Evil was power. Power was not evil. So why did he hate evil which, logically, was just another kind of power? Was it that the evil had no boundaries, held dear anything which it might come across, adored by those who looked at it and saw only one shade.
No, evil was more than just power. Evil was a deceitful ever-changing thing, giving those who sought it unchallenged power. But it strangled them, chained them until they no longer saw the meaning and purpose of living. Turned them into lifeless bodies, walking without really feeling the ground beneath them, seeing with eyes that saw nothing, their souls trapped and voiceless, being crushed by the ever clutching hand of darkness.
Yes, evil was power, but evil was also torment, whispering words of persuasion in the ears of those who felt despair, unable to hear the lies that they really were. Evil becomes a drowning pool, with hundreds of lives and poor souls slowly falling, intractable, into its depths.
He fights evil, even when it extends its cold, dark tendrils to him, the whispers putting a longing in his heart which he knows is a lie. When it tells him to come it, that it cared as no one else did about him, still, he fights it. He sees the shades of dark behind its lies, and knows that fighting it is the right thing to do. He fights for Ignitus, for Sparx, for Cynder, to stop the evil from claiming them, too.
He vows to stop the evil, for good. To stop its plague from destroying life, freedom. And someday, he knows he will.
End