It was a curse, Dark Pit supposed, a punishment.
A punishment to forever live and to never die, to live for eternity as the world warped and changed around him.
To watch everyone he had ever known die around him.
People assumed that for immortals, a year was just a fleeting moment in time, something that went quickly, adding another unimportant year onto a long list of numbers that composed his age.
That wasn't true. Every year, every month, every day went so slowly, letting him have all the time he needed with these people to befriend them, to open up to them.
The years went so slowly that for a long while he didn't really realise that time was actually passing, that Dark Pit's fellow smashers were getting older, their bones growing weaker and wrinkles etching their faces.
And Dark Pit didn't look a day over thirteen.
It was weird to see the strong turn weak with age and to see their posture slouch and their hearing worsen, whilst he remained fit and nimble.
But it still never hit Dark Pit. He refused to think of them dying, to think of them as mortals like the ones that lived on the overworld.
They were so powerful, good opponents, actual challenges. How could they have normal lifespans? How could they go from strong to weak in just a matter of years?
For so long it felt unreal and he couldn't wrap his head around it.
Then the first one died. Although Dark Pit had wracked his brain about it, he couldn't actually remember exactly who had been the first of the smashers to die. He is over a thousand five hundred years old and all this happened so long ago when he was rebellious and cocky and invincible.
Or he thought he was.
The deaths of the people that had slowly become his friends had whittled away at his spirit, demoting him to a grieving mess. The power, the strength he had on the battlefield, it had gone as the years went by as well, although in an entirely different way.
Why did he even bother to make friends if this was all he got from it? Have fun for around eighty years and then spend eternity mourning them, wishing again for that fun.
He shouldn't have let Pit and Palutena push him, convince him to open up, to make conversation. He would've preferred to live alone all this time, not wanting to talk to anyone than living alone and wishing to hear them again.
It was a curse. A curse for being what he was. The dark clone. And unlike Pit, who managed to live on in some form of happiness due to the presence and company of Palutena, Dark Pit was alone.
Birthdays were meant to celebrate another year older, or as Dark Pit now thought of them, another year bringing the person closer to their demise.
But since Dark Pit was immortal, birthdays just stated the obvious. Another year gone by, him still alone. He wouldn't call the years wasted, because he had an eternity of them ahead, each one dragging the memories of the ones that he had called his friends further and further away from him. Each one making him realise just how little he had accomplished in his life.
"Happy underworld dammed birthday to me." Dark Pit murmurs.
This is his curse.
He cannot escape it.
Dark Pit: I know you fanfiction authors do a lot of strange things with my character but seriously? Me opening up to the other smashers? Mourning them even though a thousand years have passed? Please.
Its still early, it'll happen Pittoo. Then this fanfiction will come through and you will live in misery and loneliness forever.
Dark Pit:... Mmmmm, what?
This is what happens when you let a girl who is supposed to be doing homework write fanfiction. Sorry for how hastily written it was, I wrote it in around half an hour. Anyways please review/favourite/follow if you enjoyed!
Randommblackberry out!
