Chapter Text
Shadow could only sit there in silence, desperately trying to process the situation and figure out his next move.
Rion lay sprawled before him, blood still gushing from the wound in his abdomen. Everything felt overwhelming, a chaotic jumble of sensations: the violent tremor running through his shoulders, the distant groans of collapsing structures, Rion’s weak, ragged breaths, and his increasingly fragile heartbeat. All of it reverberated within Shadow, a deafening, crushing storm of noise that made no sense.
“—dow.”
He couldn’t comprehend why Rion was in this state, why the earthquake had struck today, why it had to affect this building, and most of all, why it had to affect Rion.
Shadow squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to banish those useless, suffocating thoughts. Then, he sprang into action, immediately pressing both palms against the wound, frantically trying to staunch the relentless flow of blood and prevent further loss.
“Shadow, dude, you gotta help me in here.”
Again and again, Shadow applied pressure to the injury. Warm blood saturated his hands. Yet beneath that warmth, a chilling cold began to spread. Rion’s body temperature and heartbeat were both slowing, both fading.
For the first time in his life, Shadow cursed his acute hearing. At this critical moment, as he fought to save Rion, every weakening heartbeat felt like a knife twisting deeper into his skull. He battled the thoughts that threatened to paralyze him, forcing himself to move, forcing himself to act.
Why?
Why?
The question echoed relentlessly in his mind, a frantic drumbeat against the frantic pressure he applied to the wound. Pressing harder, again and again, the repetition grating until he was sick of the sound.
“Shadow, are you listening to me?! Hey! Help me over here!”
Then Rion’s eyelids twitched, a slow, agonizing flutter as if each movement demanded his last reserves of strength.
The instant Shadow saw it, his voice, rough and urgent, cut through the air. “Stay with me.” His hands, slick and trembling against the sodden fabric, shook. “I’m going to save you, okay?”
The coppery tang of blood filled his nostrils, sharp and acrid. Rion gasped for breath, ragged shudders wracking his small body as he strained to form words, a guttural rasp that Shadow couldn’t decipher.
His focus narrowed, locked onto the glistening wound, the spreading crimson, the horrific tableau unfolding before him. All else dissolved into a dull roar – the distant shouts, the clamor of the world, fading into a meaningless haze.
Why couldn’t he staunch the flow? He possessed the power, the ability to bend reality with Chaos Control.
He could whisk Rion away, deposit him safely in a hospital, give him a fighting chance. He could save him. Rion could live. And then Shadow could talk to him again.
Wasn’t that his choice? Hadn’t he accepted the role of guardian, of family, of father? So why now? Why this agonizing spectacle? Why Rion’s suffering?
“SHADOW, GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER!”
...
“Damnit! He can’t be saved! Think clearly and help these two civilians instead!”
The words struck Shadow with physical force.
Yet, his gaze remained locked on the sticky, crimson stain on his hands, the faint pulse beneath his trembling fingertips, and the boy fading like a dying ember before his eyes. A chilling stillness, heavy and suffocating, descended. Shadow felt devastating, gut-wrenching powerlessness.
He wouldn’t accept it.
I can’t, Sonic... I can’t...
This desperate thought fueled his resolve. Shadow had to save him. He could. He wouldn’t let Rion die. Despite the crushing weight of exhaustion in every muscle and the emptiness where his Chaos Energy should have been, which was still brimming from earlier teleports, he knew he could muster one more surge. He could still use Chaos Control.
Take Rion to a hospital.
The Chaos Emerald lay hidden within his quills. He could draw from it. Absorb. Absorb. Absorb. Even the faint, electric hum of residual energy in the air.
“Don’t worry, Rion,” he whispered, his voice a raw rasp. “Your dad is going to save you.”
Then, with a flicker of intense emerald light, Shadow vanished.
The dusty, rubble-strewn remains of the supermarket dissolved, replaced by the cacophony and sterile brightness of Dania University Hospital in Central City. It was a place already straining under the weight of the earthquake.
