Golden irises fluttered open to an endless array of black that stretched on as far as the eye could see. Adjusting his vision to the abyss, he replayed in his mind the events that led him here. Mentally making out shapes of yellows, browns, reds and whites, their two voices ringing out in his mind against the deafening silence.
Why not join us at our side?
And what you are, is darkness?
He could only scoff at their pleading. As if someone born of the shadows could ever truly stand within light. And now, he was destitute to his fate of becoming one with his being; the dark. They were one in the same. He could never join with the other half to create a whole, his dream of feeling anything else gone to ruin.
This was his retribution.
Failure was all he could make of the situation. There was no victory, there was no apocalypse for him to witness. There was only losing to the others that bore pieces of him, of his identity.
He lost to a bunch of WIMPS.
It was maddening. How he wanted to punch the hero of light's face in, ironically seeing how his own face would look as if it was a hollow plastic toy stepped on, a large deforming dent reconstructing it's shape to where it's barely recognizable...
Or how he wanted to snuff out the overwhelming amount of light in the survivor, the one he came from originally. Wanting to see the vast emptiness in his blue spheres once more, as he had when they first met face to face.
He could make out the all too familiar shapes of red slits forming around him.
One manifested, then three, then five.
Turns out, even in death, he couldn't be at rest from his emotions.