The curtains of an old, Arabian-style window rustled.
The sound of tight, metal and leather armor could be heard clattering down the corridor.
Panting, like that of a wounded dog, could be heard well down the hall.
The pounding, deafening beat of the heart was only audible to one, though.
The Prince continued to blast down the hall.
Moist, raven black hair clung irritably to his slick forehead, sweat consistently stinging his eyes with each great stride. But he couldn't stop, no, not now. He growled away the pain and continued his progress through the dusty, bland ramshackle hallway. A hallway full of memories.
"My father's house…"
But, before he could become absorbed in his reminiscence, a black shape materialized in front of him, blasting a bout of sand into the air surrounding it. The fearsome sight would have struck any man as deadly, as the end of his life. The black, demonic veins that coursed up its arms, the hollow eyes that promised only an eternity of cruel, unending pain. The corded muscles lined with scars. This creature showed no fear, no intelligence. Only the sense that it would be the end of the Prince's life.
The Prince grinned.
His eyes flashed, as did his dagger from its sheath. The cold steel gleamed in the pre-dusk light, catching every nick and chip on its sharp, sleek silver surface. The demon's reflection could be seen in the steel as it whistled towards it, the Prince continually pressing it onward, burying it in its chest.
Crouching, he pivoted his hips to position himself behind the creature, all the while removing his dagger. Before the creature could gasp at the remarkable, and new pain, the blade was hilt deep through the hollow spot in the back of its neck, pushing through the front of its throat. Oilish blood sprayed, poured, then dripped. The Prince, blood-spattered and battle hardened, laughed.
Then he twisted the hilt.
Before he could remove it, though, sand permeated the air around him as more of the demonic beings came into existence. Realizing the dagger was a lost, and pointless cause, due to it being wedged in the hollow neck casing, he spun around in a defensive crouch, eyeing down the seven new challengers.
Raising its rune-etched sword, one of the creatures struck. Deftly avoiding the blade by only a few inches, the Prince thrust a well-placed kick into the creatures throat, shattering whatever may have been there previous. Before the creature's hilt could touch the ground, its sword was in the grip of one much more capable: The Prince.
Holding it in an opposite grip, the Prince thrust the sword behind him, taking one of the creatures in the chest. Removing the blade and spinning behind it at an opposite angle, he sliced out the demon's hamstrings.
Before the demon had ever hit the ground, the Prince had taken two more heads. In the ensuing shower of oil-black blood, the sword was flung through the black mist, taking a creature in the chest and pinning it to the wall, as the oilish substance collected beneath its fading body.
The two remaining sand-demons backed up, their hollow, yellow eyes wide with fear. Casually walking up to the wall-pinned body, the Prince placed his foot on the creature's chest and jerked his blade free. Grinning, he stalked towards the remaining two.
Realizing it would be in their best interest to do so…they fled.
Tearing through the dim-lit, Arabian corridors, they chose two different paths.
Rushing wind. Sharp side pains. Loss of breath. These were the only things it knew as it ran from mortal terror. Oily sweat trickled into its eye, which it grunted at but ran on anyway, for to stop was to die. It twisted, turned, and went everywhere. It knew….it knew it was lost. Yet death was too frightening to stop for.
But…down the corridor…THERE! There was the light-filled door! The entrance to the palace! It pushed itself past limits, elated beyond belief that it had escaped.
Which was why it was so surprised when a rune-etched sword took it in the chest.
As the demon fell towards the earth, with a stream of blood trailing behind it, the Prince emerged from the shadows, in which he had flung the sword. Since the creature had twisted onto its back during the fall, the Prince ripped the sword out of its chest, causing more blood to pool onto the floor.
Without wiping the blood off the rune-etched steel, he concealed himself in the shadows once more.
As the one remaining demon continued its blistering pace, it wondered how its companion was doing. Was it still alive? Would they meet up eventually in this labyrinth and defeat it? Where exactly was it going? Where is he? Where is it?
That's when it heard the growling, guttural scream of its soon-deceased companion. It shot a look behind it, worried the Shadow might be upon it. A wave of relief rushed over, not only because it wasn't being pursued, but because it knew it would make it. It knew it would make it out alive. It could feel it.
Then it ran into the pillar.
Minutes…hours…maybe even days. The creature knew no time when it awoke. All it knew was the blinding ferocity with which its skull had meshed with the stone column, which it now layed sprawled before. Vision….vision. Everything was so…so milky. So blurry. So…mixed and dreamy. But…above him…something…a shape. A black, shadowy shape…maybe…
Its eyes widened in abject horror and denial as it realized whose ice-blue eyes it now stared into.
Cold, rune-etched steel penetrated the soft, cool flesh of its throat.
The Prince, again blood spattered and soaked, softly, ever so softly, laughed.
Again, he twisted the cold, ancient hilt.