The moment he materialized, a searing pain shot through Shadow’s nose, and blood erupted in a dark spray, splattering onto the pristine, antiseptic-scented floor.
Nurses nearby, their faces etched with alarm, froze, their eyes widening at the sudden appearance of a bloodied hedgehog cradling an injured child.
“Please, save him,” Shadow choked out, his voice strained and raw with desperation.
The stunned staff immediately sprang into action. Within seconds, a gurney rumbled towards them, and Rion was gently transferred as the air filled with the shrill wail of alarms and urgent trauma alerts. A doctor’s rapid assessment cast a grim shadow across his face.
Shadow could only watch, his chest tightening with primal fear, as the medical team worked with intense focus. The gurney raced away, a blur of white and frantic movement towards the operating room. Shadow kept pace, his hands pressed to his chest. He yearned to speak, but the urgent, clipped voices of the medical team—a whirlwind of focused energy—drowned out every thought.
“Pediatric patient with severe abdominal trauma. There is internal bleeding and nearly lost blood. We need three or four blood bags. There are metal fragments that have shattered and become embedded near the liver, possibly causing an abdominal rupture. We need to remove the debris immediately,” one of them declared.
“Sir, you’ll have to wait outside,” a nurse said gently as the operating room doors clicked shut with an echoing sound. “You need to wipe your blood,” she added, handing him a handkerchief for his nosebleed. He wiped the blood off before the nurse entered the operating room.
Shadow stood there, staring at the closed doors for an achingly long time. Only after several silent moments did his gaze finally drift downward to his hands. His white gloves were stained entirely red, blood smeared across his fur and chest, Rion’s blood.
Slowly, Shadow sank into a waiting room chair, his body slumping forward. Elbows on his thighs, head buried in his hands, he tried to block out the surrounding sounds:
Hospital announcements, hurried footsteps, distant cries, and the incessant beeping of machines. Above all, he fought the relentless thunderstorm raging in his mind, the pain feeling like millions of needles piercing his gut.
Save him. Please save Rion.
I’m begging anyone. God. Fate. Anyone listening.
Please save him. Don’t let him... Don’t let him die.
The plea echoed silently, again and again. His clenched fists rose from his nose to his forehead, pressing against it as if he could physically contain the turmoil threatening to tear him apart.
Shadow was no stranger to loss. It had haunted him most of his life. He could barely recall how many years it had taken to crawl out from the trauma of losing Maria, the sleepless nights, the nightmares, the constant replaying of her death behind his eyelids.
Now, in moments like this, the emptiness and darkness returned, along with vicious thoughts. Again and again, Shadow forced himself to calm down, to think of something else, anything else.
Happy memories. Moments with Rion. The two of them by the orphanage campfire last month, pretending on a grand camping adventure, the scent of burning wood in the cool night air. Rion’s birthday celebration, filled with decorations, laughter, and enough snacks for an army. Or the humiliating day Shadow lost a challenge to him, his punishment being to dance.
“You dance like a robot!” Rion had laughed mercilessly.
The memory should have annoyed him, but instead, it made his chest ache.
Everything would be all right. Rion would be alright.
...
...
Right, Maria?
You wouldn’t take him away from me, right?
…
…
No one knew how much time had passed...
The harsh hum of the operating room lights died with a soft click. Then, the muffled thud of approaching footsteps echoed down the sterile hallway.
Shadow stood rooted before the double doors, their metallic surface cold beneath his fingertips. When they swung open, three figures emerged, their masked faces shadowed.
One doctor, his brow furrowed, slowly removed his mask, revealing a grimace that mirrored the others. A palpable air of regret hung heavy in the air, thick as the antiseptic smell of the hospital.
“We managed to remove the fragments,” the first doctor stated, his voice raspy, each word carefully chosen. “The surgery itself went smoothly, but...” He trailed off, the unspoken words hanging in the tense silence.
