The Reason We Run

Tooth and Nail... Again?

row runs.

Without a second thought. Without any thoughts at all. It is instinct to run now. From monsters in dungeons, through forests late at night, skidding along icy plains, away from the sparkly black pockets of stars that had constantly threatened to engulf it, or towards them in a few instances.

Long story short, Krow had been doing a whole lot of running lately.

Now you may be thinking, "that's great! It must be fast if it has practice."

What it really means is that it's tired. Even if it wasn't. Even if it were rejuvenated and full of energy, great speed doesn't matter much against a skilled enough hunter.

Owen follows suit. Calm. Collected. In no rush whatsoever. Trailing Krow as though this were an early morning jog and not the final nail in the coffin of his murder spree. The echoing of footsteps makes it easy to keep track of the demon anyways. There's no need to come out of this exhausted.

The chase is unnervingly quiet, not what you'd expect from something this intense. Not what a chase this intense deserves. There's no crescendo of music. Just footsteps, breathing, and a faint buzzing.

The halls rush by Krow in a messy blur. Black, grey, and the occasional flicker of a torch. Its legs are burning with exertion. Turning hallway, after hallway, after hallway. Sporadically, inconsistently. The kinds of turns people make when they are trying to get lost. Or trying to lose someone else.

Turn after turn

Question after question bounces around in Krow's head, some questions, not even its own.

Why is Owen trying to kill me?

Was running a good idea?

How do I get out of this situation?

The voices mumble quietly about their own thoughts and theories, but Krow tunes them out...

Turn, after turn, after turn.

Until there is nowhere else to turn

A dead end.

Out of all the times to reach a dead end it had to be now!

It starts to turn around and look for another way because there just has to be another way but quickly finds that it's too late to backtrack because Owen is there. Once steely brown eyes appear piercing orange in the wilting torchlight. Sharp and dangerous as the sword he's holding.

There's the telltale swish of metal cutting through the air as the weapon is pressed to Krow's throat.

"Y'know" Owen drawls as he advances, and the torch, on its last legs, finally flickers out, leaving the both of them in blackness. "Memory loss hasn't changed you much. First deranged animal. Now cornered prey."

"Why are you doing this- I'm so confused I-" Krow starts, intending to go a ramble about how it'll be leaving soon anyways, but Owen doesn't intend to let anything happen that wasn't carefully premeditated. This sword draws a thin red line of blood across its neck.

"Pick your last words, very carefully, demon."

And not for the first time, Krow wonders if something with no soul can actually die.

It thinks about all the things it didn't do. All those things on the to-do list that it will never get to do.

Krow opens its mouth to speak, but hasn't a single last word to say. Nothing long and speechy and inspirational at least. All the combinations of letters and syllables it comes up with, are some variation of "Goodbye" or "sorry."