Doppelgänger
Shapeshifters and nigh unstoppable, the Realm Walkers answer to their kings. And their kings answer to no one.
Unknown
Gareth seems to bend in the hazy hued light of the bar. Well—not him, really. His form. His shape.
Except instead of returning to the smug asshole white guy, what reforms isn’t even remotely humanoid. It’s like if one took the plague doctor mask I’d worn as the Dark One and plastered it onto a bug.
Though, in this case, the bug is buff and probably five inches taller than me. He has digitigrade legs that fit beneath a large torso and long arms that end in sharp claws. Talons, I guess.
Maybe more bird than bug. He doesn’t seem to have wings, but God, it’s horrific.
And nothing like the majestic beauty of whatever Cass can become.
I hope I survive this—I’d like to see her again.
“Gross,” I say, studying the thing that Gareth apparently is.
“Funny,” he says, though his voice lacks any of the haughtiness of before. Hell, it lacks any of the fear he’d shown in the Seer chamber. “We say the same thing about your kind.”
I don’t even see him move. He sort of phases like I would do, except he doesn’t need the shadow.
The force of his hit strikes me like a boulder, and I careen over the bar and into the rows of drinks along the wall.
Glass shatters and falls along my back and head.
Marla’s going to kill me if this thing doesn’t.
I get back to my feet and narrowly dodge something large thrown at my face.
“Where did you get a fucking rock?” I yell, ducking another projectile.
“My king wants you dead, but you’ve annoyed me. So, I intend on playing with my dinner first.”
I scoff at the cartoonish villainy. “You sound deranged, Gareth. And since when is Darkrend a king?”
Leaping the bar, I collide with his buggy body and we both tumble backwards. Before he can move, I assume the revenant form and plunge the bar into darkness.
“Neat trick,” he hisses, voice weird with the mask—or face, or whatever it is. “Is this how you killed Loki?”
Shadows strike at his chest, but he teleports again. And again.
“Stop moving,” I grit out, finally unleashing a torrent of the spirits in Gareth’s general direction.
Surprisingly, one hits him squarely in the strange torso and he collides into and through the far wall, falling onto his ass.
People scream and scramble out of the way, everyone’s eyes trained on the horror that, in the cavern lighting, is nightmarish.
“I do not mean Darkrend,” he hisses, brushing off wall debris. “He is but a piece in the puzzle.”
I launch at him again and this time, when he teleports, I move with him.
Somehow, I feel the way his teleportation works. It’s not normal. It’s not traversal across the space. It’s movement through it. Using a subspace that feels like it has to be beside mine.
Though how I could possibly know that isn’t something worth analyzing right now.
We reappear together, now rolling through the dirt in the town square. He lands roughly on his back, head recoiling as it strikes the ground.
I swirl to standing, my incorporeal body not even feeling the brunt force.
“She was supposed to kill you before you got this way,” he says, body contorting oddly as he stands without using his arms. “Before you began to realize.”
“Stop being so fucking cryptic,” I snarl and fling more spikes of darkness.
He dodges again, but in the same pattern as before. Like he’s only got one method of deflection and it’s in an odd zigzag.
With the final zag, a tendril skewers him through the torso. He lets out a pathetic gasp of pain before wiggling like a fish caught on a hook.
My form flickers and I let it go, falling to my feet in my own flesh. Evidently overuse, alcohol, and the Seer’s mind fuck made for an excellent anti-ghost-form cocktail.
“I’m going to ask some questions,” I hiss, striding to where Gareth continues to flop uselessly with the spike in his chest. “And you’re going to answer them.”
Gareth stops wriggling, but he doesn’t look at me. Instead, he’s staring up into the shadows of the cavern roof like God might save him if he prayed enough.
“Yes, my lord,” he whispers and I move closer, frowning at the way he’s begun to shake. “I understand. It was an honor.”
“Don’t you fucking—” I start, but then he explodes.
Literally like chunks of flesh and buggy corpse striking me where I stand.
The force rockets me backwards and strike the base of a building before slumping back onto my hands and knees. Something sharp stabs annoyingly as I try to catch my breath and force myself into a sitting position.
Bits of Gareth are strewn all over the Citadel’s central hub. The statue that looks like it might have once been Cass and early leaders has iridescent fluid dripping from it. The spike that had held Gareth in place now only holds a bit of his torso.
And Cass is sprinting towards me, eyes wild with fear and rage.
I finally stand and put a bracing hand to my very obviously broken ribs that begin to mend far too slowly. My legs feel wobbly as I limp towards her.
“Stop,” I hiss painfully, putting up a hand before she reaches me.
She skids to a stop, huffing like she’d sprinted across the cavern. Frenetic orange eyes study me like I’m the one who exploded and not Gareth.
“Where—” I cough up yet another hunk of something. “Where does the lightning bolt begin.”
She blinks a few times, eyes refocusing on my face instead of assessing me for injuries.
“What?” she asks, sounding like Cass, not Bloody Mary.