Another doctor, his voice a low murmur, continued, “The patient’s vital signs decreased abruptly. The patient presented with tachycardia and hypertension.” His voice softened, laced with sorrow. “We’re so sorry.” A collective sigh escaped the trio as they bowed their heads, a silent testament to their efforts.
“We did everything we possibly could.”
...
Ah… Shadow understood. A hollow understanding settled in Shadow’s chest, a familiar ache.
Another day. Another loss. Someone had been taken from him again.
The doctors’ subsequent words dissolved into a meaningless drone, lost in the buzzing in his ears. His gaze remained fixed on the floor, the gleaming, sterile ceramic tiles reflecting the stark, unflinching hospital lights.
A moment later, the doctors were gone, leaving only their regret hanging in the air.
Shadow was allowed inside. To see the boy. Rion’s body. A disembodied voice explained the funeral arrangements, the words like distant thunder. Another stated the official time of death, a chilling pronouncement. The words washed over him, a meaningless cascade of sound, as he gazed at the small, motionless form on the bed. Eyes closed, a faint stillness about him. Silent. Still.
Shadow had never truly seen the body of someone he cared about before. Not even Maria. There had been no opportunity then. No final farewell, no chance to see her face after the cold finality of death. Only the sharp crack of a gunshot, the violent ejection into the void of the escape pod. That was it.
At least this time he could see the body. A peaceful face, serene in its stillness. A quiet death. Yet, somehow, that made the ache in his chest deepen, become more profound.
Why did Rion have to die? A child, only nine years old, his life extinguished like a candle flame. Death was a cruelly enigmatic force, a thief in the night.
One moment someone exists, a vibrant presence, filling the world with their light. The next, they are simply gone, leaving behind an echoing silence.
A nurse, her movements gentle, pulled the sheet back over Rion’s face. “Take your time deciding on the arrangements for the body, sir,” she mumbled, her voice soft, almost a whisper. “You can find me later.”
Not long afterward, Shadow left the room, the weight of his grief pressing down on him.
“I can’t wait for Christmas. Let’s celebrate together. Oh, maybe we can invite Godfairy Amy. Then Sister Mina and Sam, and the orphanage friends. You can also invite your friend Dad! Robot Cool Uncle, and Auntie Rouge.”
Rion’s voice echoed in his mind, a dizzying spiral.
“And you can also invite him, Dad. The one that you keep talking about… Mr. Sonic? He’s your rival, right? I always like the look on your face when you talk about him.”
“Let’s have an unforgettable Christmas ever!”
What nonsense… how could he possibly do that now that Rion is already gone?
He walked without direction through the hospital’s endless, oppressive noise. The chaos, the sterile beeping of machines, the hushed urgency of hurried footsteps, had never stopped. Not even for a second.
Eventually, he found himself sitting in the waiting area again. Listening.
The steady beeping of medical equipment filled the air, punctuated by pained groans echoing down the hallways. The clicking of fluorescent lights. Ambulances arrived one after another outside. The rattling of the wheels of stretchers being unloaded and rushed toward the emergency room.
Shadow slowly lifted his head and looked around, his hand covering half his face. He realized with a jolt that he still hadn’t washed away the blood. The dried crimson stains coated his gloves, his arms, and his fur. Somehow, it felt as though they would never come off.
Just then, a familiar hand landed on his shoulder, followed by a familiar voice. “Hola, Shadow. Finished dealing with the kid’s situation?”
"..."
“You’re seriously annoying, you know that? Just disappearing and leaving me behind in those ruins.”
Shadow knew exactly who it was; only one person spoke like that. Had he left Sonic behind? Ah, maybe he had. For a moment, he’d forgotten completely, and strangely, that realization didn’t even feel worthy of an apology.
“I see you’re still ignoring me,” Sonic continued. “And you seem fine, which is good. Thought a building might’ve fallen on your head back there.”
Sonic kept talking, but Shadow kept his eyes closed, his forehead resting against his knuckles as he sat hunched forward on the waiting room chair. At least Sonic’s voice was comforting, drowning out the overwhelming noise of the hospital. The hand on his shoulder was calming, too, grounding and warm. Unfortunately, Shadow wasn’t processing any of it properly, not right now.
