Oh hey, this seemed like a good idea at midnight, so viola. This takes place after the duel against Shark, when IV returns, I'm guessing, to the manison to be stripped of his powers. Just what I think. drabble blabble too,

It was over.

IV knew his fate long before trudging up grim interior of the castle. His mind continued to search for loopholes, a way to change his course of direction, but his legs knew better. Nothing could change the cruel past. What had been done was to be left alone. The heavy pull of unfinished disputes and inexcusable actions had been cut from his shoulders, breaking the last connection to this world. A higher essence was in control of where he would fall.

That bastard has been watching me...

IV knew very well where his final dance would be. The most soiled and isolated quarters in the castle was poor setting, but it was impossible for him to request a new room. What did it matter at this point? The grim atmosphere only reflected his mood. Coming closer to his destination, an unsettling weight had come over his body. Perhaps it was the realization that his world would be engulfed in darkness, a never-ending coma.

How fucking ironic...! IV thought, attempting to joke with his remaining conscious. Oh, how I loved reducing pathetic commoners to their lowest positions, crying and begging for mercy. The loathing and despair, the most beautiful and wicked of life's orchestra. Audible to every being with a soul, but only savored by those vile enough to become engrossed in the misery of others.

Ignoring the rather insignificant surroundings, IV threw his hands into the air, filling the dank chamber with fits of laughter. Yes, it was very clear now, he was at the end of the road. His arrival had been inevitable, the strings of life beginning to unwind themselves from his life force. But IV had become absorbed his last cry of life, the cursed dwelling he'd been forced to call home for seventeen damned years. And now it would all end in the palms of another, the decision of a maniac. This was his swan song.

"So many fools in the world, hiding a mosaic of putrid emotions and horrid faces within their borders of sanity. These demons are the hidden gems in humanity. I simply have a desire to expose them , through my Fanservice. It is then that the tempo of our sour song quickens. The beauty of my Fanservice can only shine through the heinous expressions of my wonderful fans. They lust to give me everything, and in return, I taint their very being, every hope and desire in their pathetic lives, and damn them. I enjoy their withering! I sing along to the devil's melody! I laugh as I banish their souls into the depths of hell! Their very being cut from its supports, only to fall into the hand of the wicked. The only place left to find salvation, well, that would be hell."

IV's horrid dialogue was concluded with a sharp intake of breath. Regaining what sanity he'd managed to preserve, his body felt weak from supporting its own weight. The end must be near. The curtain was closing. The main event had dropped to his knees, struggling to keep his footing in the world of the living. The act was not complete, not yet.

"Yet here I am, almost entirely perished, clinging to a few teasing thoughts. Soon, I shall be but a lifeless lump of flesh of no importance to this world. But I still must ponder on this thought: What faces do I find myself making? Do they satisfy those vile souls that find amusement in my suffering? I can only hope they are as twisted and corrupt as those before me. That is was truly sets the melody of our sympathy."

The edges of his vision became frayed, creating a dizzying illusion of his eyesight. He knew it was only a matter of time now. This moment had been anticipated long ago. It was all according to an intricate plan of cruel events. He'd been only a pawn, forced to play that bastard's game. Of course, Tron had been watching his movements, breathing down his neck. But Tron's fate was out of his hands, as it has always been. Nothing was left of him anymore.

The curtains are falling... IV no longer had control over his muscles. Actually, it was as if they'd suddenly turned to gelatin, only capable of slumping forward into a crouched position. The frequent wisp of air no longer nipped at his ear. The uneven floor boards caused no discomfort to his trembling knees. A dull ache was all the was left of his senses. But yet... he was still there. He could sense his presence... how odd.

"Why, you'll watch my dance, now won't you? You'll observe my song of suffering, won't you? A soul as wicked as yours couldn't resist such a marvelous production. Tell me Tron, will you enjoy the faces of my despair, my descending to, hmm- well, an immensely long slumber I presume. You'll enjoy my wonderful fanservice once more, won't you...?"

It's the least I could do for you, you little shit.

Please, enjoy the swan song... Tron...

IV was sure Tron accepted his request. The last sense he clung to, before the final string was pulled from his grasp...