影が落ちる

Shadowfall

"Cynical or not, it is the truth!" Harrow spat back, "Only the strongest, most 'dangerous' ones –the ones who control the retribution they parcel out– command any respect in this filthy world of yours, and are able to freely do what they must do. I became dangerous, learned of your ways, so I would not be impeded when it came time to act..."

Harrow listened to Cooney's words, played along with his little speech only to bide for time, to focus, to gather his strength. He cared nothing for what the lying raccoon had to say, for what he falsely claimed to offer him. Just a few more moments, and the spirit inside Harrow will have gathered enough ambient power in this place to end it all, and be rid of these troublesome enemies.

"Garmir beat you, you were going to die, so I guess that means you just aren't 'dangerous' enough to handle the life you've chosen as 'Harrow'..." Rick reached out again, and put a hand on the troubled Cerinian's shoulder, "It's time to choose a different life, Haran, and put all this to rest. Come with me–"

Now!

Harrow ripped the raccoon's hand off his shoulder, and stared directly into Rick's startled eyes, as he growled, "You... will not bar me from my Destiny!"

There was such power coursing through the Cerinian now, the spirit inside him having engorged itself to its fullest extent it could. Finishing this would be such a simple matter now. Gleefully, harrow entered Cooney's mind, and immediately took control of his limbs, locking the raccoon in a helpless state of paralysis–

He couldn't move either?!

Another presence had entered Harrow's own mind, locking his own limbs in place, just as he had done to Rick. Who? How?... then he felt it. Of all places, the intervening presence came from within Rick himself. He'd used the link Harrow made as the means to enter the Cerinian's mind, where he gained some control... but how?

It was no matter. Harrow had more than enough power, and more than enough skill to overpower this intrusion. He still had full access to Cooney's mind, and just the means to break his focus...

Harrow found it simple enough to go to the bottom of Rick's mind, where the involuntary, reactionary reflexes of the body were set. It was a lot like executing a computer program in the machines, actually. He just had to trigger a few of the more... uncomfortable sensations, and Cooney's focus would crumble like a poorly built wall.

Just a few prods to the reflexes, and there it went. The Cerinian felt the brunt of some of the meddling, but he could contain it, smother it with the spirit's power. Rick on the other hand, did not have that luxury, and his grip on Harrow's mind began to slip. The fool was finished!

"You think... you can stop me?!" Harrow growled as he regained control of his speech, "You are nothing!"

The power was coming back to him now; power enough to break this weak, troublesome, insidious meddler! Harrow would send this filth into complete oblivion, where he could rot with his twisted schemes! The work was only beginning, and–

There was a pain.

He felt someone stab him in the back, and twist the blade, causing another agonized pang from the wound. The blade was removed, and he felt his blood burst from the wound: it was fatal, a major artery had been severed, and there was no means to patch it up, not here... No! He couldn't die like this! There was still much to do!

\

/

A very short time earlier:

Scott Aberdeen watched as James and that other wolf turned away, and walked off to where Cerberus had just crashed. She was a good vessel: a bit outdated, a bit tweaked, but she'd reached the end of it now, after crashing through into this crazy place. After all its time, the tough old ship had finally taken more than she could handle...

The dark terrier gave a small, ironic chuckle. He found himself relating to the old ship: two tough old fighters, finally gone too far, and done something incredibly reckless and stupid.

He looked down to Chakori again, at her still, lifeless form. Her eyes were no longer lit with that ghostly blue light. She was dead now, but she was herself, and she was at peace. It wasn't right, it wasn't right at all. She used to be so full of life, so full of vigor, and an unyielding determination. It just wasn't like her at all to be so still, so peaceful. Of course, it wasn't like her to be dead either...

Chakori had always joked that she'd go down fighting. Though in truth, Scott figured the leopardess was tough and cunning enough to outlast any and all enemies, and She'd end up living a long and eventually happy life. Maybe he just wished Chakori could've lived that long.

Scott knew there was no other option at the time to save Jame's life: the boy was going to die, or maybe suffer a worse fate. Still, he couldn't stop himself wishing there might have been another way to solve it, to save her as well. There should have been another way! It may have been childish to think 'it's not fair', but Chakori deserved so much better than to end up like this, and she especially deserved better than this from Scott.

Slowly, Scott bent down on one knee over Chakori's body, and held her hand in his own. She was still warm, or maybe the terrier's hand had just become that cold.

