Thátanos was a scary looking man. His eyes were black as coals and his skin as cold as ice. He walked around acting like he could do anything he wanted and no one could stop him; there was no cure to his arrogance. People feared him, and avoided him like the plague. Being near him was like a car wreck; many lives were destroyed when they were in close contact with him.
He had no family or friends. He was alone in a world full of happiness and love. Thátanos was separate from the people around him, living this lie. He knew better, that the world was full of hate and anger. He knew the truth of life and death. His outlook on life was ageing a year closer to death. And he was ready. The dead were his friends. People he could no longer see or talk to, the people who tried to get close but didn’t succeed. Because he always took care of them in the end.
Thátanos knew the repercussions of being the way he was; tall, dark, and mysterious. No one believed him to ever be innocent, not like they should believe he was. Life wasn’t something he was very interested in. He was a villain in disguise, in a world filled with heroes. In the end, as he laid there with his blood slowly seeping out of his body, feeling the liquid slowly trickle down his abdomen, helping to keep him warm, he knew. He knew that he was ready to meet his friend. The one he had been mistaken for all his life. And when he breathed his last breath, he smiled and whispered, “Death”. The last flicker of an ember could barely be seen in his eyes. No one would know he was dead until a couple days later when a homeless man tried to pilfer his pockets for money. No one would care, or be upset. He was gone, and looked no different from how he did alive. Thátanos had diminished, as fires are prone to do.