[Zenyatta has heard myths about terrible demons swallowing the sun. Reaper's very presence is a black hole of feeling; the longer their conversation carries on, the more he begins to feel as though he were subject to something similar, consuming the very light from his core and leaving him a silent shell. But then, did Reaper himself not live that reality every day, an ouroboros of anger and hatred and emptiness?
He sounds tired now, he is tired, the echo has vanished, but he does not stop.]
Do you suppose I would still be here if I thought that was all there was to you? If you believe that, then you have beguiled yourself with your own illusion. [There is a small pause. His voice quietens.] Or perhaps it is worse than I feared. Perhaps you have willfully allowed yourself to believe lies because they are simply easier than acknowledging the truth.
[The light of his presence flickers, wanes, a candle before the winds of Reaper's storm: not howling, but soft and subtle and insidious.]
no subject
He sounds tired now, he is tired, the echo has vanished, but he does not stop.]
Do you suppose I would still be here if I thought that was all there was to you? If you believe that, then you have beguiled yourself with your own illusion. [There is a small pause. His voice quietens.] Or perhaps it is worse than I feared. Perhaps you have willfully allowed yourself to believe lies because they are simply easier than acknowledging the truth.
[The light of his presence flickers, wanes, a candle before the winds of Reaper's storm: not howling, but soft and subtle and insidious.]