Running.

He was running. Running for his life, pushing his body forward even as it screamed for rest. Why? Why was he running? They were dead, all of them. Those he had considered his allies.

His friends. They died for him, he was alone, and yet he was still running.

His feet moved on autopilot, racing through the wide hallways of something ruined, something unfamiliar. He pushed forwards, desperation dripping from every heaving breath. Mirrors lined the walls, ringing with a distorted sound, yet he barely cared anymore. The armor he was clad in felt heavier with each step, shattered chunks of it digging into his skin. The halls opened into a massive chamber, tubes lining the walls, pulsing in a mystifying display. The only witnesses to his pain being the audience of silhouettes dreaming within their horrifying cocoons. His legs buckled and he collapsed, hitting the ground in a way that would have been painful had he not been so exhausted.

Dead end.

He heard the footsteps. His fate was behind him, stalking forward in slow, deliberate steps. Its armor the color of a deep sea abyss, darker than the clear sky of his own. A whip coiled in its hands, poised and eager to lash out and claim its final victim. Louder and louder did its steps grow, closer and closer it drew.

He heard it coming, and yet all he could focus on was regaining his lost breath. He was tired. His eyes shut as he thought of finally giving up, letting it take him, finally ending the exhaustion, the searing pain.

Finally seeing his friends again.

Yes, it was tempting. To let go, slip into darkness, give into peace. No more crying, no more blood dripping from mangled armor, no more bones broken and crushed in deadly impacts.

No more pain, no more suffering.

Just peace.

His eyes shot back open.

No

Not like this. He pushed himself back to his feet, broken armor clattering. His body protested against it yet his mind held resolve. They would have wanted him to live, continue fighting for the wish they all had hoped would lead to the peace they desired. He couldn't die, not yet. He had to live.

He had to survive.

He turned, just as his fate stalked into the room, emerging from the shadows of the hallway, sizing its prey up and thinking how it would slaughter him. He watched it, holding an injured arm, his fear replaced with challenge, his eyes burning with renewed life. He drew a card, his fate mirrored him.

Both he and his fate charged, both charging towards a conclusion. Ready to decide the victor in a war unending.