Jeremiad

The clouds were as slender as gossamer and the sky was the belly of a golden-crested bird in a young autumn. One of the most spectacular sunsets was occurring in front of his eyes, yet he ignored it as he sauntered toward the ruins of a once-grand metropolis. If stone could talk, then this mound of debris would be interpreted by broken promises, clawing hands, and ruined innocents.

He had accomplished this. After years of slavery, entrapment, and treason, he had finally allowed himself a queer peace that was only interrupted by his bumbling rants and gloats. Sadly, when everyone was gone and eliminated, when the deed was done, there was hardly any pride to gain by shouting at rubble.

He couldn't remember his brothers'--so he called them as to avoid that ignominious twinge in his heart when his mind stuck to one of their names--faces. Ironic that was, because he had stared blankly at that face many times before. The visions, the dreams, and the perturbed voices in his mind were all mingled into one hazy mass. He couldn't remember the time or the exact location where he had given in or when he'd first killed. When had he attempted to break the one he had confusing emotions for?

Sometimes he did remember, although he wished he didn't. He did recall stumbling into a black puddle. After that, the breaking of the one he cared deeply for. Her name was so saccharine that all of those years following that tragedy had demanded of him to rudely cram her memory away to where he would never acknowledge her or his other family again with a special respect. He'd hurt all of them, especially the girl. He remembered breaking down once before making a dire and so desperately final move.

"I-I'm sorry. It was just one accident--"

"How many are you planning to do until this disaster is over?"

They were all failures. Then, they had locked him up in a prison despite his ambitions and trapped him in a loveless void where he forgot all of the hopes he had dreamt. However, his hunger and fury remained and grew at a constant interval as it ate away at his sanity. Back then, he'd thought those who gave in to vindictive purposes were fools. His motives were soon drowned in enmity.

The sun was almost gone, just like all of the light in the solar system. It was dying as it sank and its colors bled and languished on the horizon, but even blood dries. He was the king of Nothingness. He was still a ruler, and he told himself so. He was the most important priority; he was the betrayed. He, the victor, would soon move on up in the ranks, but this was his refuge for now and his prize.

Shuggazoom's fall from grace and culture due to his treachery was a large step away from the life where he'd protected the city and remained loyal to those who slowly became his inferiors and traitors. Hadn't Antauri forewarned him about this and repeated the prophecy? Still, the laughter of the evil force that convinced him to stray away from his meaningless goals rang raucously in his ears.

The leftover color in his eyes was bleached and metaphysically cracked as he hummed to himself. Death was as close as ever and he stood dazed on the devil's playground.

Then, he heard the sound of jets behind him. Suddenly, a thump echoed from behind. He chuckled mirthlessly. There were many times he heard things that were not there. He heard the falling of an old man's helmet and a crack as one of its eyes split. There were gasps, cries, and groans, but he found it in himself to ignore that little flailing conscience in his head that told him that he had at least one more chance to go back. It's not too late, they hissed in his ears. That sentence haunted him for years.

Of course, it was too late and only he realized that; it was too late for everybody.

"What has happened?" A voice inquired, "What did you allow to occur, you wretch?" Well, that was a shock, he supposed. He hadn't heard that voice in years. Now, the fallen hero stared into the disbelieving eyes of someone he wanted to face in a long time. Now, his equal knew the truth, and he knew he was to blame too. My, how he'd changed and grew. He responded in the only way he could.

He smirked at the other. "That was my first impression too, back when his majesty's," He tapped the side of his head and caressed his mangled ear, "program was flawed. In a way, the Power Primate and I perfected it. That's funny, isn't it? However, that one moment I felt fear and regret for my actions after they were gone I thought of you and hoped that your own emotions would reciprocate. Ha! Here I thought there was no hope in the world for fools!

That's what we are in this universal game. Aren't we, Mandy?"

Mandarin wanted to shred the tainted monster, but first he spat, "Antauri has taught you nothing. No honor, no--" The Chosen One laughed.

"Yes," Chiro back straightened. Antauri? He regarded his torn ear with a delicate touch. Ah, yes; now he remembered. Then, he opened his arms wide in a mock-invite for a hug.

"You taught me something though, and that's that endless struggle for love and resolution is nothing compared to glory and conquest. Aww, what's wrong? What could you expect in this life, the life you've trudged in hopelessly for years? Final condolences? Did you want an honorable redemption with a dramatic death that you would openly accept, or a tearful reunion? Well, guess what? All your dreams have come undone."

Mandarin's snarl loosened as he was lost for words.

"Welcome back to the family, Mandarin."