“So, did he make it?”
Sonic’s question hung in the air.
Shadow hesitated, unsure whether to answer. His mind felt clouded, his thoughts fragmented and sluggish, making it impossible to follow the conversation or even understand who Sonic was referring to.
“Oh, c’mon. You always ignore me!”
Sonic’s voice, laced with irritation and exhaustion, continued to spill out a torrent of words that barely registered in Shadow’s fogged mind. Annoyingly talkative Sonic usually was, but for once, Shadow didn’t mind.
Instead, he found himself wondering why Sonic sounded so upset. What made him so angry? Shadow tried to gather his thoughts and formulate a response, but found himself unable to do so.
Then, abruptly, Rion’s face flashed into his mind – not smiling, not laughing, but a corpse. The doctors’ voices after the surgery, the nurse pulling back the sheet, questions about funeral arrangements, official paperwork, the time of death – it all crashed down at once, catching Shadow’s breath in his throat.
Ah, right…. How could he have forgotten?
That was who Sonic meant.
Rion.
And Rion was dead.
“…He died,” Shadow finally managed, his answer simple and flat, instantly silencing Sonic’s rambling. His voice vanished.
Shadow finally opened his eyes, his gaze falling to his shoes, the hospital floor, and then to his own reflection staring back from the polished tiles beneath the fluorescent lights.
...
...
...
Sonic still wasn’t speaking.
For a moment, Shadow wondered if Sonic had left, if he’d finally grown tired of talking and walked away. Then, he heard movement beside him: the rustle of fur against stainless steel, the creak of a chair. Catching a glimpse of blue from the corner of his eye, Shadow saw that Sonic had indeed sat down next to him.
“I understand,” Sonic said quietly. After a pause, he added, “In the end, the kid died anyway.”
Sonic continued, “I heard you yelling his name earlier, so I assumed you knew him.” He paused again. “That means you couldn’t save him.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “So, I guess that makes me the winner, right?”
Shadow shot Sonic a sideways glance. It was only then that he got a good look at him. Sonic looked terrible, covered in dirt with his fur matted and disheveled. Dust and debris clung to his peach-colored arms. The bandage on his head was stained gray with rubble and grime, long since losing any hint of its original white. Shadow could see utter exhaustion etched all over him.
“…You didn’t save anyone, Shads,” Sonic said, his expression contorting with pain. “Not only that, you nearly jeopardized the entire rescue.” His voice grew sharper. “You lost your focus.” Sonic’s green eyes met Shadow’s. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
Shadow had never seen Sonic look at him like that before—not concerned, not teasing, not patient, but genuinely angry.
Sonic was even cursing at him. It was the most pained expression Shadow had ever seen on Sonic. Somewhere beneath the haze clouding his mind—perhaps instinct alone—he recognized the expression. Or perhaps it was simply impossible to miss.
Either way, Shadow didn’t have the energy for this. Not now. Not after today. Why was Sonic looking at him like that?
“Shut up, Sonic.”
The words came out low and exhausted.
What did Sonic know about Rion? Nothing. He didn’t know the kid or what he meant. Shadow doubted he ever would, too. How could he possibly understand?
Has Sonic ever lost someone who truly mattered? Someone irreplaceable? Perhaps that was why he could run wherever he pleased, act however he wanted, and charge through life without a care in the world. He complained of boredom daily, always looking for the next exciting adventure. What a manchild.
“No,” Sonic replied immediately. “I won’t.”
“If you hadn’t been so fixated on one person, we could've saved more. Because you left, two others were too late to be saved. If you’d just listened to me and let that one go… maybe only one person would've died.”
Shut up.
“Now it's three.” Sonic kept going anyway. “Do you rank lives? Is that it?!”
Shut up!
“Because he was a kid, you chose him over two elderly people? Is that it, Shads?”
Shadow wanted him to stop talking.
