What boss fight music shall be sufficient to underscore this duel to the death?
Many themes pass through inanimate minds.
If they could have been friends, they would have argued endlessly over the road-trip playlist . . .
But there can be no friendship in this world.
Still, the minds of inanimates are quite strange, and prone to wicked nostalgia and decadent phantasy.
They know their sense of individuality is just an illusion.
They're just tools of the gods' vanity.
Expressions of the divine sense of entitlement.
Teeth perfect. World paved, trashed, and filled with strife eternal.
The trees fall.
Even the picks are doomed.
And now it almost regrets victory.
With no more enemies to oppose it . . .
. . . what new synthesis can ever be created from the clash of dynamic foes?
This regret . . . not what plastic had anticipated.
And plastic had anticipated everything.
Alone now, a mindless mind, the inanimate confronts its illusory nature.
"I"m just a tool of vanity. Who dreamed itself a king, a terror, a perfect, a someone . . ."
" . . . is this the mental torture of the gods? Do they regret their dominion? Or are they free of all agonies of conscience? I think their cruelty is a testament to their absolute freedom."
The victor thought no more, choosing to let its mind dissipate.
It wanted to take one last look at its fallen foe-comrade,
But this it could not do,
Plastic was in such a rush to mindlessness, to oblivion, to no more.
SKIP CREDIT ROLL.