He should have turned around when Saren unholstered his gun, should have read that strange note in his tones. He should have checked his goddamn mail immediately instead of letting himself be distracted, should have known what the headaches and hallucinations had meant.

Should have. Should have.

He keeps thinking he's planned for everything by now but it's always the little things that slip past and ensnare him. A galaxy was burning some universes away because of his failure to put together answers that'd been right in front of him- and he'd dared to think that he had any right to try and keep anyone here safe.

The shriek of steel being shredded above him makes Nihlus tense reflexively, but he doesn't move beyond that. There's a heavier weight holding him down now, heavier than rusted metal and ductwork, a lead-weighted collar that chokes down every answer he tries to give.

What can he say? What won't sound like lies or excuses? None of the answers meant anything when he couldn't differentiate between himself and the person who'd cut Rinzler's legs off. Those hands had been his. Those thoughts had been his. There's a horrible ringing that was still resonating through his skull, through his spine, sharp and clear through every nerve, so bright it burned.

It'd just been mere hours ago from Nihlus's perspective.

The only difference now was the cold, vast emptiness where the Voice had been, the edges of it spreading out, growing, filling up with self loathing until he feels like he's about to crack. All he is now is the remnants still somehow existing in the After.

"I should have seen it coming," he whispers.