Prologue

Death. 

Simple, pure and incomprehensible. 

Within that moment, before I could even respond - even think of such actions - I felt the cold blade shave a chunk of my hair. A golden blonde that fell to the ground, leaving a misshapen braid. And when time came to my mind again -'react dammit' - there was nothing I could do but accept the death I had been given. 

Ignoble as it was.

Yet a smile parted the pearly whites of my teeth. My head fell to the ground, a pain of a thousand deaths reigned down hell over each and every thought I could even think to produce. Yet even then... amongst that extreme edge of pain... it was only that. Pain.

Seconds past by in mere moments. An involuntary shout edged echoed through the chamber as I clutched tightly to my chest. The rapid pace of my heart pounded against my hand and burned a hole in my confidence.

But still... that determination will not... won't burn brightly only to fade in the deepest edges of space. For the visage of gold, lust greater than what could possibly be created, it burned bright in the recesses of my eye. A golden pride condemned to fight in a barren land, for a barren cause that would fade away at the slightest touch.

"Welcome." 

The being... the creature. Whichever it was. It spoke in a manner 'oh so familiar. With a voice that came from nowhere and everywhere at the same moment. For it was a faceless being. Mayhaps it was an angel... mayhaps it was a devil that took on the visage of gold.

Whatever it was... those ruddy eyes, the deep obsidian black that contrasted the golden tinge of the world. It held a certain sorrow, as if it had failed to keep a promise. One that it valued far more than life.

It coiled, like a serpent, and bowed down. Digits stretched and gave me a golden sword. Of course it wasn't complete gold. That would be foolish, and mere suicide for the mission I was forced to take.

There was no need to test the sharpness, nor the durability. With practiced ease the edge was pointed towards my waist and sheathed in the ornate buckle at my side.

It fit with such precision that had I not seen the utter destruction reigned upon this world, I would've assumed that some machine had cut the sword from the same block of metal. That was the only way this blade could fit in that buckle... that sheath... with such complete and utter precision.

"My thanks."

The being responded with a quiet lilt of its head, edging me on to go and exit towards a battlefield whose wrath had already taken my life many times over. A laugh parted the edges of my lips and soon I was off.

Such was the nature of this demo. A cycle of death and rebirth. Maybe... given years and months of fluid practice and repetition there may be hope to complete it. But in the hours... days in the game... there wasn't salvation in this demo. Only the scythe of death looming over my head. Waiting to reap the soul it was promised.

I felt the gazes of people, despite their illusory nature, spill over into this reality. There wasn't much to say about them. They were fans, haters, neutral observers. They were a bunch that took pleasure and enjoyment in the beauty of my body, in the gory death once foretold, even the quiet conquest of another murder.

To those that tuned in. My progress was clear. Guts and gore would spill upon the lifeless ground. Completely pixelated, of course. It was TV after all and meant to spill over to all reaches of life. From the poor and destitute, to the rich and wealthy. To the children who yearned for entertainment to the adult and senior who flinched at the barbaric actions.

My showing was meant to give a whole and complete experience to the most impressionable and so the rating must be limited. So that parents would be comfortable letting their kids watch my lifeless body spill onto the floor.

But even that wasn't enough. For the time in this place was distorted. Each hour wasn't an hour, each minute wasn't a minute, and each second passed differently in the world of my head. it gave the producers time to edit and sieve through everything.

They worked hard to show images of triumph and conquest, darkened by death and decay. But despite that. Despite the endless death and rebirth.

I would not give. I would not yield. Each second was made for the entertainment of the masses. But theirs was a secondary objective. For the fulfilment of my purpose would come first. I would fight in resistance. I would not allow my image to be tarnished... I would not let myself die and ignoble death.

The world watched. Bathed in golden radiance I wielded my sword, wings sprouted from my back and a halo burst into existence. I would hold the line. I would find the source of this maddening evil. And I would erase it from existence.

This Sanctuary. This second world. 

My sword burned holy light into the eyes of demons. Yet the only thought that mattered was the fitting name. Sanctuary. A world that would give light and hope to every person. From the poor to the rich. From the children to the elderly.

To the scientists who sought ultimate truth, and to the bloodthirsty thrill seekers. Each would have their purpose. And each would take joy in the progress.

For this was Sanctuary. 

And for me that sanctuary fought. Golden and blackened beings in an endless war for some nascent - and irrelevant - holy land.

I cared not.

For the flame of ambition had been set verily upon my chest. I would not let such majesty extinguish.