Scott closed his eyes, and in uttered a painful whisper, "I'm sorry."

He found his blaster, and drew its muzzle up under his chin...

\

/

What James saw, in a word, was odd.

It was Rick and Harrow, standing opposite one another, very still. From this distance, maybe he was just seeing things, but he swore he could've seen lights flashing in both of their eyes. This was a problem. James didn't have a clue what was going on between the Cerinian and Richard Cooney in this moment. Luckily, he was with someone who had prior experience with Harrow.

The fox turned to Wiley next to him, asking, "Do you–"

He was already gone by then. The white wolf had bolted ahead of James, at full sprint, toward Rick and Harrow.

Instantly, the fox brought his rifle up, anticipating a reaction from Harrow. He had the Cerinian in his sights, but nothing happened. They just stood exactly as they had when James and the wolf had found them.

As the wolf closed in on them, he drew a knife, and shouted at the top of his lungs, "You sick son of a Bitch!"

He grabbed Harrow by the shoulder, and drove the knife into the center of his lower back. The Cerinian flinched, and his knees went limp. Strangely, Rick dropped down to his knees at the exact same time, apparently reacting to nothing at all.

Snarling in the throes of rage, Wiley twisted and his knife in Harrow's back, forcing the Cerinian into a startled convulsion, while blood leaked out his back and reddened the wolf's hand. He pulled out his blood-smeared blade, and Harrow lost his balance as his strength was spent. The dying Cerinian slumped to his knees, looking straight up. The wolf raised a foot to kick Harrow down on his face, but–

* Boom! *

There was a flash of light, and Wiley was blown back off his feet by some kind of shock wave, which James felt as a sudden blast of wind, centered on Harrow. The wolf landed on his back with a heavy thump just ahead of James, his eyes wide with surprise.

In all that happened, Harrow hadn't gone down, not in the least. He was facing the fox and wolf now, floating a few feet off the ground, his seething body engulfed in what could only be described as a kind of blue fire, but it didn't seem to harm him. The Cerinian's eyes shined incredibly bright now, like a pair of floodlights in his head, nearly blinding James with the dazzling light. The rest of his face was contorted in an unnatural visage of rage and pain, a demented toothy snarl, like a hungry beast that had cornered its prey.

Then Harrow –if what was in front of James was still Harrow– let out a scream like no scream he'd ever heard before. The noise that sprang from the Cerinian's throat sounded more like a thousand different voices, all crying out in horrible pain, like they've been tortured near to death, begging to live on for a few more moments, or begging for death to end it. James felt a terrifying fear well up inside as he heard this, as well as pain, and agony. This was more than a mere sound, or an instinctual reaction to it. Something in the fox's mind actually generated those ghastly feelings and sensations from absolutely nothing.

He'd felt fear before, felt the terror of facing death. It could cripple you, erase all other thoughts at the moment, override whatever you had intended to do. However, fear alone wouldn't stop James McCloud, he knew how to deal with this, he'd been trained for this. The fox set his feelings aside, put the fear to rest, and focused on what was in front of him. It was easier said than done though, when what was in front of James was something out of a nightmare: a floating, writing, blazing, supernatural phenomena he knew nothing about–

He felt a sudden spike of pain in his head, right behind his eyes, and his vision blurred and went hazy with it. The pain needed to stop. The pain had to end. He couldn't do anything while the pain was there. There was a sudden urge for James to pluck out his own eyes, dig them out, if only to get at where the pain was, to make it end–

NO!

His heart was racing, drumming against the inside of his chest, while his breath came in with trembling gasps. It wasn't real. Whatever was happening to him wasn't actually happening, unless... maybe it was?

NO!

He couldn't give up. He needed to trust the instincts. They'd know what to do.

All James could see was a blurry sight of a bright light, and a floating silhouette in the middle of it. All he could hear were the thousands of voices all screaming out in agony. All he could feel was the pain, like his head was splitting open from the inside. All he could think about was the confusion, the uncertainty of all that was going on around him.

All he did though, was bring up the assault rifle in his hands, and fire a stream of blazing blaster shots at the blurred, writhing figure floating in front of him. The blue fire that engulfed Harrow was now pecked away at by the bright red lances streaking into him. The scream of the rifle's discharges raged against the screams of the ghastly voices, and James even felt his own voice join the furious choir, bellowing back in a stubborn fury.

The light grew brighter in Jame's vision, brighter until there was nothing but whiteness in all of his vision. The thousand wailing voices became a single, ear-splitting screeching tone in his ears.

