The End: Where He Begins

Pane Birthed in a Coin of Lies

Mirrors. They reflect the truth of the world. No matter who you are-or what you wish you were-a mirror will always show the real you. Every mirage, every persona and facade, every lie people tell you just to appease your feelings... they all come undone. It can be so evil sometimes, so unbearably cruel. Pure, unfiltered truth boiled down to the nasty, the ugly, the never has been and the never will be. Even when cracked-when fully destroyed-mirrors still find a way to bring torment.

Dark Pit despises mirrors.

Ever since the shatter of his creation, he's always preferred truth to lies. Lies only veil what needs to be said and silence the things that need to be heard. Only those with twisted minds tell lies. Whether it's to protect, to shield, or to gain the upper hand, lies only cause pain in the end. Though Pit doesn't know this, that's the real reason why Dark Pit had hated him from the start. It wasn't because of his look, his attitude, or his inability to spell. It was because of his eyes. They'd held such deep ignorance back then, such sickening faith in a god he could barely even comprehend. And though the dark angel's fury has since been quelled, he can never truly forget how upset it made him. The way it turned his stomach and insulted his very being from the core, it was so disturbing. After all, how could a reflection of him be so... malleable? So easily oppressed? If that mirror was only supposed to show truth, then why did his reflection scream a life full of lies?
Dark Pit sucks in a breath as he clutches the pristine glass, its sharp edges slicing him back to reality. For who is he to play the fool, pretending as if Pit were the clone and he the original? He knows better. Pandora did, too. That's why she worked things such that he'd be made there. The mastermind behind the actions, the progenitor of all the chaos... his mother. She knew that what might come out wouldn't be a proper reflection, but a reversed pane of lies. How unfortunate then that he'd slain her with his very own hands. A waste, really. If his mother were here now, he could tie her up and force her to tell him the inner workings of his mind. But it doesn't matter now, does it? That filthy wench wouldn't have told him anything, anyway, not even if he'd stabbed the knowledge out of her. She was such a wicked opportunist, only granting a second glance to someone if it would end in her benefit. Pandora didn't care about him in the slightest. He was merely a tool to defeat Pit and help conquer Skyworld. Too bad the child she hoped for turned out to be the exact opposite of what she'd wanted. It was a dark, twisted oversight that would go on to end her existence. But as her creation-her son-should her power not have been inherited by him? Oh well. At least her remains went to the right place.

Though glass sinks into the wound and trails of crimson seep to the floor, Dark Pit can't bring himself to let go. It's the closest thing he has to his roots-the place of his birth. With no family to glean from, no proper mother in sight, it's become his only source of respite. He just wants a home, a place to look back on and find out who he truly is. Is that such a hard thing to ask? If not, then why does the vision of a mirror still strike him with fear? Is it because he's still a child? Still afraid and unknowing of the world around him? In that sense, he's also a filthy hypocrite. For the same reason he hated Pit, he now must hate himself. Deep down, he's just as ignorant and unknowing as his counterpart. Yes, he might be the better thinker, capable of discerning even the slightest mistakes in the gods and their biased logic. He's also less willing to be used, never viewing status as a medium of toleration. But, when push comes to shove, Dark Pit doesn't even know his own heart. His reason for thinking, acting, and feeling the way he does. Is it because the mirror built him that way, or is it because of what he's learned? He had literally no experience in life when he decided not to accept Pandora as his master, even going so far as to strike her within the first few seconds. But if it was the mirror who decided that and not he himself, then does that make him any different from a programmed AI?
A glint of light catches the angel's eye, lifting his gaze from his hand and to the crumbling pieces of glass before him. The cracks are almost reminiscent of the spider webs he finds in the corner of Viridi's library, little spider babies nurtured in the web of their protector. But wait... that's right: his mirror cracked before its baby could be completed. He was never intended to be this way in the first place. But where does that leave him, then? As a mistake? A flaw? A vessel unfulfilled? He doesn't feel whole, he never has. How could he without any semblance of how he got here? If anything, the only notion he has of his existence is Pit. But if that's the case, then where in Pit's end does he start? Is he truly all of Pit, or is he a fraction of his worst doubts and fears like Palutena once said? They've always been rather different. When Dark Pit needs quiet, Pit has to turn the volume up. Where Dark Pit finds himself growing restless, Pit has to lay down to relax. And while Pit constantly offers up his love and kindness in the face of cruelty, Dark Pit can hardly quell the bloodlust burning in his very soul. It even scares him himself sometimes, how deeply he feels the desire to crush those around them. The dark angel is sure that even if it could cost him his life, he can never turn down a worthy opponent.
Exhaling, the dark angel takes a seat. He's eternally grateful for the invite to the Super Smash Brothers Tournament. It keeps him in check when he feels as if the urge is becoming too much. Looking up, his ebony hair clears out of his face enough to make way to the bright, stray white feather stuck to the ceiling. How his counterpart managed to get one of his feathers up there, Dark Pit will never know. Part of him can't help but wonder if Pit feels this same sense of pain and ache in his soul as his clone. He probably does. Pit might be good at hiding it in front of others, but Dark Pit can see it in his brother's eyes. He's exhausted by constantly having to help others, by always showing a bright face and being the hope of his world's humanity and then some. Maybe that is Pit's own version of what Dark Pit is going through. He's tired of having to shelve the pain-to be able to be okay all for everyone except himself. Pit loves his duty, there's no lie in that. But Dark Pit can bet that Pit would give everything he has just to focus on himself and confront the people who use him, even if only for a day. The dark angel honestly wishes his brother would just do it.

Reaching up his hand, Dark Pit starts to get up to try and yank the white plumage from its gypsum prison. But just as his hand rises, a drop of crimson crashes onto his face. Equally rosy eyes find his palm and fill him with immediate remembrance.

That's right; he's tainted.

Even if he wanted to help Pit, he could never be farther from the angel's truth. Mirror's mean absolute reality, no deniability of the facts. But Dark Pit is not Pit's mirror; he is not Pit's equal. He is a culmination of Pit's lies, the result of a happy facade and deep devotion he could never comprehend. A treacherous blackheart who's fundamentally wicked, destructive, and incapable of having faith in anyone could never aid in the purity of a life protecting angel. As Dark Pit is forced to accept this reality, he can feel that same blood drop sliding down and splitting his one visage into two. Just as quickly as it's given him warmth, the glass shard in his hand suddenly doesn't feel like home anymore.
It clatters to the ground and shatters into pieces, its many fragments sparkling like the tears trailing off his face. Dark Pit hunches over to block the bile in his throat, but the nausea remains just as muddy as his water-filled vision. Yet no amount of muddiness could hide the unfiltered truth resting at the ground beneath him.

It doesn't matter what cracks his connection with his brother tries to fill. He will always be broken.