Blindfold found an abandoned alleyway to practice. He focused and felt the darkness, the black substance forever leaking out of his eyes. He focused on manipulating it to what he wanted to do. The Ink slithered from behind his blindfold, down his cheek, inside his shirt, down his arm, and out of his sleeve. He looked at the tendril snaking up his wrist and frowned. Why couldn't he have a different power? Empathy, perhaps? Healing? But no, he was cursed to see others' futures and pasts, to see in only three dimensions. And then this. This darkness, this blackness. He needed to understand it, to control it, instead of it controlling him. Slowly, tentatively, He pushed out with it, willing it to go forward, an extension of his body. Suddenly, he lashed out with it, tearing a gash in the wall beside him. He smiled. He was... in control? He didn't know what had happened, but he would take it. Maybe he'd healed. Throwing caution to the wind, He spun around and slashed the walls in a perfect circle, destroying things wildly. Maybe he didn't need help. He laughed, reveling in the new freedom he discovered. Maybe he was in control now!
He wasn't.
As Blindfold spun around and looped a tendril over his shoulder in a particularly complicated move, his heart felt like it had exploded, his newfound 'control' shattering in an instant. He knew what the darkness was saying.
You can't control this.
His control was thrown out the window, the Ink rebelling against him.
He screamed.
The Ink few out, exploding from every part of his body, throwing his blindfold off, and his Sight went haywire. He saw everything that was or will ever be in a single instant, nothing making sense. The future was always changing, shifting, a maddening mass of decisions and butterfly effects. Nothing, no one, could save him from this pain, this oblivion, eating away at his identity.
And all at once, it stopped.
He sat up and looked around. He was in a small room, a double-sided bed in the middle, and a computer in the corner. A boy, tall, but looked about 14 years of age, sat at the computer, typing something. The boy looked up as if surprised he was there. Then, he smiled.
The scene shifted.
The same boy, a couple of years younger, lay on his side, crying. He saw Blindfold and smiled. "You're on my side, right?" the boy said, pleading. Naive.
"You can beat him." He looked toward the door and frowned. "You're more powerful, right?" He started crying again. "You'll help me, won't you?"
Blindfold took pity on him and smiled. He said he would. But his voice came out differently, a powerful voice, one as deep as time and so powerful it could shatter mountains and reach the corners of the universe.
I̶̭̅͛͜ ̷̭̔͗͌͠w̴̧̬̏̑̈́i̸̡̡̻͚͓͘l̷̢̮̋̓̐l̷̗͎̠̪̓͛̍̈́̎͜.̵͙͊͘
surprised, he looked down and saw himself for the first time. He was entirely covered in the inky black substance. His blindfold was gone. He was wearing a top hat and trench coat, clutching a cane.
And Blindfold felt a humongous, far-reaching consciousness touch his mind. It was filled with pain and suffering, so much pain. It thrashed and turned in unexpected directions, a storm unlike any other. He had been abandoned. Cast out. They were supposed to LOVE ME!
Ī̴̖̦ ̸̟͔̓̊p̵̩̒͜r̴͎͗̈́ǫ̷͕̒m̶͖̻̋̇ĩ̷͙͙ŝ̷̖͠é̵͙̹̒.̶̝́
And everything went black.