“Tell me,” I say, wary of the way she moves. The way she breathes.
“Hiraeth,” she breathes, finally glancing around at the market square which now has hundreds of people. Each of them looking between the chunks of their former councilor and the God Queen.
If it is the God Queen.
“That,” I point at the nearest chunk, “shape shifting fuck-stick was powerful and dangerous. He knew things he shouldn’t and said things that don’t make a lot of sense. He was not a sniveling little idiot. He was a malicious spy who blew up like a bomb after he spoke to some sky freak.”
Cass stares at me like I’ve gone mad. And maybe I have. Between the Seer and this, I feel like I’m in some drama written by a deeply traumatized sicko.
“Tell me something only I would know,” I grit out, feeling desperation cling to me like a bad odor.
She approaches more slowly, hands somewhat outstretched like I might lash out.
“I can’t possibly look that feral,” I bark out in a laugh.
Which probably doesn’t help my case.
“I need you to relax,” she says, voice calm but definitely still in a calming the wild animal tone.
I frantically search her face for any sign that it’s really her. That this is my Cassandra.
Then I notice movement in the crowd.
Varun.
I sidestep the alleged Cass and reach for the spindly pale freak.
The shadows respond at once and wrap around his thin frame. The weirdo doesn’t even move. He sort of just stares back at me as I pull him from the crowd.
He dangles a little off the ground as I rotate him a little.
“Are you like him?” I ask.
Varun shakes his head in the negative.
“Christ,” I hiss. “Are you working with Darkrend or whoever Gareth’s king was?”
Varun studies me like the question didn’t make sense.
Are all dhampirs like this?
“In the light of the day, it is easier to believe the ghosts were simply figments of your imagination. These monsters, though, are real and they are boundless.”
My jaw sags as I study the trembling, pale dhampir.
“The fuck?” I ask and he sort of shrugs.
Like they hadn’t been his words.
“No,” I hiss, hearing footsteps behind me. “No, you’re going to fucking answer me. And don’t you dare explode. I’ll figure out a way to use your body—”
Strong hands pull at my back. Cass’ face is in mine again. She looks petrified. Like I’m the problem here and not the infiltrators who can wear our skin. She’s saying words but I don’t hear them.
Probably “hey stop!” and “don’t hurt anyone!”
“Who the fuck do you work for?” I scream, shaking Varun like a ragdoll.
He sort of croaks before what I imagine was his spine snaps like a dry twig. His body falls loosely in my shadowy grip, and I toss him to the ground.
“Fuck!” I yell out, moving to his corpse to Commune. “Not yet you—”
This time whatever grabs me is a lot stronger. Too strong. It tosses me to the ground and I roll painfully, shattering another rib. I land on my ass and stare up into the gleaming teeth of the wolf-bat.
“Get off of me,” I grunt, trying to push at her claws but she doesn’t relent.
“Hiraeth!” Azazel’s voice comes from beside me and I glance over to see the mage kneeling at my side.
“He was a shape shifter,” I shriek. “And not the kind that you can sense. He wasn’t a Remnant. He wasn’t a fucking Remnant!"
Because Remnant shape shifters like Harlot weren’t infallible. You can tell. You can sense it. I, at least, can sense it.
I had known it was Cass. Gareth had felt like her. He had radiated like her.
“Stop,” they hiss and I snap my teeth at their hand.
Definitely not beating the wild animal allegations.
With a heave, I manage to get my hand out from between Cass’ claws. A shadowy tendril spikes itself into Varun’s corpse and my world fades to black.
Rather than the last few seconds before Varun’s death, this feels like the moments after Percy had died.
The black surface ripples again as I stomp towards where Varun sits cross-legged. His back is to me, but I see him startle before he turns to face me.
“What was he?” I hiss and Varun gives me that dull expression again.
I let out another scream of frustration. Why the fuck can’t this be easier?
“Fine,” I breathe out, “just nod or shake your head, okay?”
He nods.
“Was he a Remnant,” and Varun shrugs.
“Is that I don’t know?” and Varun nods.
“Fine,” I grunt, rubbing at my throbbing temple. I didn’t even know I could get a headache in this space.
“Did he work for Darkrend,” and Varun nods.
“Did you?” another nod.
“Did he work for someone else?” and he nods.
“Do you know who?” and Varun shakes his head.
I hum a little, wondering how to ask a question that will actually help. I have no idea how long it’ll take before Cass can pull me out.
“Is there a plan to invade the Citadel?” and Varun nods.
A chill runs through my spine. Of course there is. Of course he’d ruin the sanctuary for us. The only place I’d felt at home at.
“Do we still have time?” and Varun doesn’t answer right away.
It’s like he’s thinking. Considering.
Then he nods.
“Why all of this? Did Mary hurt your family? Did she do something to your species?”
Varun nods twice.
I frown. “She hurt the dhampirs?”
He throws up a so-so gesture. Like the answer is more complicated.
The room ripples and contorts.
Varun throws up a peace sign before the scene shatters.