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iTrapped felt guilty.
Not from doing some stupid misdemeanor, or saying something.
No he felt guilty because he was the reason he was going to die.
Honestly, he did expect this. After tanking the economy, his best friends getting locked up in the Banlands for an indefinite amount of time, and from killing Chance, it was sort of just something he saw coming.
He didn’t exactly feel bad for some of it, he knew he should; after all he did do horrendous things, but he had grown apathetic towards the incidents, no matter how much they haunted him over and over.
He could feel himself rotting from the inside out, the Darkheart being to blame. The sword had begun corrupting him overtime, turning his code into something that could only be called malware by this point, or something worse.
Most of his face was gone, not ripped off, burned, etc. Just gone. Replaced by inky, black code that kept spreading as the days went by. Scratches mauled his arms, created in his own panic and desperation to rip the blackened code away from his skin, away from what made him, him.
He laid on the floor, panting, body spasming every few moments with an indescribable pain that could only be compared to his body ripping itself apart over and over.
His head felt foggy, save for the small whispers of faux comfort the Darkheart spread throughout his mind. He didn’t hate it, but he certainly didn’t want it. It sounded too familiar, but he couldn’t place how.
He hated not knowing, he hated that every time he truly formed a thought, it would slip away like nothing, leaving him in his hazy daze, the only thing that stuck was the burning he felt pulsing in his body. He let out a small sob, curling further on himself. The floor was uncomfortable, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He deserved this for what he’s done after all.
He wondered if Chance would hate him, that’s if he ever saw them again. He used them, manipulated them, but he couldn’t help but hope slightly that maybe they’d forgive him one day. Same with Ellernate and Caleb, he hoped that they’d forgive his past actions, for not being able to get them out, for just not being good enough.
Tears dripped down the good side of his face, he regretted so much, yet so little. He just wished maybe, just maybe, things would have gone differently, and maybe he wouldn’t have screwed up as much.
Eventually, he closed his eye, letting his body go limp. He knew he wouldn’t die yet, that Darkheart wouldn’t let its vessel go yet, but he’d like to rest.
Just for now.