Then it ended.

The fox's hoarse, roaring voice finally went silent when his breath ran out, and he was forced to gasp down another breath through his cracked throat. The assault rifle in his hands had stopped firing, either because it ran out of ammunition, or some other malfunction. He'd have to check it later...

The screams had fallen silent now, leaving only a persistent ringing in his ears, and the pain in his head had subsided too. Instead of a spike being driven in his skull, there was just a dull, worn out, throbbing ache. Surprisingly, James found he was still standing up, and the white nothing dominating his vision began to fade away, and the true scene –he hoped– presented itself.

There were a few bodies spread out in front of the fox. The furthest was someone in power armor, with the chest-plate blown open. Another had been shot in the back of his head, laid face-down. He looked like a mercenary. The last, and closest, used to be Harrow.

James McCloud came next to the Cerinian's body, and knelt down, getting a better look at it. The corpse was badly burned all over, smoking, and smelling of sickly scorched flesh. Some the burns were from blasterfire, but a lot of it wasn't. What little of his fur hadn't been singed off was falling out at the slightest touch, easily brushed away when James ran a hand over him–

He nearly jumped back when he saw Harrow's face, or rather, what was left of it. The eyes were gone, seared completely away, leaving just two empty, smoldering sockets in their place. There was a strange , thick, black fluid in those sockets, and also leaking out of his mouth and nose. He could've sworn he smelled something even more foul than burnt flesh there too.

James was... okay with dead bodies, but something about this one just made him feel sick inside. In any case, Harrow was most definitely dead, and there were others here who may not be...

Wiley was nearby, hunched low over the ground. He seemed alright, but he was... disturbed, by something. When James came in closer, he saw the pale wolf was holding Rick in his arms, and Rick wasn't moving.

"No..." Wiley uttered in a desperate tone, "Don't you dare do this to me you crazy prick!"

"What's wrong?" the fox asked, suddenly very worried, "Is he–"

"No, he's not dead," Wiley cut him off, shaking his head, "but he's not much better off."

"What do you mean? What happened?" from what James could see, the raccoon was unconscious

"It was the link. That goddamn bluefur was getting into Rick's head." "I think Harrow was trying to destroy his mind, make him an empty shell like the others."

James could believe it, seeing Rick like this. He half expected the raccoon to reawaken, as Scott had earlier, with two little pinpoints of light in his eyes as he looked back with that defeated, emotionless vacant stare. Right now though, Rick simply looked as though he were asleep, but his breaths were so slow and he moved so little, it almost looked like he wasn't alive at all.

"But... we stopped it, right?" James asked, looking up at Wiley.

The wolf fidgeted for a time, searching for an answer, but found none. In the end, he could only sigh, and give McCloud a helpless, unknowing look as he shrugged–

* Crack! *

Both James and Wiley stopped, and turned toward the noise.

The sound came from above, something between cracking stone and a crack of thunder. Then James began to realize something: it had gotten darker in here, much darker. The dark patch in the ceiling where Cerberus had broken through had expanded, a lot, grown to encompass at least half of the space, maybe more. The flat ambient white light that had once given this entire area its eerie dream-like quality was fading fast...

That first crack overhead was quickly joined by a dozen smaller ones, and still many more. The vibrations generated in the ground from these cracks almost became full-blown quakes. Soon, the entire space was filled with a nothing but a deafening, echoing cacophony, ranging from deep bellowing grumbles and thuds, to high snapping clacks.

He had to act.

Instinct demanded that James McCloud evacuate the area, and bring as many as he could with him, but there wasn't a way to do that. He had no idea how to get out of this... 'nightmare realm' where these bizarre events had taken place, where they continued to take place around him. Maybe the way that Cerberus had entered... but that would need a ship, and there was no ship–

The fox's headset comm crackled with static, warbling. It was getting a signal? All signals had cut out ever since they'd passed through the portal thing. Even before that, the underground passage blocked most signal already. James adjusted the comm, working to get a stronger signal, hopefully before the entire area collapsed around them...

His ears then pricked, hearing another sound rising in the distance amidst the crumbling stones. It was higher pitched, and a steady tone: an engine whine. As it grew louder, James soon recognized the twin Space Dynamics Shooting-Star plasma thrusters. The Mercutio? Here?!

The static in Jame's comm cleared away almost entirely now, and a desperate voice called out in his ear, "Jim?..." it was Rachelle, "Jim, can you hear me?"

