It consumed me for many years of my life. The struggle and the burning need that coursed through my body. And I had done it. I had finally done it. Years of dedication that finally led to this point. I had dedicated a part of my life to this. And I had done it. The hero is finally dead.
Yes. I, the ingenious villain, had accomplished my purpose. My mind wanders to greater things. Oh the riches I can have, and all the properties I can own. Anything I want will be mine at command.
The streets in chaos? No, why put such a horrid definition on it? Not chaos, but enlightened. The people finally have freedom. As do I.
My feet lie at the peak of a pile of gold coins. Crowns from monarchies around the world sit below my seat. I am higher than them all. For I have destroyed the one object in my way. I can do anything I wish any day.
Infinite treasures fill my residence. Every room’s floor littered with loot. I peer down at the items, the gold duller than it had been, and beautiful jewels seem to have lost color. I’ve gotten everything I ever wanted, so why do I feel so empty? No amount of priceless minerals or dollar bills, could fill the gaping hole in my existence. I’d worked so hard for this. Shouldn’t I feel complete?
I turn to watch the same news show I’ve had on replay for weeks. The fall of the great and invincible hero. Had destroying him given my life purpose? And now that I’d accomplished my goal there was nothing left?
I suppose they’re right. What’s the point of a villain if there’s no hero to hate?