He knows himself well enough to know the ultimate futility of his words, but they are cathartic nonetheless. Therapy, in any other name, perhaps. He would chuckle if he had the time for it.
"And why haven't you, oh great lord of all?" The more this tin man spews bile and venom and hate, the more he looks down upon him, fiercer does his fire burn. Metal hammering into something old, yet something new. The strength of character, painfully absent from him for what seemed like an eternity.
He could always rely on himself to get the job done.
He mirrors the other's posture, arms going behind his back, as he steps away from the monarch, starting to walk around the throne room like it was his own. "Years, and years, and decades of the same old song and dance. Complacent. Have you conquered the world, my lord, have you finally bent them under your iron heel?" He does not wait for an answer, for he knew it already. "Failure, at every turn."
So much time wasted, a tantruming child behind his armor, trying to bend the arc of the world to his will just so he could be loved. Bah. A new path was needed.
"The iron and the fire. Sensations numbed like a dullard. Fattened up by my very own myth. A decaying despot in his throne." He stands on one of the many great windows of the chamber, a hand raised as he looks upon his home. An echo of it, at the very least.
Fingers glow with a dull green, small black spots dancing at the fingertips before he closes his fist shut. "When it was these hands that clawed and bled for everything I gained. Flesh and blood that climbed into the heavens and stole the fire from the gods' homes.
Heroism-- Hah! As if that wasn't as foolish a route as the one he had taken before. Should he sit around the campfire, sing kumbaya? Hope that friendship was the true magic all along and they could hug the world better?
"Was it the armor that walked in the woods of shadows and nightmares? Was it the myth of Doom that defied the Beyonder? Nay-- It was the will of Doom, the man himself. Not this addled automaton who coasts on his reputation and unrealized visions of the future."
At last he turns his head to look upon him, gaze filled with disgust, lips upturned in a sneer. A purposefully overly dramatic display, to one whose guise was forever frozen.
"You are right once again, my friend, I will not be you-- For you have been nothing but a disappointment to me."