The Shadow Self

Dolion stared into the pendant, reliving the moments in his head over and over again.

It was all he'd been doing the entire damn trip.

The goodbyes. The promises of his return. The kisses and hugs exchanged at the site.

And his wife, married only two months ago, left behind as her new husband was sent off to the battlefield.

To add to the pile of dead.

Dolion sighed, gripping the locket even tighter.

Things had been tough before he had taken his leave. A lot of struggle, adjusting to his new life as a husband.

He hadn't expected things to be quite so difficult.

His wife was quite frail.

He recalled her appearance when he saw her last.

A blood red, flowing dress with long sleeves that he had bought her. The new, small scars at the left corner of her mouth. Her dark blonde hair hanging loose, the wind running its invisible fingers through her hair. Her steely, icy blue eyes staring blankly at him as she clutched at her sleeves, pulling them tightly over her arms to hide what lay underneath…

"Oi."

He felt someone elbow him out of his trance. He started, glancing to his left. Marcel grinned, the myriad of scars on his face pulling taut.

"You're missing the briefing, newbie. Bloody terrifying stuff going on on the ground."

"What's happening?" He regretted the question immediately after it left his lips.

"Maybe," started the first company captain curtly, "you would know that if you were focused on the mission at hand."

"My apologies sir," Dolion murmured. "I was just…thinking."

The captain's eyes softened. "I understand. We all do. You're not the only one in this, soldier. Remember that your comrades are always around you. Both on and off the battlefield."

The concept of having comradery with people he had just met sounded utterly ridiculous to Dolion, but he decided to keep that opinion to himself.

Contact with N-234 has been made, the mechanical voice of the cruiser affirmed. Dolion felt his blood run cold. He was suddenly very, very afraid. He wasn't a soldier. Not really. Just a volunteer officer. This was his first real battlefield. Not mere shootouts with local rebels and troublemakers.

Actual warfare.

He was one of the few unlucky volunteers nearest the source of the distress call. He cursed whatever god was watching them and struggled to take a breath as the ship descended, the blast doors hissed as they began to recede.

"Move!" The captain yelled, racing forward alongside his men.

It was pure chaos.

Dead bodies littered every street of the capital of the planet N-234. The screens installed in their visors showed charred bodies, bodies stuck on spikes, and even more horrific ritual arrangements of the inhabitants that spoke of gross inhumanity. Of disregard of life in its entirety.

As the soldiers moved through the necropolis, Dolion began to think about his wife again. Dammit, he thought. Not now. He had to focus.

But he couldn't stop dredging up memories of her. Memories of the way she smiled at him widely on early Sunday mornings as she prepared lunch. Memories of the way they held each other as they slowly danced in the living room.

Of the now dry blood on the locket.

He shook his head, forcing himself to forget. Forcing himself to focus. Whether he liked it or not, this squad needed everyone. Including him.

They darted and shifted around mountains of corpses, each one more horrifically scarred than the last. He tried to convince himself that it was particularly twisted humans that did this. Not monsters. Those existed only in stories.

He came across a body, torn messily in half, her torso partially eaten. Dolion retched.

Humans, he scoffed. Humans couldn't possibly do this. So what did?

He got his answer quite soon.

A horrific screech raked the air, piercing the very souls of all the soldiers. It was followed by a howl. A soldier came careening around the corner of a building, blood drenching his entire abdomen.

Even as his eyes widened in hope at the sight of rescue, he died. A massive claw tore into him from behind, lightening fast and precise.

The owner of the claw was the stuff of nightmares.

It towered over everyone, a good eighteen feet tall. How they had not seen it race out from the gathering of buildings was beyond Dolion. Its speed was unnatural.

Gunfire blazed through the air but the creature did not even bear a scratch. It was a dead, grey colour, like a corpse. One pair of its upper limbs ended in claws shaped like scissors, with the two others possessing more humanoid hands. It raised the chitinous claws, swiping low and taking the torso clean of another soldier's body.

The first soldiers began to run.

Dolion joined them.

Something was wrong.

Something was very wrong with the way that thing looked at them, with ancient, primal intelligence no creature should possess, much less a creature like that.

The headache came, so suddenly and with such force that he felt like his head would split in two.

More. More memories of home. Of his wife. He gulped. Fear had him in its vice grip, chilling him down to his bones.

He kept moving, significantly more sluggish than before.

WHY RUN?

He stopped. What was-

WHY RUN FROM YOURSELF?

He turned apprehensively, looking behind him. The creature stood a few feet away.

Staring.

Just staring in mocking silence.

The booming voice in his head was the creature's.

