His eye can’t focus on the figure towering before him, but he recognizes it nonetheless. A vaguely humanoid mass of pure shadow and hatred, streaked with orange, staring at him with the bloodlust and amusement of a predator.
He knows the look well. It just happens he’s normally the one wearing it. That alone is enough to make him afraid.
Even though he knows he doesn’t stand a chance, he’s ready to fight. He may go down, but not without leaving something to remember him by.
Then another appears from behind it.
Unlike the first, this form boasts a shock of bright red. Its head cocks as it regards him with no more mercy than its partner.
Fear turns to absolute terror. For once, he doesn’t have anything smart to say; panic seizes his throat and every other muscle in his body. If he can’t hope to stand up to just one, there will be nothing left of him between two.
His only chance is to flee.
The distance he puts between himself and the shadows is long, but never long enough. No matter how fast he runs, he’s doomed. If they wanted, they’d be on him in an instant; he knows this without doubt. They’re toying with him.
Even from behind, he can sense their malice. Sense the wicked joy they take in his terror and in the thrill of the hunt. Their shared desire to bathe in his blood. To kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill! KILL!
A root catches on his foot. He tastes dirt.
He feels his own pulse pounding as surely as they do, standing over him.Â
There are no more thoughts racing through his mind. There’s a sense of finality in his horror: This is the way it ends.
This is the only way it was ever going to end.
His eyes flutter shut.
When he opens them again, it’s with a breathless gasp into sweat-drenched sheets.
