Disclaimer: Do I look like I own the Prince Of Persia series? Do I? If you said yes, you’re wrong. The correct answer is; no! All characters and mentioned canon events are trademarks of Ubisoft Entertainment and those other bigshots who rake in the millions…you get the idea…

Note: If you don't like it, don't complain. It's my story, I'll do what I want. Thank you. Otherwise, enjoy...

“End Of The Line”

His heart was beating in his head. His breaths were quick and rapid. His feet hit the cobbled street with intensity as he ran for his very life. The streets were dark and narrow, unfamiliar to him even though he had lived here his entire life. He didn’t concentrate on where he was going, he just ran wherever his feet would carry him.

Swerving around a corner into a dark alleyway, he sprinted into the menacing darkness, seeing wooden poles protruding from the closely packed buildings above him. He leapt onto the nearest wall, bounding off onto the one opposite, bounding up the building until he grabbed onto a pole. He swung himself from it, vaulting across to one pole after another. He leapt from the last one, flying across to the roof of the opposite building.

His eyes darted around crazily, panicked, looking in all directions. His heart rate doubled from the fear as he saw a possible escape route. He ran across the roof like a madman, jumping from the roof, ripping one of his glimmering scimitars from its sheath.

The edge of the weapon ripping through a blood-red curtain on the opposite building, the blade showed no mercy as it mercilessly shredded the material vertically as the young man neared the ground. The curtain was not long enough to reach the ground, however, forcing the man to leap across to another pole, thrusting his weapon through the brick and plaster wall to his left. Ripping the scimitar out, he slid it back into its sheath as he again began swinging wildly from one bar to the next, executing gymnastics similar to those of an untamed monkey.

At the end of the line of poles, the man bounded off of the wall and began working his way down to the ground. Leaping from one wall to the next, he jumped out towards a rope suspended from a t-shaped column. Gripping it with one hand, he swung out into the night.

His graceful movements were at an end, however, as without warning the rope came free from the beam, seamlessly tearing, the fabric ripping sharply. A terrified look spread across the man’s face. With a panicked yell, he fell ten feet to the cobbled ground, landing in a giant puddle of grime and stagnant sewer water with a loud splash.

With a disgusted look on his face, the man discarded his long cloak, revealing a metal chest plate, olive leggings and knee-length brown leather boots. The man quickly brushed some of his shoulder-length hair out of his eyes, getting up and running wildly.

Running into the nearest alleyway without thinking, the man could now hear the unnatural growling that was edging closer to him. The man had reached the end of the alleyway and was faced with a door to an inn. An inn would be his haven for now. He ran for the inn, hoping to ram it open. He did as planned. The door didn’t budge. Panicky, he rammed it multiple times with his shoulder. To his terror, he heard an ear-piercing scream in the distance, getting closer by the second.

Grunting angrily, the man turned around, ripping two twin scimitars from their sheaths, readying himself to face his opponent with the words; “Come and claim me, foul creature…I shall send you back into the abyss from which you came.”

A black mist raced across the ground towards the man, enveloping everything in its path. Not even wandering animals were safe from it, letting out howls and hisses as the mist enveloped them too, surrounding them, and the invisible force crushing every bone in their bodies.

Seeing this, the man still stood firm. He had been running for years now; he would not allow himself to be scared anymore. He would not allow this thing to let him show fear. If it were to end, it was to end here tonight. And there would only be one victor.

Clear yellow circles revealed themselves through the black vapour. No sooner had this happened than did the ground begin to shake. Some of the cobble cracked under the friction, others crumbled to dust with each terrible, earth-shattering tremor getting closer as the creature showed itself.

The man took deep breaths, trying to calm his nerves. He scraped his two scimitars against each other in an attempt to make himself look fierce. As soon as the creature appeared from the mist, the man spinning the weapons in his hands, it made a move for him.

As the giant monster came for him, the man let out a mighty scream, charging at the creature.

“I AM THE PRINCE OF PERSIA!” he screamed, “AND THIS NIGHT, YOU WILL BE HONOURED TO DIE BY MY SWORD!”

The young royal rolled under the creature, slashing at its ankles. A fine green liquid spewed onto his armour, presumably the creature’s blood. He quickly pulled himself to his feet as the monster spun round, its unimaginably powerful arms breaking through the brick and plaster of the nearest building with effortlessness.

The Prince dived, avoiding the showering debris. Forcing himself up, he back-flipped to avoid the myriad of jagged tentacles that sprung from the creature, threatening to claim him. He swung out with one scimitar, hacking through one or two of them, producing a hideous scream from the being.

Using one weapon to temporarily divert the spurting of blood from the creature, the Prince again ran up behind the thing, ramming the other weapon into its ankles whilst slashing madly at the other leg with his second weapon.

The creature lashed out with its tentacles again, trying to ensnare the royal. He ducked, barely dodging five and managed to fend off another five with a scimitar, ripping out the remaining one from the creature’s ankle.

Another ear-piercing scream filled the narrow street, the creature lashing out, only succeeding in destroying a huge portion of another adjacent building. The Prince backed away, watching in unimaginable horror as the wounds merely healed themselves and the lost tentacles spurted back into life.

