loop, repeating the same mistakes?"
Stallion: (raising a metaphorical eyebrow) "Whoa, now! That's some deep philosophical stuff, buddy! You're not usually one for the existential crisis type of thinking. You sure you're okay?"
Diego chuckled dryly. For all Stallion's cartoonish nature and goofy antics, there was a truth in his words. Maybe Diego wasn't okay. Maybe he'd never been okay, and all this running and fighting had been his way of avoiding that truth.
Stallion: (laughing) "Besides, the author says we've only got two more chapters left and then we're done. So, we better make 'em count, huh?"
Diego stopped in his tracks, glaring at Stallion.
Diego: (sighing deeply) "Don't break the fourth wall like that. It's... unsettling."
Stallion: (winking) "Oh, lighten up! I mean, you should know by now that we're all just characters in some overcomplicated, fourth-wall-shattering fever dream of a story. You're just too serious, man! Gotta let loose a little."
As they walked, Diego spotted something in the distance. A lone figure moved across the horizon, graceful, silent. It was a deer, its coat glistening under the moon's glow, casting long shadows across the sand.
Diego: (stopping, eyes narrowing) "Huh. A deer? Out here?"
Stallion: (casually) "Yeah, happens sometimes. Probably a Siberian musk deer, if I had to guess. They got those crazy fangs, you know, for survival and—"
Diego's eyes widened as he stared harder at the deer, a chill running down his spine. The deer was moving closer, slowly, but there was something... wrong about it. Its eyes weren't like the gentle creatures he had known in the past. They were dark, too dark, like twin pools of shadow. And those fangs? They were far too large, protruding grotesquely from its mouth.
