Black ink scours the lands
In this technological wasteland
I've built for myself thus far,
And although I'm young
I have years of power, of growth
And I wonder how long it will take
My brother, the sworn hero
To take me out himself,
Once and for all?
I don't mind these dark powers
I seem to have been born with,
Nor the knowledge I can contain
But he swears that it is wrong
And I am wrong
And everything of wrong is me.
If I've ever felt emotion
It was taken from me
Shortly after birth.
And now, I am void,
My powers are chaos itself,
And everything is black.
The void calls to me as a familiar,
Asking me to help it spread
It's voluminous, blank wings
And I concur that it is
Tragic to be so useful
Yet so frowned upon.
I am cold.
I am efficient.
I am Zero.
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