"Any last words?"
The young man's voice was calm and cold, unlike the warm cascade of blood pouring out from the Villain lying at his feet. The agonizing man didn't flinch as the Hero plunged his knife deeper into his flesh. Lying on the cold, wet cobblestones in a deserted alley, he smiled madly, seeing the holy light of Heaven.
"How kind of you to offer me this act of mercy," he whispered in a silky voice as dark as the clothes he was cloaked in.
The boy didn't budge or show any sign of surprise at this unexpected sarcastic answer. He stayed silent as the rhythm of the heart of his victim faded slowly. He waited, his complexion far too firm for a teenager of sixteen. But his youth didn't hinder him from possessing an extraordinary amount of strength and knowledge, too dark for his age.
The Villain smiled in the nauseous scent of blood and rain. He delicately took off his mask and pressed it against the chest of his murderer. He had waited for this moment since he knew he was going to die. Perhaps that moment was long before the battle, and his death was only an act carefully planned, the last scene of a grandiose theatrical play.
"The flowers may wither,
Dead and dry, they will remain.
But even in the coldest winter,
The spring will arrive and drain,
The glory of the hellish ere,
And new Ivy will grow, pain
Along with despair
It will relish,
Her wrath to avenge.
My descendants will not be vanquished.
And as the bloody sun will rise, my revenge
Will float in the sky like a banner."
He pronounced each word as sweetly as if speaking to his child. His heart felt as light as a feather once his curse was cast. A triumphant glow in his eyes flashed before they became empty of any form of life.
The boy stood there, holding the mask in his hand soaked with blood. He let the pouring rain wash away the death of the Villain, staying as still as a marble statue. Only when the rain stopped and the sun rose in the dark sky, he finally spoke,
"Then I'll just have to crush that precious Ivy of yours."