[ WP ] A Villain comes to regret all the things he has done in the past and travels back in time to stop his younger self .

The young man leaned against the balcony, silent in ponderance, whiskey in his hand, drinking in the dusk of the mountains beyond the valley. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, the top two buttons undone, but aside from these concessions the shirt was immaculate; the fabric thick and supple, pressed to perfection, and white as pure snow. It hugged his lithe figure arrogantly. He brought the whiskey glass to his lips without breaking his gaze from the view, sipping at the sharp amber liquid before placing it on the balcony wall. If the sharpness of the whiskey bothered him, it did not show, as he traced a finger absent-mindedly around the rim of the glass. 
 
 To the uninformed he was a man enjoying the quiet - perhaps reflecting, perhaps in the slack peace of the nothing zone. 
 But the old man watching from the shadow knew better, for the young man had been him, and was him. 
 
 His voice was hoarse with age as he spoke from the darkness 
 
 “ It ’ ll all end in flames, boy ”. 
 
 The younger man whipped around in shock, his reverie broken 
 
 “ Who ’ s there? ” 
 
 The old man dragged himself forward into the light, his cane scraping on the ground as he moved. 
 
 “ Who are you? How did you get up here? ”, the younger man asked. 
 
 “ Look at me, boy. Look at me and know the truth ”, the old man spoke, scraping forward another step. 
 
 The younger man began to speak but the old man cut him off 
 
 “ Don ’ t speak, boy ’, he said, and he stepped forward again. ‘ Just look at me. Look at my eyes ”. 
 
 A confused look passed over the young man ’ s face for a moment, then it resolved into a sneer. 
 
 “ Fuck off old man ”, he said, turning back around to look at the view. He picked up his whiskey glass and took a sip. “ Fuck off before I hurt you ”. 
 
 The old man moved forward again, and stood directly behind his younger self. 
 
 “ You come here to scheme. To plan the takeover. I know, boy, I remember. But how many nights do we spend here, staring at those mountains, wishing for power enough to destroy them with the wave of a hand? How hard do we crave for dominance, to make men debase themselves before us just so they know we are untouchable? How many? And for what? ” 
 
 If the words affected the younger man he did not show it. 
 
 “ And be damned it we don ’ t get it too. But we miscalculated, boy, we read men wrong. Power comes from the spirit of others, given over to you. You can take it by fear, but you crush the spirits in the process. And you can only crush them for so long before the last flicker of spirit dies out and your power becomes an empty vessel. It ’ s doomed, Boy, and it doesn ’ t end well - it *didn ’ t* end well. 
 
 The old man paused, staring at the figure of his youthful self leaning on the balcony. 
 
 “ Do you hear me, boy? ” 
 
 The younger man seemed to be nodding in thought. 
 
 The old man continued. 
 
 “ If you want real power, the power to change history, you build their spirits up. You win them over. Then, the power you can draw upon - the reservoir - is deep and unending. ” 
 
 “ Do you hear me, boy? ” The old man asked. 
 
 He prodded him with his cane. 
 
 “ Is this getting through to you? ” 
 
 The young man whipped around and struck the elder with the whiskey glass, knocking him down. His lips where pulled back in a rictus snarl as he climbed atop the old man and descended the whiskey glass again and again. The corners of the crystal glass tore at the leathery face, the weight broke bone and teeth, and sticky acrid blood coated the younger man ’ s hands. Aside from grunts of exertion and the dull wet sound of the glass striking flesh, the evening was a silent witness. 
 
 The old man ’ s shapeless face moaned incoherently, and the young man paused, holding the glass up high. 
 
 “ You call that power old man? Doing their FUCKING bidding? What good is power unless I can end a man, whenever and WHERE EVER I FUCKING want. ” 
 
 He tossed the glass aside and grabbed the mess of a man by the jacket front, hauling him up. He marched him over to the balcony ’ s edge, angled the old man ’ s body over the precipice below. 
 
 The young man leaned in close to the old man's face. 
 
 “ You forgetful old man. Do n't you remember? I pray every day to go down in flames, because I ’ m going to take this whole fucking world down with me. ” 
 
 The old man let a despairing wail as hands that were once his gave a final push, and he felt gravity swallow him whole. 