"Yeah." the fox answered, searching for the telltale plasma thruster streak where the Mercutio would be, "I can hear you fine now."

He thought he saw a streak weaving its way through

"Hold on... there! Got a lock on your signal location." Rachelle confirmed, relief easing up her voice, "You just sit tight Jim, we're gonna get you out."

"We've got wounded here: Rick." James informed, checking the raccoon's vitals again, "He's in... pretty bad shape."

\

/

It was black, and dark, and little else: pretty much how Richard Cooney figured death would be like anyway. He didn't figure he'd be self-aware though, which he was, oddly enough. He felt reasonably comfortable at the moment, the air didn't have any real determinable quality to it, it just was. At least he could breathe, or something like it.

The raccoon took a few steps, finding the ground beneath him was solid, even if he couldn't really see it–

Then Rick saw an image of himself appear, laying on the ground. It looked exactly like him, only this 'Rick' wasn't moving, wasn't breathing...

In a flash of panic, he looked down, and saw his own hands and feet, attached to his own body. They were moving just fine, and he could feel them, and he could move about on his own.

Right. So, there were two Ricks: one dead, one not. Nevertheless, this didn't make him any less uncomfortable with the situation.

"You are very fortunate, Cooney." a voice said.

He knew this voice: Cassandra, the Cerinian contact from earlier. Rick looked to the direction the voice came from, and did indeed find Cassandra. She seemed to simply fade in through the blackness, as she stepped forward to join the standing Rick.

"What do you mean?" he asked, looking back and forth between the Cerinian woman, and the image of his dead self.

"You experienced death." Cassandra answered, motioning toward the dead Rick in front of them.

He remembered now, "I was... stabbed, in the back. So that makes me fortunate why?" the raccoon quipped back.

Cassandra gave a small chuckle and smirk, "Because you aren't quite dead." she said, giving the alive Rick an obvious look.

The raccoon suddenly realized, "This is Ju'shi, isn't it; living death?"

"In a sense, but it is far more dangerous." the elder Cerinian began with a grim nod, stepping toward the dead image of Rick, "Haran did not simply link your mind with another. The link he made with you went far deeper, nearly overwhelming and destroying your mind completely. His thoughts and feelings were yours, your thoughts and feelings were his..."

Cassandra knelt down next to the body, keeping her somber demeanor, like she were paying respects at a funeral.

"When Haran's body died, you experienced his death firsthand, as if it were your own. With how fundamentally fused your minds were at the time, both minds occupying each body, the shock of Haran's death in his mind, and in yours, triggered a sympathetic reaction in your body. You believed so thoroughly that you were dying, that you really did die..." She stood up, and looked squarely at Rick.

"So, if I'm 'not quite dead'..." the raccoon furrowed his brow as he crouched down, and looked very closely over his dead body. It really was him, right down to the tiniest details only he'd now about. Even the weathering and wear on the clothes were exactly as he remembered, exactly the same as the clothes he wore now, right down to the worn-out heel in one of his shoes. Then another flash of realization struck him, and he stood back up quickly, "I think I see where this is going."

"Your mind is split into two separate identities, two consciousnesses." the older Cerinian motioned toward both the dead Rick, and the live Rick, "Or rather, it was split. It was only one half of your mind that was joined with Haran, that felt the full brunt of his death, and so that half died with him."

"Wait, so... Which part am I, exactly?" the raccoon asked, sticking his hand on his chest, "Am I Rick, or am I the shadow?"

"It doesn't matter." Cassandra insisted, shaking her head, "Your 'shadow' was simply an opposing aspect of yourself: a counterpoint whenever you had doubts, another perspective when you needed one, a 'devil's advocate' to test your ideas. Usually both of these minds would work in harmony with one another, and you wouldn't know the difference. It was normally during times of internal conflict that your shadow would manifest, that you would see him, and he would speak to you."

"Right, right, I knew that." Rick nodded, and looked toward his dead 'shadow' again. He remembered the countless times he'd seen this apparition, this mocking döppleganger. He was such a nuisance during those stressful times. Still, the smug bastard became a pretty routine nuisance, and Rick began to think he might miss seeing him butt-in every now and then...

"So, what'll happen now?" he asked, "Is this part of me gone forever?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen something like this myself, and all the stories I've heard end differently." the Cerinian confessed, "What I do know is that there are many who care about you, who are all very worried about you..."