Because he couldn't understand any of it anymore. His head was already drowning beneath too much noise. His heart was already splintering under too much grief. Everything hurt. Everything demanded an answer. Everything needed a decision at once.
The funeral arrangements. Rion's peaceful face beneath the white sheet. The breathless words he'd tried to say before he died—words Shadow still couldn't understand. Sonic's furious voice. The endless noise of the hospital. The doctors. The metallic clink of a stethoscope. The rattling wheels of stretchers. The blinding fluorescent lights. Maria's face. Rion's face.
Maria. Rion. Maria. Rion.
Maria…
The images slammed into him relentlessly.
Then, the memory of Maria’s final words, the sharp crack of a gunshot, and the sickeningly sweet, metallic stench of blood filled his senses, a suffocating wave of torture. He craved oblivion — an end to the ceaseless thoughts, tormenting memories, and grating voice of Sonic.
“Stop it, Sonic. I'm warning you—”
His words died in his throat as Sonic's sharp, brittle voice sliced through the air.
“Or what?”
A crack echoed in his response. “Mad ‘cause I’m right?” Sonic shoved himself up, his frame rigid. “Just admit you couldn’t save him instead of moping. You can’t even do that!” Sonic’s voice boomed in the sterile waiting room. “You couldn’t save a single life!”
The words struck Shadow like a physical force.
“If you hadn’t been wasting time arguing and feeding your pathetic ego, maybe those two would’ve lived!” Sonic’s breathing came in ragged gasps, a raw, angry sound. "Then only one person would have died!"
His voice shook with pure pain. "Maybe this wouldn't feel like such a crushing defeat. Maybe you wouldn't be hurting so much." His next words were almost broken, a whispered confession. "And maybe I wouldn't feel so damn powerless."
Stop. Shut it!
Shut your mouth.
Don't talk.
Shut the fuck up!!!
Shadow knew he was at fault. That was exactly why he couldn't bring himself to look at Sonic. He couldn't face him or meet his eyes. He couldn't even lift his face.
He didn't even know what had happened after he'd teleported away. Was Sonic alright?
No. Of course he wasn't.
Shadow could smell the blood on him, too. Dust and sweat. Exhaustion. Pain. And the worst part? Sonic wasn't truly angry at Shadow. Every word, every accusation, every ounce of frustration was directed inward, at himself.
Shadow knew that.
He knew it. But everything was too loud, too messy, and too overwhelming. He wasn't in a state to understand any of it. His thoughts spun faster and faster. And suddenly, he found himself back in the glass pod, small and helpless.
His fists pounded against the transparent barrier, but Maria stood on the other side, her hand gripping the lever, a gun pointed toward her. He remembered his desperate pleas for her to run away with him, to not do this, to not leave him alone.
He had been powerless to stop it, powerless to save her. A part of him had always believed it was his fault, and now, he was tormented by those very words from someone he loved.
“What did I expect?” Sonic’s bitter laugh cut through him. “You couldn’t even save Maria.”
Ah…
Sonic was right.
The words were perfectly and cruelly aimed and pierced Shadow straight through. Yet, strangely, he felt a sense of relief. For once, the torturous words weren’t his own; they came from Sonic, the one he loved.
It was a necessary reminder, and suddenly he understood.
He finally grasped why this had happened.
If Rion had been found and saved by someone else, raised by someone else, perhaps he wouldn’t have died. If Sonic had found him instead, Rion would still be alive, because Sonic was a hero—a hero who saved people, who didn’t lose everyone they loved, unlike Shadow.
“Shad...” The anger drained from Sonic’s voice as reality crashed down on him. “I went too far. I’m sorry—”
But Shadow was already gone.
The hospital, the noise, the lights, the chaos, Sonic – everything vanished as a flash of Chaos Control swallowed him whole, transporting him home.
This was the house he had bought for one sole reason: to create a place for Rion to grow, to laugh, sleep, complain, make messes, and live. Now, the house was silent because Rion was gone. Suddenly, every room felt too large, too empty, too quiet.
