On Pain of Death

Prologue

“Pride cometh before the fall.”

-Proverbs

The streetlights blinked hypnotically as her feet pounded the pavement, her flip-flops slapping the ground rhythmically, her hair saturated with sweat. He was chasing her, chasing her down all because she had forgotten to turn off the Television before she had stumbled into bed, still clothed.

She had hoped that running through the New York City streets past midnight would help her loose him, but he was a tracker, someone who could navigate a crowd as well as she could navigate a website.

A glance behind her revealed that he was still there, looking as calm as could be, his icy eyes that were as red as hell focused on her. She had run the block and now stood back in front of her apartment, the summer air clinging to her like a shawl, panting for air. With the very last of the strength in her out of shape body she made a lunge for the door, pulling it open and attempting to slam it so hard in his face that he saw stars.

His arm shot out, however, at speeds inhuman, and he pushed her in through the door so that she lay in the floor on a heap, her cotton tank clinging to her glistening skin.

With grace unequivocal he shut the door behind him and then hoisted her up be her wrist, pulling her up so that her face was mere centimeters from his, and she could smell his breath.

He was as cool to touch as her refrigerator, and no trace of perspiration could be found on his skin; he hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“I’ll ask you again,” he stated, his voice deep, raspy, furious “, why is there an image of The Giant Kharlan Tree upon your viewing screen?”

How was she to explain to him that he was just a figment of some Japanese man’s imagination; that Kratos Aurion did not, could not, ever really exist? Tales of Symphonia wasn’t real, nor could it ever be, so why was this terrible man digging his fingers into her wrist in an attempt to find answers that she was unable to give him?

The noise of a gun cocking drew her attention back to the doorway, and she saw, to her great horror, her roommate, eyes ablaze with hatred, pointing a gun at this man’s head.

“No! Dani! Get out! He won’t hesitate to kill you!” she called, being pulled into his chest, a small, glinting knife pressed to the flesh of her throat.

Where had it come from? Was he truly that fast?

“Let. Her. Go.” Dani demanded her voice short with vehemence.

He snorted, dismissing her threat as if it was moot “, I am taking her. She may not be who she claims to be.”

“I know who she is. Now put her down and get the hell out of our apartment, you psychotic cosplayer,” she spat. “I swear to god that I will not hesitate to shoot you.”

“Cosplayer? Who do you think I am, woman?” he asked, his voice churning with darkness.

“No! Dani, listen! It’s Kratos! He’ll kill you!” She called, trying to explain. “This man is Kratos Aurion!”

She felt his eyes on her, boring into her skull, trying to rob her of the information that lay therein. “Who are you, woman, that you know my name?”

Dani made the mistake of flicking on the light switch at that moment, bathing them in the artificial glow of the incandescent bulbs.

She looked into the eyes of the fictional character to see them widen in shock, and she let out a whimper as he spoke a single name that made her blood run cold.

“Anna?”