Hey everyone. Here is part three of Dark World and rated M for its dark and graphic details. Please note this if you need to back out. Thank you for your reviews. Please keep them coming. Buckle up, kiddos and enjoy the ride.

Disclaimer: I don't own TMNT and all of the turtles. I also don't own the following bands or the lyrics: Disturbed and Evanescence. They give the right kind of inspiration. Enjoy.

Michelangelo closed his eyes as he placed the earpieces in his ears. His fingers gently pressed play. The drums soon began to pound their steady rhythm in his head. He could feel vibrations of the guitar chords coursing through his body. His head bopped up and down as his body became one with the music. Yes, Mikey thought to himself as the lead singer began to sing the first verse.

Containers of paint and brushes lined perfectly against the wall. Splatters of color dribbled to the floor in puddles. The chaos that seemed to surround him but he didn't care. All for the glory of art. Mikey stood with his arms crossed on his plastron staring at his most prized creation yet. One section of the wall was dedicated to his one-of-a-kind mural that stretched across his room and from floor to ceiling.

Can you feel that? The singer's words seemed to reflect his mood.

Mikey's head violently twitched to his right shoulder before returning to its original position. Yeah, he can feel this. He grabbed his brushes one in each hand and dripped them into the paint. His hands feverishly splashed the colors against the cement wall. He could feel the music grinding into his soul. Emotions and feelings were fresh and raw.

Beautiful, perfect. It took Michelangelo only four days to draw every perfect line, to perfect every curve. He worked nonstop without sleeping or eating. Muscles felt sore and stiff. His brothers were concerned and told him to stop this madness. A low chuckle escaped Michelangelo's lips. They didn't understand and he didn't care. The surge of energy was like nothing else he experience before. It was the addiction he carved and hungered for.

Fierce energy possessed the orange masked turtle's body and mind, making him turning the volume up. Only this song fed the manic pace which he now obeyed and followed. The creative and his thoughts plunged into his mind, into his soul at full force. The drums pounded so loud for a brief second he swore his ears would burst.

It seems you're having some trouble

In dealing with these changes

Living with these changes

The world is a scary place

Now that you've woken up the demon in me

"Yes, yes, so true. So true," Michelangelo said. The corners of his mouth pulled and tugged until his lips curled tightly against his teeth. Then he began to laugh and laugh. Harder and harder. He crumbled to his knees yet his hands refuse to stop their work.

Tears sprouted to his eyes as his sides began to sting. He struggled to breath. The hands and colors were in control now. Michelangelo swede side to side as the music pounded harder and harder. The singer's screams and vocal ripped into his soul.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH! YES, TELL ME. I WILL DO IT!" Michelangelo screamed to no one. Suddenly, it felt like the bottom fell out. The song stopped and so went the inspiration and creativity. The brushes that once possessed him thud onto the floor. What happened? He wondered as he stared at his color stained hands.

He remembered the last part of the song; you've woken up the demon in me.

"Why do you do this to me? Why do you torture me?" Michelangelo screamed at the mural, jabbing his finger in its direction. Tears streamed down his face. He grabbed up his brushes and began to break them. Michelangelo's hands began to blister as small splinters of wood impaled his flesh. In one motion the brushes were flinging across the room. Another scream blasted out as his limbs kicked the buckets, splattering the paint on the floor.

"I'M SICK OF THESE FEELINGS! I'M NOT LOSING MY SANITY! NO, SIR, NO, SIR!" He paced back and forth in the room, violently thrusting his finger at the mural. His head twitched from side to side.

"STOP! STOP DOING THAT!" He slid under his bed and pulled his knees to his chest. The damn mural. It was its fault. What was once love now developed to loathing hate?

You know it's getting worse, Mikey. A couple of days here and there are becoming a couple of weeks here and there, his mind taunted him. Michelangelo shook his head when his fingers pressed the next button on his I-pod.

An angel's voice began to sing against the harsh grooves of the guitar and drums.

I'm dying

Praying

Bleeding

Screaming

Am I too lost to be saved?

Am I too lost?

My God! My tourniquet

Return to me salvation

He could taste the saltiness of his tears as they ran across his cheek. The singer knew. Was he too lost to be saved by his family or himself?

Mikey glance up at the mural and cocked his head. He seemed to nod at the silent voice. "You're right. It must end. I need to be saved."

Raphael sighed as he headed up the stairs. Another day and another job, he thought while he carried the tray of food. He could hear Mikey talking again to someone. Raphael knew there was no one in the room, but he could never bear to think his once happy brother now babbling to himself. His mood cycles suddenly appeared out of nowhere and became more frequent and dangerous.

He knocked at the door. "Mikey." No answer. Probably still doing whatever he's painting.

"Mikey." Raphael slowly opened the door and turned on the lights. Different colors of paint splattered across the floor and wall. He saw the broken brushes and containers strolled everywhere.

A green form huddled in the corner with his shell facing Raphael. Mikey's hands were on top of his head as he pushed it against his chest.

"Come on, Mikey. Time to eat," Raphael announced as he sat the tray on the table. Michelangelo remained still. He sighed as he made his way next to his brother. "Michelangelo." Raphael froze unable to complete his thought when the manic laughter came from the corner. Michelangelo thrust his head back as he fell onto his shell. The red stream ran down his plastron from where the wooden brush stuck out from his neck.

Panic Raphael knelt beside him and began to put pressure. Michelangelo could hear his brother screaming for someone but he was too late. His glassy eyes gazed over at his prized and finished mural. The scenery was that of a green luscious meadow and clear blue sky. In the middle was a large boulder with the orange masked turtle leaning against it. His hands crossed over his chest while clinging to a bouquet of white lilies. Droplets of blood splashed against the pure white as the crimson color tumbled from his neck. As grotesque as the turtle looked in the painting, the expression on his face seemed so quiet and peaceful.

Mikey smiled and laughed. "Finally we are free."

See warned you about the graphics. Thank you so much for the reviews.