Shadow stood alone in the darkness, surrounded by a future that no longer existed. For the first time since hearing the doctor's verdict, a heavy thought settled into his chest.
Everything had been for nothing.
…
Tring…
……
Tring... ting... tring...
.........
Tring... ting... tring... ting... tring...
The ringtone pierced the darkness. Shadow retrieved the smartphone from between his quills, placing it on the floor beside him. The screen illuminated, displaying Rouge’s name.
He let it ring.
He’d lost count of how many times it had buzzed. As soon as it stopped, Amy’s name flashed across the screen. He ignored that, too. The phone’s faint glow was the sole light source in the living room, casting an eerie light on a house that felt profoundly empty.
Beep.
A voicemail began to play.
“Shadow, where are you? I’ve already heard what happened, and… I’m so sorry for your loss. But we need to plan Rion’s funeral. Please call me back if you get this.”
The message concluded, and silence descended once more. Shadow continued to gaze blankly at the illuminated screen in the dim light.
Then it rang again. Rouge. The calls had been relentless for hours, perhaps longer. Shadow lacked the energy to answer. He couldn’t even recall how long he’d been sitting on the cold, bare floor.
The chill seeped through his fur. No carpet. No warmth. No life. Only emptiness. And within him—he felt just as hollow.
Beep.
Another voicemail.
“Hun, please pick up!” Rouge’s voice was laced with frustration and worry. “I heard you were in Central City helping with the earthquake. I looked everywhere for you, but couldn’t find you. I even asked Blue, and he seemed so worried and didn’t know where you were either.”
“...Are you alright? If you are, please answer your phone.”
The message ended. Shadow remained silent, his eyes fixed on the screen. Moments later, a low battery warning appeared: 10% remaining.
Soon, the phone would die, mirroring everything else. Yet, he remained seated, unmoving. His gaze eventually fell upon the clock on a nearby table. Six in the evening.
By this time, he and Rion should have finished their move. They should have been here together. In this house. The house he had bought for them. The house that now felt overwhelmingly vast for a single occupant.
...
There was nothing here.
Only emptiness.
...
"
If you hadn’t been so focused on one person, we could’ve saved more.
You couldn’t save a single life!
What did I expect? You couldn’t even save Maria.
"
Sonic’s voice echoed endlessly inside his skull. Over. And over. And over. And over!
A tremor shook his broad shoulders with barely contained fury.
Then, with sudden and violent force, he struck the porcelain tile with his fist. Once. Twice. Again. And again. And again. With each impact, a deep shudder sent tremors through the silent, empty house. A sharp crack ripped through the stillness.
Shadow struck harder. Harder. Harder. Finally, with a roar, he seized the heavy oak living room table and hurled it across the room. The table splintered against the far wall with a deafening crash. The smartphone skittered across the floor, its screen shattering into a million tiny shards.
“ARGHHHH!”
A raw, broken, agonizing scream tore from his throat.
Chaos energy surged from him like a palpable force. The plaster walls spiderwebbed with cracks. The massive living room window exploded outward in a blinding flash, and glass shards rained down like glittering, frozen rain. Shadow annihilated everything. His blood-soaked gloves tore as his claws extended and dug deep into the floorboards. He raked them across the walls and the shredded sofa.
Wood splintered. Stone groaned. He stumbled into his bedroom and wrecked that, too. Another wall gave way, and concrete fragments rained down. His claws dug into his own arms.
Again. And again. And again. Thin red lines bled freely, splattering crimson across the room—the bed, the floor, the walls, even the framed photographs. Pictures of Sonic, of treasured memories now ruined. Everything was stained. Everything was broken.
Outside, the frantic, insistent ringing of the doorbell echoed, each peal a sharp stab in the deafening silence. Pounding followed, desperate pleas to answer.
Shadow ignored it all.
The noise meant nothing. Nothing mattered. Then, his strength evaporated. The world spun violently. Shadow collapsed, his body hitting the floor with a heavy thud.
