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Demise…More so commonly known as death.
Cube was scared of alot of things, but death just felt different. Death, as in dying forever. The thought shook him to his core. Cube had seen nearly everyone die around him, some being revived, some not. Honestly, he was scared of that. What if he never got revived and was stuck in the afterlife? Everyone else didn’t even stop to think about death, except for someone they loved had died. Cube was paranoid, really. Cube had thought about every outcome, knowing he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it—because—well, that’s just fate. You weren’t supposed to mess with destiny.
Cube was sick of all the people who had actual enjoyment killing people. Some innocent, some not. Either way, it was wrong, according to Cube. Sure, you could hurt them badly, but never kill them. He was sick of all the death around him. Although, it was what you had to do to survive—And surviving is crucial. (To some) Cube didn’t wanna die to some power-hungry maniac incapable of recognizing what’s actually important. He didn’t wanna.
All this stuff made him sick, it made him scared, unnerved, and angry.
This endless cycle of killing, and reviving, all over again. Why? Why couldn’t people just be happy?
Cube didn’t understand.