When there's nothing left to lose, slipping down the slope seems like an attractive option

Deep lavender sparkles ruptured against the glass wall, dregs of fizzled-out gunpowder clung against the thin metal railings, all reflected in my despairing retinas drowning with sorrowful regret. Outside, more and more raptures of varying shades splattered against the heavy cerulean horizon, colours bursting into the room with fearsome beams of light, unfettered by distance. Though my shadow danced wildly in every direction, my body stood rigid, a statue-like contraction of muscles that made me fear I had just fallen into the arms of death once more.
But that wasn't the case.
This time, I had slipped past its dreary arms, instead watching it clasp another within its gelid embrace.
Bursts resounded unimpeded by the tragedies contained in this small room, cut off from the world, yet affected by its sounds and lights, unable to give anything in return. My heart beat more powerfully, louder, with greater intensity, but I wanted to scream through my lungs until that weighty beating was exorcised from my body. I wanted to cry out, 'how can you celebrate when such tragedies are happening right before your eyes?', but they were nevertheless blind, and I was silent. Tentative footsteps slowed to stillness behind me. Before me, past the blood soaked milky-white couches, the low oak table washed in crimson, and the sad little plant, drooping with lament at the actions that had occurred outside of its influence -- reflected in murky colours against the window that was ruthlessly blasted by violet, a figure silhouetted against the celebrations. Trapped between two ring-leaden fingers were a pair of glasses, holding their own refraction of light in tiny rectangular frames tainted with dark scarlet. I couldn't make out more than a vague sense of his clothing, and his face was imperceptible against the continuous cavort of light and shadow across his face and the room.
"You should not be here" was all he deigned to spill from tightened lips, a voice coarse but smooth, much like the man those glasses had once sat impeccably atop of. Somewhere in all this, a certainty, like an unconscious loyalty to a dogma, arose. I would never look at a pair of glasses the same way again.
Another flash of violet.
Time seemed to slow, sparks grew languid in mid-air, while a shadow began to contort from behind the cold, flat expression of the murderer before me.
You can kill this man, for he had committed the gravest sin of them all.
My own thoughts tumbled that sentiment back onto themselves, but it felt alien, like a font change or different tone of voice within my head.
But my heart could feel that sentiment pulling against its fleshy strings.
Soon, those fleshy strings caught up against my fingers, became tangible, and drew a glance from milky-white ovals narrowing within the shadowed silhouette.
"You can see something, can't you?"
More than anything, I wanted to dash upwards like an animal and pounce on his body, rip him to shreds for what he had done. However, more powerfully, I wanted to leave. I wanted my soul to drift out from my corporeal body, to miraculously regain the ability of movement - to do anything that would get me out of here, and fast. I was terrified of what was happening around me, of the girl whose presence stifling behind my back, of the man whose shadowed form effused it's malevolence into the atmosphere, suffocating me.
Striding towards me his features slipped in and out of darkness, fireworks spraying dancing colours erratically against the room, but I could make out a familiar nose, brow ridge, lip shape, nature seeping through his eyes, regal frigidity oozing from his expressions; this was one of the men that had sealed my fate.
"You would do well to join us rather than run from us. Inside that head of yours I can see what we represent circling like an ouroboros of anxiety and distaste."
For his parting words, faded heliotrope lips pressed imposingly forward into my eyes, before he lowered his gaze with snapping swiftness, his movements mimicking a bird's, letting what could be cryptic elucidations or simply nonsense seep into my cheeks.
"But even the most distastefully presented meals can exude wonderful flavours when sliced open."
A muscle twitched beneath my cheeks, but that was all the quite resistance I could present.
No.
It's not.
Refusing to look away from my blazing black shadow ensnared within my reflection on the glass, I peered with all the energy I could muster, all that hatred that was sprouting across my insides like vines, into those heliotrope holes that gazed across my face arrogance.
I could feel my organs thumping against my bones.
"Gyahahahaha!"
That horrid gurgle of a laugh had come from me, or rather, the shadow that had seeped into me, effused into my being. I was overwhelmed with a sense of discomfort, like I had let something crawl into my skin, displace my muscles and nestle smugly into my soul. That's probably exactly what I had done.
I mean, when a flame of shadows spits its black embers within my eyes, and I let it under my eyelids freely, I don't know what else to call it.
What was even occurring at this point was far beyond my understanding, and well detached from any of my scruples.
I couldn't care less anymore, just let me do something for the sake of polite-glasses.
Let me avenge him, honour him, save him.
Whose to say that I can't resuscitate him like I did myself, miraculously pull on the cord of his heart, whir it back into action.
"Gyuh!?"
"Don't!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Resounding across the sparkling refractions suffusing the room with oscillating light and shadow, two separate yells pierced my ears that I had only now realised were numb and muffled.
First, the murderer's yell in agony at having his speech interrupted, his regal gait reduced to an animalistic lurch backwards, his impeccable skin sliced at the cheek, a shimmering trickle of scarlet flowing like a tear against his lips.
Second, or well, before his perfect skin was blemished, so I suppose first after all, my boss burst through the glass, rupturing it like the fireworks outside, sending shards flying like the multi-coloured embers outside. A Navajo white sweater became splattered with tails of crimson. Her ankles, up through her lengthy calves and all the way to the thighs that hid a tensed girth of muscle, affording her the maneuverability to make that leap through the air, were hugged by onyx-black Viscose.
Most prominently, her virescent eyes were emboldened by almond-splattered flames that surged against the man hunched over before me.
Though reverberating slightly from the impact, her steps were nonetheless powerful in her stride as she approached that man, who had immediately raised himself as high as his height would allow him.
Unfortunately, his turquoise ovals that clenched tightly with scorn could only stare forwards at my boss' collarbones. protruding from her soft, snowy pullover.
There was an intense satisfaction coursing through me at seeing this decadently arrogant man pale in comparison to the woman that had saved me, and, much like my mother had brought me kicking and screaming into the world, had taken my by the icy hand into this new world of bizarre fates.
It was a wonderful enough display that I almost failed to notice the willowy fingers slipping across my own collar, rather, I really had failed to notice, only comprehending my fettered state when I pushed up against her, trying to step forward out from the gloom.
"Where do you think you're going?" came in rasps against my neck.
"He's going with us, that's where!" spit out from my left, before the grip against my loosened, and while her fingers, splayed with shock, fell against my body, trying to drag me down with her, a wave of scarlet splashed against my shoulders.
Wearily, I stared down towards my feet.
A pool of blood was beginning to reflect my shaking legs, the bursts of mulberry and violet continuing unabated around me.
I looked to my right, where the girl's contorted, motionless body lay spewing crimson.
Everybody around me was dying.
My feet were walking forward, perpetually brushing against the faded severed appendages of strangers, the dull, pallid skin of friends, and the solemn despair that gazed up against my skin from the bodies of enemies.