"Dark, stop this! It's all in the past now. Don't you see how much I've- no, we've changed?" Mark pleads, hands up in surrender as Dark's knife flashes in front of him.

"Your pleas mean nothing to me. Do you really think I can forgive you for what you've done to us?" Dark sneers, pointing his knife threateningly towards his creator as he advances forwards. His red and blue aura flickered madly as static and high pitch ringing filled the room. "The only reason I've changed is because of you. You are the reason why I am like this. The reason why I was ever created was purely for revenge. You see yourself as all high and mighty, beloved and adored by fans, but they can't see the monster you really are!"

"Dark, I never wanted to hurt you or them. I always thought of you as a brother, maybe even more than that. And I regret everything I've done to Celine, Damien, and William. They were my friends too, and a part of me still mourns for them." Mark pauses, trying not to stare at the knife pointed at him as he slowly backed away.

"For a long time, I thought we brothers too. We were cut from the same cloth, wore the same face. We were two sides of the same mirror. You were, after all, the one that semi-created me. But I would give that all back for a chance to go back and start over," Dark says mournfully, his grip on the knife slowly loosening.

"I would too..." Mark replies with regret. He laughs half-heartedly. "We are both so broken. I mean, we're talking about events that happened hundreds of years ago, for fuck's sake! I know that what I did was wrong. And I've suffered for it. But we can't go back into time and fix my mistakes. We just have to live with it. I moved on- why haven't you?"

"Because every time I look into the mirror I see Damien, Celine, the DA. Every time I see Wilford, I see the Colonel. I don't want to live with your mistakes. We are broken because you made us broken." Dark fumed, backing Mark up into a wall, knife positioned towards him once more as Dark's grip tightened around handle. The sound of static became deafening and a high pitched ringing filled the air, burning Mark's ears from its intensity.

"Because when I look into the mirror, I also see you. The man you once were, the friend I once knew, the young Mark that just wanted to act. And I hate it." Dark sneered, inches away from Mark's face. "We could have been happy, we could have ALL been happy if you didn't go and mess things up. Why don't you just admit it was All. Your. Fault!"

"Dark, please! Just listen to me!"

"No! I'm tired of listening to you. I'm tired of being polite and diplomatic. I'm not Damien! Why don't you just say it. Say you hate me! Like how you hated the Colonel when he ran away with your wife! How you hated Celine for not staying with you! How you hated Damien for being so much more loved than you were. Say it. Say it!"

Dark suddenly lunges at Mark, Mark defending himself with an equal amount of force. They both topple to the ground, punches thrown and kicks made from both sides. Dark, having planned for this moment for years, was filled with an adrenaline high and quickly gained the upper hand. He smirks, Mark gazing up at him in wide-eyed fear as he was momentarily pinned to the floor.

Dark loved it. The power he felt coursing through his body as he saw Mark shaking in trepidation beneath him was blinding. It felt so good. After decades of waiting, he was finally able to get what he wanted. To make Mark get what he deserved.

And yet...

The glint of an almost forgotten knife shone in Dark's hand before making contact with thick flesh. Mark grunts and collapses onto his knees. Blood flows through Mark's t-shirt, red spreading out unnaturally fast out of the wound in his chest. Mark's breath shakes as he gazes down at the knife hilt sticking out of his abdomen.

"Dark?" He whimpers. Mark glances up at Dark, eyes wide in frozen terror.

Dark quickly steps back, brows furrowed. He wanted revenge, right? Wasn't this what he wanted? Mark dead and Dark finally in control? He wanted to hurt Mark, make him feel the pain he felt on that fateful night at the Manor. He wanted Mark to suffer... right? Dark didn't know what he wanted anymore. But whatever it was, it wasn't this.

"Mark? Mark?" Dark kneels by Mark's side, holding his head up with one arm and applying pressure around the knife wound with his other hand. The ringing suddenly stopped and the red and blue colors flickered madly behind Dark in anguish. "Mark, I didn't mean to...I didn't mean for you to get hurt, not like this."

Mark chuckles then winces in pain, his entire demeanor changed. "Heh, you'd think that all those times I stabbed, drowned, and hung myself would get me used to the pain." Mark inhales sharply as Dark presses down harder around his stab wound, putting his hand on top of Dark's and squeezing it. "I guess not."

"Mark, there's no need to pretend. I know you're in pain, you don't have to hide it." Dark consoles, his voice low and oddly calm, looking around the room for some way to get help. All anger and hatred seemingly disappeared as Dark tried to save one of his only remaining friends.

