"The boy runs through the streets of the city."

"His feet carry him toward the distant node that blazes in his mind's eye. One that stretches off far into the distance."

"He knows exactly where he needs to go."

"He is focused. He is determined."

"He sees movement."

"A mass of Thralls spill out from a side street, their pale bodies moving with that horrible insectile fluidity."

"He doesn't slow. He cuts through them like a blade through water, his spear finding their throats and hearts."

"He emerges on the other side, covered in black blood and continues his pursuit of nothing."

"He turns and finds himself in a narrow alley. The walls press close on either side, and the fading lamplight barely penetrates the darkness. The boy moves forward carefully, his senses sharp and alert."

"Something drops from above."

"He does not take notice of it until the last moment."

"A Thrall, larger than the others, with elongated limbs and a mouth that splits its face from ear to ear, lands on the boy's back, driving him to the ground. More Thralls appear from the shadows ahead and behind, surrounding him."

"He struggles, trying to throw off the one on his back, but its grip is too strong. Claws tear into his shoulders. Teeth sink into the side of his neck and his head. He feels his blood. It is red and warm, spilling out onto the cobblestones."

"The other Thralls descend on him in a frenzy. Hands grab his arms and legs, pinning him down. Mouths open wide, revealing those black needle teeth, and they begin to feast."

"The boy screams as they tear into him, ripping flesh from bone, devouring him alive. The pain is beyond anything he has ever experienced. He feels every bite and tear, every—"

***

"The boy runs through the streets of the city."

"His feet carry him toward the distance. He knows exactly where he needs to go."

"He turns right at the first intersection. The boulevard is a trap as he senses the presence of death and darkness. He can feel it somehow, an intuition warning him away from that path. Instead, he takes a series of smaller streets, weaving through the city like a mouse through a maze."

"The buildings here are older. Some have partially collapsed, their walls crumbling into piles of brick and timber."

"He moves carefully, watching for ambushes, his eyes strained."

"He can almost see it. Just a little further."

"Something in his head begins to itch."

"It is subtle at first. The boy shakes his head, trying to dislodge the feeling, but it persists. It grows stronger."

"Look up."

"The boy grits his teeth and forces himself to keep his eyes down."

"He must not look up under any circumstances."

"But the itching grows worse. It becomes a burning, then a stabbing, then a screaming inside his head."

"Look up. Look up. Look up. Look up."

"His head tilts back, cracking until his eyes are pointed at the sky above."

"He sees it."

"His eyes pop. His head explodes."

"Bursts apart in a spray of blood, meat, bone fragments and grey matter that paints a crimson flower into the cobble. His headless body stands for a moment, still gripping the spear, before collapsing to the ground and—"

***

"The boy runs through the streets of the city."

"His feet carry him toward the distance."

"He knows exactly where he needs to go."

"He takes a route heading south before curving east."

"The node is ahead. He is getting close. He can feel—"

"A Thrall leaps from a doorway."

"He sends it to damnation's bossom."

"His reserves are now depleted. Exhaustion hits him, and his legs give out. He falls to his knees, gasping, and the Thralls close in. Their hands grab him, their mouths open wide, and—"

***

"The boy runs through the streets of the city."

"The ground beneath his feet gives way. A sinkhole, hidden beneath a thin layer of cobblestones, opens up and swallows him. He falls into darkness and hits the bottom hard enough to shatter every bone in his—"

"The boy runs."

"Something punches through his throat from a window above. He stumbles, blood pouring from the wound, his hands clutching at it. He falls to his knees, drowning in his own—"

"The boy runs."

"The street explodes beneath him. A Thrall, massive and deformed, bursts up from underground. Its mouth is large enough to swallow him whole, and it—"

"The boy runs."

"The darkness comes alive. Malformed Thralls fill the building, hundreds of them, packed into every corner. They surge toward him in a wave of pale flesh and black teeth and—"

"The boy runs..."

"The boy dies."

"He runs."

"He dies."

"Runs."

"Dies."

"Runs..."

"Dies—"

Nero stops.

This time, he doesn't take a step forward.

He stands at the beginning of his run, in the street where the frozen Thralls stand with their gazes aimed at the sky.

His face is pale and bloodless. His hands tremble.

He has realized something.

Something absolutely and utterly terrifying had crystallized in his mind.

He stands there, frozen as the city waits in silence around him."

Nero realizes something.

As he stands on the precipice of a nightmare, he seems to realize something.

He turns around, his gaze washing over everything.

His mind has blurred.

'No. It's not that...'

Something strange.

The world has blurred.

He is tempted to look up. His curiosity sets him flayed mind ablaze.

And yet, this time, he holds, his nails digging into his palms and drawing blood.

Nero closes his eyes.

And he remains still for a long time.

A very long time.

Then his eyes snap open.

In them, is a golden glow. It is the hue of Heresy. It sees through the tainted, corrupted world, gazing right through its veil.

His gaze trembles as fear filled his eyes. But he is not consumed by madness.

In fact, for the first time, he gains clarity.

He exclaims,

"Fuck!"

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