Xantria: Age of Shadows

Kyron was running in complete darkness. His lungs burned, his muscles screamed, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t know if he was fleeing toward salvation or straight into the jaws of damnation. The black was absolute, no stars, no moon, not even the faintest glimmer of his own hands. The ground beneath his bare feet was cold, slick, as if he were running across a slab of wet stone. Or maybe it was blood.

All he knew was that he had to keep running.

"Why are you running?"

A loud booming voice roared. "There is no escape from the truth you have to face!"

Flashes of frayed rope and splatters of blood darted before his eyes. Kyron fell to the ground in a panic. He looked up into the darkness, waiting for the images to reappear, but they never did.

Convinced that the hallucinations had stopped, Kyron pushed off the ground to get up, but found that he was unable to. It felt as if a rope had been tied to his neck, pulling him closer to the ground until he was lying on his back.

"You could have saved me." The same voice from before reappeared, now just a whisper.

His throat tightened. Tears pricked his eyes, hot and useless. Then came the pull, the phantom noose around his neck, yanking him backwards. He clawed at his throat, but there was nothing there. Nothing except the crushing weight of the earth as it swallowed him whole, his cries refusing to leave his throat as he resigned himself to his buried fate.