Cassandra motioned toward an empty area of the blackness, and several more figures stepped out of the dark, walking toward Rick without saying a word. There was Rachelle, Jim too, Scott, and... Wiley? What was that crazy wolf doing there?

"Come." the older Cerinian pointed another way, and smiled. A point of light was there, off in the distance, "It is time for you to live."

Compared to all the black and dark here, the light looked... inviting. He could've sworn it even felt warmer looking at it. Almost without thinking, Rick began to walk toward the light, which got brighter and brighter with each step he took.

Rick stopped for just a moment, and looked back over his shoulder. Cassandra was gone now, and the others too. The dead Rick was still there though, still dead, still not moving–

There was a brief flash. Maybe it was nothing, but Rick could've sworn he saw his dead self flicker for a moment, like a video feed caught between two channels. Nevertheless, it didn't do anything else. It just laid there, dead, as it always had. Strange.

The raccoon turned away from that, and went toward the light again. In only a few moments, the light completely replaced the dark. All Rick could see was a bright, blinding whiteness...

No, that wasn't it.

The light was coming from a source, right in front of him, or above him. He couldn't see much, but Rick could definitely hear a few things, people talking...

"He's waking up." someone nearby said. He didn't recognize the voice.

The raccoon's vision finally started getting into focus now. Someone in a sterile white outfit was standing closest to him, but he soon stepped away. Carefully, still feeling his head spin from the... bizarre experience he just had, Rick propped himself up and took a quick survey of the surroundings. There was a lot of equipment, very clean equipment too, and a handful of figures standing around him–

One of them jumped on Rick, knocking almost all the air out of his lungs in the process. Then this person clutched him around the chest, pinning his arms in place. This vice-grip embrace was a lot tighter, and a lot closer than what he was comfortable with.

"You crazy bastard!" it was the wolf, Wiley. Of all the people who might jump on Cooney with an embrace like this, it was him? "What the hell were you thinking?!"

"Wiley..." the raccoon managed to squeak out.

"Was all that insane crap part of your so-called 'plan'?!"

"Wiley..." barely a suffocated whisper now.

"What?" Yes! Finally got his attention!

"I... can't breathe." Rick could feel himself going lightheaded, and this really wasn't a good time to black out.

An awkward second or two passed then, before the white wolf quickly released Rick and stepped back, allowing him to finally gasp for the oxygen he so desperately needed. At least his ribs were okay, and he could finally get a decent look around. He was in the Medical bay of the Shwartzwind privateer crusier. He helped bring Wiley here shortly after they'd first met, when he was half frozen and beaten to a bloody pulp.

Wiley was nearby, looking awfully flustered by his sudden burst of asphyxiating affection. He kept turning his head away, avoiding eye-contact with Rick. Jim was there next to him, looking even more confused than he did earlier, with his brow askew and jaw half-open. It was like he wanted to say something, but couldn't quite find the words. Rachelle on the other hand just smiled and shook her head, like she had all the answers figured out. Scott was also present, but it didn't seem he was all there. The terrier just stood, silent and still as a post, grim as a graveyard. On seeing Rick awake though, he did give the raccoon the smallest hint of a smile, which could be a good sign...

"Welcome back." he heard Cassandra say.

The Cerinian woman was standing right next to Rick. She had a look of quietly happy relief, but there was a small twinge of regret as well.

"It was... one hell of a trip."

Okay. Glad I finally got through that. Whew!

I've had the ideas for this part of the story arc in my head for so long, it's actually quite relieving to be able to get them out in the open. I also apologize for the possibly "rushed" seeming ending. I did try to draw out the end of the chapter, give it a more complete conclusion, but it didn't quite feel right. It felt like the kind of things I would've put in the next chapter or two, where I've still got a few loose ends to tie off, and a few hooks for the next arc to place.

In any case, thank you for reading, and for sticking with this story as long as it's gone. As always, your feedback is most welcome.

No, seriously, anything you say is welcome. I can't tell if what I'm writing is crap, or if it's awesome, not unless you fellas say so. If it's awesome, and you say so (even if it's just a little reply), then I know I can keep doing what I'm doing, and I don't have to constantly second-guess my material. If it's crap (or even just a little iffy in a spot or two), and you say so, then I can go back and reexamine those spots, and see what I can do about it.

You all help me make Legacy the story that it is. So by all means, leave your mark, make an impact.

Until next time,
chaos_Leader.