These are the sensations that Light becomes aware of:
The click of a watch hand moving—
The flutter of pressure against the sweaty inside of his wrist—
The rasp of paper brushing his skin—
The enormous shape that rises out of the darkness, hollow eyes and dirty bandages—
The darkness that comes rushing up to swallow him whole.
This is what happens in the darkness, though he will not remember:
A boy walks out of the darkness—and there is only darkness, no shadows—and he looks nothing the same.
The face and the body are right, yes, but scars crisscross his flesh, which is sewn together with large heavy stitches. Parts of his skin are grey-green with rot, and his hair is a black that makes Light think of bone. Wings erupt from his shoulders, a chaos of feathers and cloth and chains tangled into something unwieldy and impractical and—
"I suppose this is to be expected," Kira says. "I had forgotten. You were lonely."
"I'm not—"
"Shut up," Kira says.
Light can't read his expression, no matter how hard he tries.
"One," Kira says. "You've managed to make L like you. You're very good at that." He laughs and the control fractures. Insanity slashes Kira's face into something beautiful, crystal and fragile and mesmerizing. Light's fingers curl into his palms until his nails cut little half-moon marks into his flesh. The pain is surprisingly sharp.
"Two."
Light bares his teeth.
"Two," he says. "None of this is happening. It isn't real."
"No," Kira says. "It isn't. It's obviously symbolic."
They look at each other. This is what he could be.
This is what he is.
Light knows he doesn't have a choice about what's going to happen next, but he's not interested in what Kira has to say. Because he doesn't want to hear about how scripted the past few weeks have been, because he doesn't want to know about how he's not real. He has a past and a name and a family, he's investigating the case of the serial killer Kira and proving his innocence. He has a friend.
And here is Kira, telling him that L was correct. That L is the only person who has not believed his lies. That Light is, at best, a mask that has learned to want for itself.
Kira spreads his arms open and smiles, thinly, calmly, perfectly.
Light mirrors the expression.
"Well, come on then," Kira says.
"I'm going to lose," Light says.
Kira's eyes are as red as the apples that shinigami love and his smile echoes the curve of the serpent that poisoned them.
"Of course you are," Kira says. "Don't tell me you thought otherwise."
Light didn't.
But he has to try.
There is no regret in Light's heart when he kills L.