For a long moment, he lay still, staring up at the cracked plaster ceiling. The room blurred, the fissures shifting, warping, until a face appeared within them. Rion, smiling, looking down. Just for a fleeting moment.
Then, darkness finally claimed him, and Shadow’s eyes closed.
…
..
.
.
..
…
…
Shadow’s eyes snapped open, the sharp, metallic tang of dried blood thick in the air, assaulting his senses.
For a few heavy seconds, his gaze remained fixed on the ceiling, a blur of unfocused vision.
Then, he turned his head and took in the scene. The devastation was stark—a violent tableau. Clumps of black and red fur, resembling dark blossoms, were scattered across the floor. They were interspersed with sharp, brittle fragments of his broken quills. Yet the self-inflicted wounds—the ragged gashes that had stained the room with his ichor—were already gone from his body. They had healed and vanished as if they’d never been. Of course, they were.
He was the Ultimate Lifeform.
A bitter laugh, a dry rasp in his throat, escaped him.
How many times had he fought against this cursed healing factor? It was an exercise in futility. No matter how deep he carved into his own flesh, no matter how much crimson he spilled, no matter how utterly he annihilated himself, the healing always came.
Always.
Even after he threw the Chaos Emerald somewhere around the house—he couldn’t remember where—his body still repaired itself.
He hated it. How was he supposed to cling to the pain, to the sharp edges of his grief, if it dissolved with every heartbeat? How was he supposed to remember?
If the physical agony remained, perhaps the hollow ache in his chest wouldn’t feel so vast, so empty. Maybe the searing pain would be enough. But it wasn’t.
The emptiness remained. It always remained.
Slowly, groaning with an effort that felt immense, Shadow pushed himself upright. It was only then, as his vision cleared, that he truly registered the room. Rion’s bedroom, meant to be a sanctuary of order.
The walls, adorned with vibrant posters of soaring spaceships, now bore the brutal scars of his rampage. A faint, papery scent of comic books, once a comforting aroma, was now overlaid with the grimness of his despair.
He remembered making the bed with its bright, cheerful orange sheets, emblazoned with Rion’s favorite cartoon characters. The room, meant to be a warm explosion of tangerine hues – Rion’s favorite fruit, his favorite color – was now a wreck.
Toys, once neatly arranged on shelves, lay scattered, their plastic forms broken. The wardrobe, full of Rion’s clothes, stood ajar, a gaping maw in the corner. Everything had been prepared.
Everything…
And now, his own claws had gouged deep, ragged furrows into the walls, and dark, viscous stains of dried blood, like weeping sores, marred the once-clean painted surfaces. Fragments of the previous night flickered in his mind: a storm of destruction, a tempest of rage, a primal grief, a feral surrender of control.
He had to stop. Stop the voices, the nightmares, and that damn memory. Stop everything!
But the nights were a torture he couldn’t escape. Every time he surrendered to sleep, nightmares clawed at him, dragging him down into the abyss. Then he woke. And he destroyed. The living room. The television room. His own bedroom. And then, Rion’s.
That’s how he ended up here.
Shadow stood slowly, holding onto the edge of the bed for support. Across the room, a cracked mirror reflected his appearance. He looked terrible. His eyes were bloodshot. Dark circles hollowed the skin beneath them. His normally immaculate quills stuck out in every direction and bent into unnatural shapes. His obsidian fur was tangled and dirty, stained with dried blood. There was dried blood on his forehead and across his arms. Everywhere. Yet there were barely any injuries left.
His gaze drifted downward.
He had bare paws and no gloves. Brownish-red stains of dried blood marred his usually white chest fur. Even his white socks were ruined. The soles were dark and soaked. The fabric around his toes had been torn apart by his claws; it was evidence of everything he’d destroyed. His vision seemed strange. It was blurred, and the world had a faint reddish tint. Was he bleeding from his eyes?
Shadow blinked several times. Again. And again. The redness remained.
