Dante ran. And ran. And ran. Rain fell down in thick sheets, and the blood covering his body just wouldn’t seem to wash away. His white hoodie was nearly crimson, and his manacles were slick with the red liquid. Sloshing through the muddy road, the fleeing young man fell to his knees and allowed the sickness of his thoughts to come forth in a retching torrent. His stomach emptied (again), he struggled to his feet and resumed trudging through the thick mud of the road. He tasted bile and started to reach up to wipe his mouth, but stopped, noting his blood-soaked arm. Instead, he forced his mind to go blank, trying to forget what had happened.

Actually, he couldn’t really remember what had happened. Brief images flashed through his head, images of blood and slashing and death and flames. Faces frozen in ice. Dismembered limbs. Soundless screams. Bits and pieces bounced around his head, and he didn’t want them. He didn’t want to know what had happened. He clamped his hands against the sides of his head and squeezed his eyes shut, as it doing so could possibly help. Of course, despite not having the whole picture, Dante knew what had happened. It was Him. He didn’t know why or how, but he knew that it had been Him.

Dante hated Him. He hated Him, and himself because of Him. He couldn’t begin to count the number of times he had contemplated ending his own life simply to rid himself and the world of His wretched existence. Yet he couldn’t. He didn’t want to give up on life or himself, despite all of his hatred for the thing inside him. He wanted to live! He couldn’t give up. Not yet. But even still, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to be rid of the thing or how to fight him, so he did the only thing left. He ran.

The mud road Dante traversed was easily ten feet wide, and shoulder-height grass spread out from it on either side in opposing viridian seas. The sky was blanketed in black clouds, sheets of gray rain pelting the lone man relentlessly. Dark outlines of trees stood on the horizon, and Dante made that his goal. Maybe if he could make it there, he could be safe from his thoughts and the murderous ghosts that surely chased him.

“You!”

Maybe not.

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BAers: Due to technical difficulties, I cannot view your characters. Please email their profiles (not links!) to HXrisH@gmail.com if you're RPing with me. Arigatou. (Sig by Insaney)