The royal ran up against a wall, bounding off of it and onto the creature’s back, spinning both scimitars downwards. He rammed them into the creature’s skin. This time, there was no reaction. The Prince attempted to pull his weapons from the creature, but found they were stuck. He pulled mightily, to no avail. Lost in retrieving his blades, the Prince barely dodged two incoming tentacles. He could not stop the next three as they coiled round his torso, the jagged spikes ripping some of his skin. He yelped in pain as he was swung as if from a catapult, soaring into the air again.

He screamed as he crashed through scaffolding several blocks away. He hit a thick, rich bed of sand and unset cement. He immediately closed his eyes, trying to avoid getting sand in them. He slowly pulled himself up as pieces of scaffolding dropped all around him. He had barely pulled himself into a sitting position when a swish sound entered his ears. He sharply pulled himself to the right as one of his scimitars landed centimetres away from him with a sharp ping. Another swift dodge to the left avoided the Prince being impaled by his own sword.

The young royal pulled himself to his feet, brushing down his garments and reaching down for his scimitars. Grabbing both, he slid them into their sheaths with practiced precision. He looked around. He was in a dead-end alleyway. He began sprinting for the entrance, his ears again picking up the screams of the creature in the near distance.

As he found the alley’s entrance and swerved madly to the right, the man now considered his battle with this creature a waste of time. The weapons of any mortal man could not kill this creature. He had seen his best efforts go to ruin. This battle was a huge waste of his precious time. He needed to escape. Running down the cobbled street, he swerved angrily in any direction, any route that would get him out of the sight of the thing.

As he swerved into an unusually dark alley, the Prince saw the cobblestone begin to crack once again, under the pressure of the creature’s monstrous feet stomping against the ground. He had precious little time.

The royal noticed, as he ran further down the passageway, that it was becoming gradually darker. That was not normal. The alley had the cover of a few washing lines up above, but nothing to constitute to it getting darker with every step. Halfway through the alley, sight left the Prince; for the way had become so dark it made sight impossible.

The ground was still shaking under the pressure of the creature, who was furiously chasing him. The Prince could see nothing. This made him panicky. He had lost his sense of direction. He didn’t know which way would lead him to safety and which one would lead him to certain death at the hands of the creature.

“You will not claim me this night!” The Prince yelled defiantly

In the darkness, the Prince could hear the pots on the street smashing. It had been his right ear that had picked it up. The sound had come from the right. Therefore, safety must be to the left. Regaining his senses, the Prince sprinted down another adjacent alley once again. He ran and ran, part of him knowing he might not succeed. He had been running from this creature too long. He thought on it for a few seconds. He almost immediately agreed with himself. He pulled himself into another alley, the way consuming him in darkness.

He was hidden, at least for a while. It would be ample time, he thought, as he pulled a small, sharp dagger from a small sheath. He breathed deeply as he considered one last time. He nodded slowly as he drew the dagger to his left wrist. No creature would claim him. Any fate was better than being ensnared by jagged tentacles, feeling agonising pain. In one swift movement, he pressed down on his skin, pulling to the right. His skin parted, and the warm scarlet liquid began to run from it. His breathing increased.

Slowly passing the dagger into the other hand, he managed to get a grip on it. His hand shaking with a lack of tendons to properly control it, he barely managed the task of pressing the dagger down to the other wrist. He somehow managed a swifter, deeper cut than he had initially, slicing along the vein rather than across it, as he previous had done. The blood poured quicker now; death now seemed welcoming, friendlier than it had only minutes before. Suicide was better than being turned into sand; sand to fuel the creature, to fuel fate. The same damned sand that had started this in the first place. He wouldn’t have any part of it. Not anymore.

The Prince dropped the dagger to the ground, looking up towards the brilliant blue sky. Already he could feel himself getting weaker. That was good. He didn’t need to run anymore; no more running from this thing that had haunted his visions and been the cause of many night terrors for years on end. The lack of sleep was soon to be repaid with an eternity of freedom from this monster.

As the blood poured from his wrists, he began laughing to himself. It felt much better to be bleeding to death right now, in some anonymous suburb of the cit, as an unknown. He wondered why he hadn’t considered the act of suicide after Farah had been killed years ago. His only mistake had been plunging the Dagger Of Time into his chest instead of a sword. How he now wished he could’ve ended it right there, to go back in time and…

No! This whole business with controlling time itself like some kind of twisted omnipotent god had been the spark to ignite the fuse that was this endless nightmarish torture. He would not allow himself to think such things, only to acknowledge the comfort death would bring him…

He began to feel weaker now. The blood was draining from him. He allowed his breathing to slow. He had thought death would come quickly to him, but time seemed to slow in this moment. It seemed as if he would have to wait an eternity to bleed to death.

A minute or so passed. He was becoming very weak now, death ready to take him. His ears barely picked it up; the rumbling. He barely made out the sound of more pots crashing to the ground, of cobbles rupturing and cracking. He barely had the strength to turn his head, let alone shake it in disbelief.

“No…” he said, his plea barely an audible whisper, “Get away from me…leave me alone…just die, you…bastard…”

Seconds away from death, he allowed himself to close his eyes, to let himself be at peace. No sooner had he done this had agonising pain swept through his body as he was ripped from his hiding place by a mass of writhing black tentacles. He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. As he was pulled closer to his fate, denied the chance of a peaceful, rightful death, he merely remembered the words of the old man;

“You cannot change your fate…”