Title: Morbidium

Author: Mandalore159

Rating: R (for mindfuckingness)

an: alright, i need help with this one, id appreciate some feedback to see if i should continue with this one seeing as LC is pretty much dead. so, yeah, enjoy!

Darkness and light flitted across his eyes like an intertwined pair of ballroom dancers, each graceful step sending another image through his retinal nerve into his brain. He thought himself a rational man, at least, as of late. The Impromptu trip to the Shadow realm had seemed to return him from the bloodlust haze he had been living in for the past…. Oh what was it again 3,000 years? 5,000? It didn't matter. Noting mattered at the moment except watching the shapes dance across his eyes. They were interesting to say the least, as each one, to the best of his knowledge was in direct conflict with its converse as both shapes danced across his eyes, each matching up with and bumping into other similarly matched pairs of light and shadow. Often they traded partners, a different aspect of light leaving its shadow to consort with another and vice-versa.

He found it amazing.

The interactions of the light and shadow could have held his attention for days, even years, but being the rational man he was, he knew he couldn't watch them forever. He had to wake up and destroy…. Who again? Destroy the… well damn. He cringed at his own confusion. Why couldn't he remember whom to destroy? It seemed like it would be an important thing to remember, now wouldn't it? No matter, he had the lights to distract himself. He watched the lights on his eye for another few minutes before his mind ever diligent, stumbled upon another problem. He was angry. Well that's strange, now isn't it? Why would he be angry when there is nothing but the lights and him? Surely the lights didn't do anything wrong. At this the lights seemed to shake for a second, interrupting their intricate dance with the shadows as if to say "Not us!"

He smiled at them for a minute as if to reassure them. He then turned his (admittedly cunning, even though he did not know how this was) mind to the current problem, why he was angry. He contemplated this for a while, his sense of time still quite convoluted. After an Hour of thinking on the dilemma (a day?) his mind began to wander to the thing he so longingly wished to destroy, but for the life of him could not remember. As his thoughts on this wandered, he noticed a second (Third? He was beginning to get annoyed with numbers) observation of his that altered what he was thinking. His anger rose when thinking of the thing he wanted to destroy. He frowned at this, wondering why he could feel such negative things towards something (someone?) he obviously did not know or could know. For all he knew now, because of that it did not exist. Thus, as he centered that fact in his mind, that the Thing, Person, whatever it was did not exist, he felt his negative emotions towards the matter dissipate. He pondered this for a minute, genuinely baffled as to why his mood was swinging so violently, that he forgot about the lights across his eyes and failed to notice when they stopped. After spending another long period of time pondering this, (Because honestly what's the point of counting anymore?) He theorized that by acknowledging that his problem didn't exist, he realized that there was no reason to hate it anymore. After all, he was a rational man.

At realizing this he blinked his eyes in exhaustion, only to realize two things. One: His eyes had been closed this entire time, and two: he couldn't feel his body. As if a switch had been hit, his body regained the use of its senses the minute he realized this. He felt linen beneath his back, cotton on his front, cool air on his face, and leather on his wrists and ankles. Wait, leather?

With an effort he didn't expect he opened his eyes, and took in his surroundings. He was in a Hospital room, a simple matter with white walls, two chairs, a slew of electronic equipment, a door, a window, and a bed. The window was casting an unwavering gray light from beneath its hade, consequently muting the already bland colors of the room. At this the rooms' sole occupant took in the oddest feature of the room; the thick leather straps binding him to the bed.

At first he was confused, he didn't know how he got here, or where he came from, so, to him there was no reason to be bound to the bed. After all, he wasn't going to kill anybody, right? Wait, scratch that, he did feel like killing something, just not as much as he could. How he knew of these limits to his feelings he did not know, he just knew that there was a glass ceiling to his bloodlust, and he was nowhere near it, while admittedly still feeling the destructive urge.

At this, he realized another odd thing about the room; it had a glass ceiling. He pondered briefly whether or not it had this curious feature before he thought of it or not, before discarding the thought in favor of looking into the ceiling. What he saw surprised him, first and foremost due to the glass ceiling not being a glass ceiling. It was a mirror. In the mirror he saw a slew of deactivated hospital equipment surrounding a bed on a grey-lit floor. However the single most disturbing component of the image was of the beds sole occupant.

The man had pale skin and a lanky frame, thin enough to clearly see through the hospital gown and thin cotton sheet that covered him. The man had a thick scar on his right shoulder and a malnourished, almost anorexically thin complexion. What disturbed the man though, was the appearance of eyes and the hair of the man in the mirror.

The man had eyes with irises the color of freshly spilt blood, and had a demented, murderous gleam to them. The hair was a different matter entirely; it was snow-white, with parts of it sticking up like horns. Briefly, the man wondered if he was staring at a demon. As the reflection blinked in time with him, its heartbeat synced up with his, he realized that the demon he sated at was …himself?