a sympathetic vibration from the tech, and he found it echoing those words, reveling in thoughts of destruction, its energy building, burning, churning. And as it did, so did he, since they were one and the same, indivisible unto death.
He whispered with the joy of chaos, the rapture of impulses freed at last to act, to strike down, to strike down the enemy, to rid the universe of them, to attack and not to stop, not until the enemy was utterly destroyed. To suffer no more in tolerance and patience, to kill those who killed, to kill those who threatened, to kill those who offended, to kill those who erred, to kill those who could be killed, for the greater good, the good of evolution, the good of progress, the good of perfection.
He was blazing, incandescent, energy singing along the meridians of the tech, a vibration so pure it was painful. This was how it felt to be truly alive, not hiding in a tiny prison of his own making, hiding unnecessarily, as if he had done wrong, when it was the universe that was wrong, the universe that should hide from him. He remembered the raging joy of crushing Drakh after Drakh, Shadow after Shadow. They deserved to die, just as Tilar deserved to die, just as Circe and Londo and Morden and Elizar and Razeel and so many others. The Circle, for lying to him. She, for leaving him behind. His parents, for giving him birth. He was a fool for trying to kill only three people. He should destroy it all-the Shadows, the Vorlons, the Centauri, the Narn, the Minbari, the Humans-they were all programmed for destruction, all programmed to hurt one another, and keep hurting, for as long as they could. But he could stop them. He could crush them all. He wanted to crush them all.
With a rush of satisfaction, the black light flowed out of him. The