Another sharp pain. He saw it again, the memory of him and his wife waltzing through the kitchen. The blood on the locket after…

AFTER WHAT, CHILD?

He sensed pity there. Pity that masked the utmost glee the creature was apparently experiencing.

He finally spoke.

"I-I did nothing."

OF COURSE YOU DIDN'T, it sneered.

He tightened his eyes, gulping.

"She was sick," he whispered. "Weaker than most. I didn't mean to-"

AND YET, the voice echoed in his mind, YOU DID. I UNDERSTAND, CHILD. MY KIN AND I, WE UNDERSTAND WHAT IT FEELS LIKE. TO BOTTLE UP DESIRES. TO HIDE YOURSELF, YOUR TRUE SELF, FROM EVERYONE. DO NOT BEAFRAID. DO NOT MAKE EXCUSES. REMEMBER.

Dolion remembered. He remembered how they had argued that day. How she always knew when and how to push his buttons. How he had hit her in retaliation, locket wrapped around his knuckles.

How he had begged, apologised for days on end. How he had lost his temper yet again. A cycle. An endless cycle of wrath and distrust.

YOU DID WELL, CHILD.

His eyes snap open. Dolion was surrounded by a wall of shadows. Abyssal horrors that belied all imagination, warped creatures born of the darkest thoughts of existence, surfaced and receded back into the darkness. A cacophony of voices dug into his mind now.

NOW YOU KNOW WHO YOU REALLY ARE.

Dolion squeezed his eyes shut, wrapping his arms around his head.

ACCEPT YOUR TRUTH.

"No," Dolion moaned, "I didn't mean-"

YOU KNOW WHAT YOU ARE!

The psychic screech pierced his very soul. Dolion recoiled sobbing.

YOU ENJOYED IT. EVERY SHOVE, EVERY SLAP, EVERY KICK.

Dolion tried to hold on. He tried to remember the good times. The day they got married. He had felt so-

NONE OF THAT MATTERS. DO YOU THINK SHE CARES? THAT SHE LOVES THE MONSTER THAT HAUNTED THAT HOUSE? THAT SHE LOVES YOU?

He shook his head. He had tried. Tried not to entertain such thoughts. Tried to believe that his wife believed in him. In them. That there was still hope.

HOPE, the shadows scoffed, HAS DONE NOTHING BUT LET YOU DOWN. YOU'VE DONE NOTHING BUT LET YOURSELF DOWN. EVERY DAMN TIME.

"No," Dolion stammered. "It's not over-"

The shadows cackled in unison, taking on the silhouette of him, his wife, their family...everyone. He felt each laugh like a blow to the chest.

YOU REFUSE TO EVEN USE HER NAME. YOU HAVE ALREADY GIVEN UP, WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT. SHE IS A GHOST IN YOUR MEMORY AND IN YOUR HEART.

Dolion bellowed. He pulled his pistol, opening fire into the turbulent darkness. It was a fruitless endeavour.

He collapsed to his knees as the shadows pressed closer, constricting him.

EMPTY…NOTHING AWAITS YOU…THEY'RE ALL GONE…ACCEPT WHAT YOU ARE…

"...Dolion. Dolion? You there mate?"

Dolion squinted, coming to. Marcel was standing over him, his brow creased in concern. Dolion tried to sit up straight.

He had passed out in a street of the dead world.

Hot pain lanced through his body, causing him to retch.

Marcel helped him up.

"My God," he exclaimed, "you're shivering."

"I'm all right." He tried for a smile.

Marcel didn't look convinced but it held him off for the time being.

They made their way back towards the ship.

"Command has issued full withdrawal of all troops on all the bases. Whatever the hell this was, it wasn't normal."

"You can say that again. And I'm just a bloody volunteer."

Marcel laughed.

"Count yourself as one of the lucky ones. You've still got all your limbs intact."

Indeed.

Dolion froze.

"Did you hear that?"

Marcel looked around, puzzled.

"Apart from soldiers heading back?"

Dolion shook his head wearily, dazed and confused.

"Nevermind."

They made their way to the carrier. The men welcomed each other back, glad to go home. Dolion paused as they approached the vessel.

"Actually, I need to catch my breath mate. Go on ahead."

He patted Marcel on the back, trying to diffuse the growing suspicion in his gaze. With a sigh, he complied and headed for the craft. Dolion looked down at the ground, his blood pounding.

He remembered. Thanks to that damn creature, he remembered what awaited him back home. An empty house, & even worse, a tombstone with his wife's name on it.

All because of him.

He did not even remember drawing the pistol, raising it to his head. All he could think of was his wife waiting for him on the other side as tears spilled down his cheeks and he pulled the trigger.