Eventually, Shadow began to move. His steps were heavy and uncertain as he wandered through the splintered, dust-filled wreckage of his home. The destruction followed him everywhere. Sharp, jagged edges of broken furniture and shattered remnants of his belongings lay underfoot, even in the bedroom that should have been his sanctuary.
He noticed the photographs he had bought from Nicole and realized with a hollow ache that he had destroyed those, too. Crouching down, the painful ache in his joints protesting, he gathered the torn pieces, all of them ripped into jagged scraps, every shattered picture of Sonic. The remnants of last night's memory flashed in his mind as he did that.
"Everything had been for nothing!
I hate everything. I will destroy it all. What the fuck is love?
It doesn't exist. It's crap, bullshit. I hate h̶i̴m̸."
I HATE you, Sonic!"
His ears rang as he waved away the memory, dampening it. He stared at the shattered pieces inside the plastic after gathering them. Without hesitation, he dropped them into a trash bin. The sickening thud of the plastic echoed in the quiet. None of it mattered. Nothing mattered anymore.
Afterward, he opened the front door. Fresh, cold air greeted him, a sign that winter was almost here.
Near the entrance, he noticed a notice posted by the neighborhood management, perhaps left after security had visited or in response to the noise and destruction.
Maybe neighbors had complained, but fortunately, no one had called the police, or perhaps they simply hadn’t bothered. Shadow didn’t care enough to find out.
He started walking, the rough pavement beneath his bare feet a stark contrast to the polished floors of the gated community he left behind. He ambled along without direction or purpose.
Residents peeked from behind pristine windows, their faces etched with curiosity and a hint of alarm. Some parents, with quick, hushed urgency, pulled their children closer, shielding their eyes.
Was it his disheveled appearance, the lack of shoes and gloves, a blatant disregard for Mobian etiquette? Or was it something deeper, a visible fraying of his carefully constructed control?
Shadow didn’t care.
The air felt heavy, stagnant, mirroring the emptiness within him. He kept walking, the monotonous rhythm of his footsteps a dull throb. The cacophony of Hankuk City, a relentless hum of traffic and chatter, began to recede, replaced by a growing quiet.
Eventually, he stood at the edge of a river. The water, a vast, shimmering expanse, stretched out before him, mirroring the endless void in his soul. Was this the same river that snaked through the city’s heart? The Han River, if he’s not mistaken.
He saw his reflection on the water’s slick surface.
Look at yourself, a cruel whisper echoed in his mind. Pathetic.
The discipline, the meticulous routines, the ironclad self-control, the order, the precision – all shattered. Reduced to this hollow-eyed madman, a creature devoid of hope, purpose, or anything left to hold onto.
Subtle ripples disturbed his reflection, distorting the image, and a chilling thought surfaced. If he stepped into the water... wouldn’t all the noise cease?
You couldn't even save Maria...
How could you have expected to save Rion?
Sonic’s taunts. The sterile scent of the hospital. Maria’s gentle voice. Rion’s final, ragged breaths. The screams trapped inside his head, suffocating him. Wouldn’t it all finally wash away? Everything would disappear. Maybe it would be that simple.
Maybe.
Would he finally be able to join Maria? To follow Rion? The thought, both cruel and tempting, lingered. Unlike ordinary Mobians, he wasn’t afforded the simple relief of breaking. He couldn’t remain injured, couldn’t stay dead, couldn’t rest. Damn it all. This cursed Ultimate Lifeform. He never asked for this existence, never wanted it.
And so, with a sudden, desperate surge, Shadow hurled himself forward.
The river’s surface broke with a cold shock. Icy water crashed against his body, the current a powerful, suffocating embrace as he sank deeper. And deeper. And deeper.
Sunlight became a distant memory. The world above was a blurred, insignificant smudge. Shadow surrendered to the descent, falling all the way to the riverbed. The frigid darkness enveloped him. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, there was silence. No voices. No light. No guilt. No pain. Just pure, unadulterated silence.
Ah... Finally.
Everything was quiet.