*sneaks into ur house*
//*drops this in front of u before making my radical escape*//
(Um, if you could see my face right now, it’s absolute, unadulterated shock and excitement because I’ve NEVER HEARD A SONG THAT SUMS UP DARK SO COMPLETELY AND I CAN JUST SEE HIM SINGING IT, HIS AURA SWELLING WITH THE CHORUS AND JUST AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH. ok, ok meltdown over now. I’m cool, I’m calm. I’m FINE. So I’m just going to write this little thing and leave it here for you guys to enjoy…)
Dark opens the little music box and listens to the small song play, tinkling and plinking with a happy tune, and he rests his hands on the keys of the piano, feeling the beat of the music before diving in.
His music melds with it as he laughs, short and dry, blood staining the white keys and burning the image into his mind. The body lies on the floor behind him, splayed out in the last throws of the fight of his life, and now Mark is dead. Dark leans his head to the side and lets the music drift around him. It blocks out the ringing in his ears.
Mark is dead, gone, at last.
Dark’s fingers shake as he continues to play. Finally, all he’s ever wanted and dreamed of. He’ll take Mark’s place, become the heart and soul of the thing his life is tied around, that ever elusive group of children watching and praying for an appearance from him. It’s all in his hands, these cold, bloody hands.
Then he thinks of the Egos. What will they do when they find out? Their poor Amy won’t be very happy about this, of course, but Dark can hardly believe he’s done it. He can still see it all, the moment that the light left Mark’s eyes, the moment Dark knew he’d won.
But still there’s the nagging feeling, that little demon tearing at his stomach that they’ll find him, stop him from having his moment, his channel. Yes, they’ll try to take it from him. They always have. They steal everything that he’s worked for. He’s done all the work all these years, all the heavy-lifting. Every step forward, they took because he’d laid down on the wire.
And that means only one thing. He has to make sure the others are out of the picture.
He rises from his piano slowly, music stopping abruptly, and staggers into the hall. His aura guides him, a puppeteer pulling the strings. Everything he’s ever wanted, all of it, he can have it. If he just finishes them off…
But Wilford sees the blood on his hands and the look of victory in his eyes, and he’s there standing in the way, like always. Warfstache was always there to stop him before, but not now, no more.
Now, Dark is going to win. Finally. Finally.
Then Dark feels cold gunmetal pressed against his forehead, and he bolts awake. Warfstache is still there, sleepwalking with a gun in hand. That rose-colored idiot. Dark lets go of the breath he’s been holding and pushes the weapon away from his face.
It was nothing but a dream… a crazy, horrible, wonderful dream, but one day, he promises himself, one day, it’ll be real.