His footsteps were light and quick as he crossed over on to the virgin snow that spread widely over tarnished grass. Run. Run. Run. His heart thrummed loudly, beating at a wild rhythm not even he could understand. The blood had drained from him and given him the eerie look of a phantom sprinting through the moonlit valley.
He still remembered when he did not have to run. It had been long ago when the world was in dull state of slumber. Back then no one worried about monsters and lived off of the pleasure they surrounded themselves in. Wise men warned that the day would come. They warned that the world will fall to the vile nature of man and that beasts would rise through their horrid works. Only few had listened, allowing the world to set itself up for its own downfall. Within years the cruelty of power caressed the nations and crushed them with an iron claw.
Wars raged, blood was shed, and monsters were created to aid sides. At first the beasts were tame and followed whatever orders were given to them. But they were intelligent and they soon learned how to think properly on their own. They began to wonder why the humans were not serving them and obeying their commands. They came together and turned against the humans, leading to the situation he now faced.
The snow crunched and his feet fell deep with each step. He was no longer able to keep at the highest gait but at a slow walk. His eyes widened at the inability to move with speed. What would he do? How would he survive? Lately, the escapist's biggest trick was running from the monsters that longed to see his blood spilt over the fresh new snow. He had caused trouble for them and now he must pay for those troubles.
His breath became frozen in his throat as the screech if wind-riders echoed in his ears. His dark eyes caught sight of the long strand of white smoke that the jets left behind. Even at night the streaks could be made out. He cupped his thin hands over his ears and tried to regain his former pace.
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