Mark gives Dark a pained smile. "I guess I can't lie to you. The same way as you can't lie to me. I think I'm going to die, Dark. And I'm really fucking scared." Mark rasps resolutely. "I think there was always a part of me that wanted to die. A part of me that wanted to die in that Manor all those years ago, along with the Celine and Damien I knew. I think maybe... you might be right. And I just want to say that I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. I am truly sorry from the bottom of my heart for everything I ever did that hurt you and everyone else." Tears stream down Mark's face and Dark couldn't help feeling his soul being crushed as though there was a knife stabbed into him too. "I'm sorry..." Mark repeats in a whisper, his skin becoming pale and cold as blood pools onto the floor.

Dark held Mark closer to his chest, feeling Mark's cold body shiver while continuing to put even pressure on his wound. "It's all behind us now. Just focus on staying alive. Please."

Mark looks Dark in the eye, mouth dribbling blood.

"You... forgive me?"

"I forgive you. And I'm sorry for not forgiving you sooner." Dark replies without hesitation.

Mark smiles contently. "I forgive you too".

Dark hesitates for a moment before replying. "Mark, I-..."

You lie silent there, before me

Mark was dead.

Your tears, they mean nothing to me

Dark sat on the ground, sitting beside the man's body for what felt like hours. His suit and pants were drenched in blood, and his hands were sticky with it. The whole room smelled of copper and everything he touched seemed to be painted red. A part of him wanted to sit here for hours and to become crazy and forget like Wilford had. A part of him wanted to sit and wallow in regret. A part of him believed Mark would revive.

He knew nothing good would come out of staying here. He had to leave.

The wind howling at the window

It was quiet. Dark wasn't even able to hear the whispers of Damien and Celine in his head. The static reduced to a background echo of white noise. Blue and red light radiated from Dark in a soft glow. He felt sentimental, yet he couldn't bring himself to be triumphant or mournful over Mark's death. He expected to feel... something. Yet there was only a feeling of emptiness and cold chill on his skin.

The love you never gave, I give to you

Mark's body lay on his back on the ground, his head slightly tilted to the side and mouth slightly agape. Crimson pooled below him and the black hilt of the knife remained lodged in his abdomen. One of his hands lay on top of his bloody shirt, staining it red. His eyes stared at Dark unblinkingly.

Seeing Mark dead and dressed in red was hauntingly familiar. Dark half expected him to open his mouth and say "It isn't fair, is it," and Dark would agree.

Really don't deserve it

But now, there's nothing you can do

Mark was weak. It took only one stab wound in the right place to kill him. It seemed almost too easy. There was no flair of dramatics, no pleading on hands and knees, no real fight. It was as if Mark actually wanted to die.

And to Dark, that was the scariest thing.

If only I... Dark quickly stopped his train of thought. Mark was dead. There was nothing to be done now.

So sleep in your only memory

Of me, my dearest Brother

Dark cracked his neck as his eternally broken bones relocated. The static grew stronger as his red and blue aura brightened and intensified.

Mark was right to say that they were both broken. Yet Dark had always assumed the two of them would stay broken together.

Here's a lullaby to close your eyes, goodbye

Mark's eyes stared unblinkingly, all color gone and replaced with a clouded fog. They were once a chocolate brown, sweet and inviting, eyes that some say can make one melt from the warmth they radiated.

It was unnerving, to say the least. Especially knowing that Dark was the last thing those eyes saw. Dark gently closed them, running his hand down Mark's face.

It was always you that I despised

Dark was always envious of those eyes.

Mark could easily command an audience and make fans swoon without ever meaning to, whereas Dark's appeal was just a well-rehearsed act. Everyone loved and trusted Mark on instinct, while Dark had to work to gain it. And even Dark couldn't deny that there was something captivating about Mark -his eyes, his smile, his laugh- that he couldn't replicate, though they had the same body.

And Dark hated that.

I don't feel enough for you to cry, oh well

Dark felt something drip down his face, reaching his hand tentatively to wipe it off. His hands covered in dried blood left a streak of red on his ashen cheek. He glanced down at his fingertips, wet with a mixture of water and blood. Was he... crying?

How sickeningly emotional. If Mark was here to see this, Dark allowed himself to think, I would never hear the end of it. Tears dripped onto the marble floor with a soft patter.

Here's a lullaby to close your eyes, goodbye

Dark slowly got up on stiff legs. He half stumbled, his arms hung loosely by his sides instead of held behind him. He felt shaky and Dark hated not being in control, especially of himself. His suit and hands were bloody, the fabric of his clothes wrinkled and stained. A few tears continued to drip onto the floor, yet his eyes were blank and unfocused. The static was a steady hum and a high pitched ringing grew slightly louder. Dark could hear hushed whispers as his red and blue aura grew stronger.

He had to leave.

Goodbye

He quickly walked towards the door with rushed strides. Dark stopped, his hand wavering over the doorknob. A part of him wanted to turn around. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, firmly setting his jaw and steeling his resolve.

There was no going back. He opened the door and left.

Goodbye

The door closed with a click. The Manor was silent once again.

.

.

.

Goodbye