You are running. Sprinting, in fact, trying desperately not to trip over the motionless corpses of people which lined the desolate wasteland that you were rushing through, crimson rivulets soaking into the harsh, dry soil. As you frantically scramble through the thick, red mist that coats the land, your stomach drops as the noise of the rapid footsteps of your pursuer gets closer and closer, as well as progressively louder. It's almost as if you can hear his hot, heavy breath getting louder as the seconds drag on into what seems like an eternity. In your chest, your lungs ache as you struggle to draw in complete breaths, your heart beating so fast that it seems it could explode from the effort. Adrenaline was overtaking your veins, almost causing your nervous system to short-circuit as you move forward in a desperate bid for survival.

All you could think about was your pursuer, how he welded a long, blood-soaked, metallic blade that was unsheathed in one of his large, muscular, gloved hands. And no one could forget those fear-instilling scarlet lenses that covered his eyes, which was completed by the onyx fabric of a mask that covered his face, never betraying his emotions or facial expressions. He was huge, at least double or triple your height as his powerful, deafening footfalls caused the dust to erupt in smoky plumes every time he took a step.

You were so caught up in your thoughts about the colossus that you didn't even realise the sound of his footsteps had come to a halt completely, and you couldn't see him in your field of vision anymore. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel a warm plume of air on the back of your neck, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end. Slowly and reluctantly, you swivel around to face the source, knowing very well that it belongs to your pursuer.

He stands there silently looking down at you, his immense, mammoth frame radiating an imposing and unparalleled level of authority whilst also dwarfing your frame entirely.

What do you do?