But now all of this was stripped away. He couldn't even remember half of his exploits across time. Adventures that had defined who he was had become blank spaces in his memory. Choices that had shaped his path had become questions he couldn't answer. Moments of triumph and tragedy that had built his character had become voids that the infection was eager to fill with its own purpose.
Even though his face remained stern, stellar purple tears of time leaked from his eyes as he mourned his Civilization.
He mourned his ideals and plans and hopes and dreams!
There were men with ambitions like THE Living Paradox who carried out their plans and became more than they were. They schemed and manipulated and succeeded against odds that should have been insurmountable. They bent existence to their will and emerged greater than they'd been before.
And then there were men who failed regardless of what they planned for.
That was just how existence was.
