When the darkness finally took him, Cloud was beyond caring.
He Failed.
The life that circled the world was done for. Choked to death from the inside by a parasite he was the last to plague lifekind with. The Goddess had been impassive as ice. The whispers were always fearful. Even Aerith had avoided looking at him in time; her sadness too great. And so everyone of the living died.
He Mourned.
Why was it that Sephiroth himself could be absorbed by the planet multiple times, yet when it was his turn, the Lifestream writhed in pain and screamed in agony?
Weakness.
Why was he was repeatedly rejected? Why when he finally had no family or friends to answer to, was he left to rot on a dying planet alone?
He IS Jenova.
How? When? Why? None of it made any sense! He was winning, had been for a while. Wait... how long had it been? He could feel the power of a planet unclaimed for the taking so close to his grasp. All but for a sly slither, a small light so tiny; smelling of flowers and rain. She was fighting him again. His mind was clearer.
He laughed.
And as the darkness finally claimed him, Cloud's will of Odin wrought steel did not bend to the cells and memetic programming that now made up his essence and being. Cloud had failed at last.
He smiled.