Long has it been since you stepped foot in Castle Grayskull (no relation). It feels like years since you left in search of the one thing that could save them from annihilation. But now, you return in the middle of war preparations, warriors preparing for battle and buildings shoring up defenses for a siege. You are welcomed back with open arms, lauded as a Hero who braved the labyrinth. You aid in the final preparations, the enemies of Grayskull (no relation) drawing ever nearer. Your resolve never wavers.

When the armies appear on your doorstep, the people of Grayskull (no relation) are ready. Every warrior fought valiantly, yourself included, tearing through hordes of viscious creatures of darkness. Nothing stands before your golden blade, its holy light cleaving the shadows in twain.

The darkness ever deepens. Despite it being early morning, the sun is blotted out by pure night, shadows spreading across the sky as your comrades flee in terror. You alone stand against the darkness. It speaks.

"I am the inevitable End.

I am the shadow that consumes all.
I am the darkness that ever deepens.
I am that which you seek to destroy. I am that which stops you in your way.
You think you may stand against the night?
The neverending night that consumes all, that grows ever deeper, that is inevitable?
You are no Hero.
I am no villain.
I am inevitable."

You stand firm.

"Then you too shall fall into darkness."

Shadows swarm towards you, foggy manifestations of the night, seeking to kill and destory. You raise your blade and cleave them from one another, sending them spinning and fading in the air. The End cries out in pain, surging forward to suffocate you in the darkness of pure night.

But no night is neverending, and no nightmare is eternal.

You raise your golden blade over your head and bring it down swiftly, slashing across the face of the darkness itself, a roar of terror and rage bellowing across the sky. Glowing cracks spread across the night, and the darkness shatters into a million shards of shadow, the sun returning and the sky freed.

The creatures of darkness turn and run, squealing and trampling each other to escape the blade of the Hero. Shards of shadow rain from above, clinking together and hitting the ground, disappearing into the grass of the countryside. A roar of celebration rises up from Grayskull (no relation) as the people celebrate their victory. A weight is lifted off your shoulders as the End is defeated, falling to your knees as the sound of freedom rings through the air. Nothing is inevitable, nothing is determined. Fate is made of clay, and is molded by everyone who chooses to live. You molded your own fate, and shaped your own path. Now here you stand, a Hero, a slayer, a savior of many. Your deeds will be remembered for many a century, told throughout these lands in praise of your quest and your victory.

Your journey appears to have ended here, no longer in the darkness, but surrounded by the joy and freedom of many. Fret not over the End; the End is dead. You did what had to be done. We are but dust and bone, animated for a short time, before returning to our inert state. Let us then enjoy this life, mold our fate, and revel in this gift we have been given called "life". Let us return to our own, hand-in-hand, and live forevermore under the light of hope.