The hero lay crumpled on the shattered marble floor, gasping, blood seeping through his armor. Above him, the villain stood still composed, monolithic in the dim. Shadows clung to him like loyal dogs.

Rain drummed against the broken glass of the cathedral dome, cold and cruel. Flames licked up the walls, casting long, jagged silhouettes. Civilians screamed in the distance. The city was falling.

The villain knelt beside the fallen savior, tilting his head like he was studying a painting.
“You spent your life chasing light,” he said softly. “Tried to be different. Better. Brighter.” He smiled, thin and humorless. “But tell me, how many died in your name? How many shadows grew while you burned so proudly?”

The hero coughed, but said nothing.

The villain stood again, voice rising, echoing through the ruined cathedral:
“We all look the same in the dark.”

He turned to the trembling crowd just beyond the gates. “Heroes. Villains. Kings. Peasants. Strip away the light, and we are one thing: afraid.”

Thunder cracked. The bells began to toll, not from ritual, but from collapse.

And as the villain walked away boots echoing on the wet stone despair bloomed like wildfire, and hope extinguished itself in silence.