• He can’t help it.

    He tries to resist as he raises an arm to strike at his friends, aiming to harm them, to overpower them, but he’s only a small part of his mind now. His right mind, this correct state of being that tells him that it’s wrong as he lobs orbs of electricity at everyone in turn, is so miniscule that he feels like he’s chained to a seat in a movie theater— what’s going around him, out there, is projected onto a screen.

    He sees the blood. He sees them struggle to get back up. They’re not dying, they’re not dead— somehow, it’s like they’ve achieved immortality similar to his, yet stronger and beyond it. Yet, isn’t that the problem with immortality? That you can never die, never stay dead, no matter how much pain and ache and hurt you go through? That, after awhile, you just wish you were dead? And as he watches his friends, his adopted family, rise up once more, he finds himself wishing that they would just stay down. He knows that he won’t hurt them if he thinks they’re dead, but the way they keep fighting on, telling him that he’s mad— and he laughs maniacally at their claims despite this itty bit of sanity he has within himself that agrees with them, that’s begging both them and himself to stop— but he can’t do anything. He’s powerless to stop himself from hurting everyone he’s ever cared for.

    And then, before he knows it, everything stops. The chains vanish into thin air as it all disappears before his very eyes.

    Whenever someone said that the rogue suffered from delusions, he thought it all was just a lie to get a reaction out of him.

    Now Purge knew that it wasn’t a lie. And it terrified him.