A Derpy Apocalypse: Phantom Warrior

They both ran from the thing that had proved itself more powerful, but they couldn't run fast enough.

Black. No, darker. It cannot be described. Not even a color. Not even visible, yet I see it. A void. A darkness that would diminish that of an unlit cavern. This color, this death...it is something I will always remember. And as I lay there in a realm of nothingness, I hear the words of people, people I never knew. And as the volume increased, I could feel myself revitalizing. I could feel my body coming back into form, but without heat. I felt blood of oil, and nerves of wire. I felt joints of rods and limbs of pistons -- in my neck,  my legs, my stomach. They were all twisting, and turning, and growing, and compressing. I could feel them tearing me apart, I could feel my skin ripping at the tension, I could feel my muscles shredding. I didn't feel any pain until I felt a prick in my neck.

"AAAAHHHH!!!!! AH! AHHHAAAA AAAAHHH!!!!!"

I feel pain and I hear my screams

"Morphine! Morphine! I need more fucking morphine!"

It's my fault...

"We're out!"

They're struggling...

"THEN FUCKING HOLD HIM DOWN! HE'S ALREADY BEEN FUSED–I CAN'T–AH!"

No...

"Scalpel is down! Someone get an actual fucking Doctor in here!"

They are fools!

The chaos. The strife. The discomforting and overwhelming feeling of an unacknowledged and unexplainable resentment. A feeling they all had become anesthetized to. Benumbed to. A feeling some of them found alluring and even seductive. Those fools! Do they truly not understand? Do they not know? It troubles me.

But alas, I can be their prophet. I can show them the path. But for now I must bow to their will. I must be their plaything, so that I may understand them, and I can show them power.

My power.