Personal hell

Blake forced himself to move faster. Faster. His feet barely touched the ground as he sprinted through the broken spirit realm, jagged structures dissolving in the wake of their battle.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk" Nemisis's voice slithered through the air, mockery laced in every syllable.

"I thought you were a warrior, Blake! A nightmare to those who stood against you. And yet look at you now."

Blake risked a glance over his shoulder and immediately regretted it.

Nemisis wasn't chasing him. It was walking.

Its tall, grotesque frame moved leisurely, chains dragging behind like the rattling death knell of something inescapable. It was enjoying this.

And worst of all, its eyes.

Glowing pits of bottomless void, full of sadistic amusement.

"This is pathetic," Nemisis sighed, almost disappointed. "I haven't even gotten serious yet."

Blake's stomach twisted. He knew.

The bastard was playing with him.

Something inside him broke.