Bellla stared into Edward's face as it glistened in the sunlight, dripping with the hedonism of overzealous prostitutes. A silver thread that didn't exist passed between them, strangling the children of a diseased pastry chef from Mars, his last hope against the force of futility itself.
"I'm sorry, my sweet Hathor, but I must go. I need to save Italy, or the cavemen will come."
"But Edward," sang Be11a, "Why can't you just give back their spellcheck?"
"Because I don't want to, and I like killing cavemen."
And with that Edward mounted his harpsichord and vanished into the pages that never were.
In the distance Jacob ate kumquats grown in the sweat from Hitler's eyebrows. He sang a song in a font that the trees did not recognize. It did not matter to Jacob. To him the land was just a bed for the giant invisible cockroaches that looked like squirrels and grasped at the sun with hands made from discarded cell phones. He sang the words of unwritten books. Few that heard them could understand, but all developed the sense that they had misplaced something. He cried tears that weren't tears, but colorful frogs that screamed as elderly men do at children's dentists.
Suddenly a harsh voice called from above: "My sweat shall be avenged!" Hitler descended from a cloud of feathers stolen from birds that were the last of their kind. In one hand he held a rifle forged from God's earwax. In the other he swung a metronome that ticked by the flow of the universe. Hitler fired his earwax gun, but Jacob had already hefted his spear and cast the gun into Earwax Hell, where poor artisans would forever craft it into candles that never satisfied them. Hitler then thrust at Jacob's groin with his mighty universe metronome, unmaking the world, then remaking it exactly as it was save for one grain of sand doomed to forever wander the depths of space and ponder its place in the universe.
With a fierce cry that brought forth memories of man's folly, Edward rode in on his harpsichord and drew from the bowels of senescence a sword whose might made angels incontinent. He smote a giggling arc of unholy light across Hitler's neck. The blow killed a mountain to death and curdled the left side of the ocean. The moon gazed on as if it had just ordered coffee when it doesn't like coffee.
Jacob stood before Edward, drenched in Hitler- sweat.
"Thank you for saving me." He said. "Now I can grow more kumquats."
"I warned you not to eat those," Said Edward, his eyes swirling with hellish galaxies. "Gaining from the sweat of Hitler will only invoke his wrath."
"But you killed him. After this I won't have any kumquats." Jacob glanced down at Hitler's anti-Semitic ashes.
"Nay, I have not killed him. If I killed him that would make him dead, and you can't kill a dead person."
"I can handle Hitler. I must have my kumquats."
"You will not bring them near Be||a. They try to get in her sandwiches. She hates kumquats."
"Then you shall die!" Jacob swung his spear with orgasmic fury, but Edward parried with his sword. The meeting of the two weapons created a wave that shot into space, shattering a planet of warlike koalas, sending its residents screaming into a void beyond comprehension. The spear cracked and split into zero pieces Edward then thrust his sword deep into Jacob's wolfness. The Hitler-sweat evaporated into putrid steam that spoke of Aryan superiority.
"I cannot best you, but Hitler will return, and I shall harvest his sweat," shouted Jacob. He conjured his cloud forged from the delusions of insomniacs and flew away. Be↓↓a ran to Edward and embraced him in her spider-hands.
"What about the cavemen?" she asked, her face a kaleidoscope of emotions unknown to man.
"Without their Führer they will soon return to the hive until the next eternity."
They shared a kiss that made the trees weep for their undelivered promise of humanity. Jacob's screaming frogs became silent, and devoured the remaining kumquats. Behind them, as if to celebrate their victory, the sun set with a great crash that opened cracks across the sky. From these cracks grew eldritch mouths that vomited forth wingless pegasi covered in the blood of an unspoken law. It was a good day.