Chapter 1
The bodies of my compatriots had already started to stink, and it had only been an hour since I did the unthinkable. I told myself, over and over, that by taking their lives I’d spared them the crushing reality of my failures. But that was just a simple rationalization. Sleeping soundly, they never knew I had failed to wake them when it came time to launch our precious payload—Earth’s only hope. They had trusted the three of us to deliver it. That was a serious mistake.
We had been screened and tested repeatedly for that sacred mission. None of us were the best—only the most qualified in a time of absolute panic. The best had already died in the most horrible ways imaginable. It had been almost too convenient how the entire original team had turned up dead within a week of each other.
Col. Nathaniel Tagert had taken a straight razor and removed the flesh from his body. Starting with his face, he had made it just below his chest before finally blacking out. It had taken him only minutes to bleed to death, alone in his apartment, but it had taken them a week to find the body.
Lt. Ambroise Jackson had been found in his car, dead by suicide. He had sealed himself in the garage, letting carbon monoxide fill the space. He hadn’t realized it was also seeping into the house. His wife had died in her sleep, poisoned by the person she had loved most.
Sgt. Winona Lopez had been repeatedly assaulted by a mob before being bludgeoned unconscious with a rock. She had suffered horribly for hours before finally dying. God rest her soul. As I said, the best weren't available. They had taken what was left—and that had been us.
Out the portside window, I saw its massive form drifting closer. I could only see a fraction of its body through the glass, because I was so close. I was dead in the water, as they used to say, only hours from my destination. All I could do then was recollect my journey. Was that what they meant when they said your life flashed before your eyes?
……..
The launch countdown had taken an eternity before finally reaching zero. Time had fractured into breaths. As the thrusters ignited, I had the sinking feeling we wouldn’t be coming back. I thought we had all felt it.
The centrifugal force had been nothing compared to the pressure that had crushed our hearts as we lifted off, leaving behind a dying world with its final hopes resting in our hands. As we had passed through the atmosphere, I had felt my stomach tighten under the weightlessness. One of my companions had swallowed back vomit with a loud gulp as we had pushed past the moon.
When the tactical nuke had failed to detonate, I had known what I had to do. With my helmet on, I had decompressed the compartment. They had woken in panic, gasping for oxygen as the vacuum of space had claimed them. Strapped in, they had struggled. Their eyes had screamed a single question: "Why?"
Now, alone with their corpses, I stared without blinking at the unimaginable—its form moving silently toward Earth. A simpler mind might have asked, "Is this God?" Even I, sensing its terrifying purpose, had wondered about its origin. It had come from behind the stars to devour our world, to end all life on that minuscule planet.
When I had first seen it, I had laughed uncontrollably. Doom had never felt so absurd. As tears had streamed down my face, I had launched the payload without waiting for Houston. I had known it wouldn't work, but I couldn't look away as it had shrunk into the void. When the detonation hadn’t come, I had looked down at my sleeping companions and had reached for my helmet.
Chapter 2
It hadn’t been the rising tides or earthquakes—it had been the mass suicides and dark whisperings that had made the government summon Jean-Baptiste for questioning. He had been the only man who had seemed to know what was happening. His followers had been rounded up, but he had never been found. Seven days after their Charleston compound had been raided, NASA had confirmed the impossible: his macabre prophecies had been coming true. Including the arrival of an alien entity he had named Elo Hama-anug, the destroyer, the devourer, the devout darkness.
That being had defied description. Most who had gazed upon it had collapsed in tears. Its sheer size had warped not just minds, but the gravity of Earth. Tidal waves, earthquakes, and other disasters had followed. Reality itself had seemed to fray—portals had begun opening across the world, releasing alien flora and fauna that had died quickly on contact. Some had called it terraforming. Others, invasion.
Thousands had gone mad after glimpsing into those portals. What they had seen had varied wildly, but each account had been terrifying. When one man had stepped through on live television, his body had liquefied in agony. The resulting panic had been global.
Weeks later, the skies had turned red. Offshoots of Jean-Baptiste’s cult had emerged and gathered in Lincoln, Nevada, circling an ancient geoglyph of unknown origin. They had locked hands, sung profane hymns, and had set themselves ablaze in a mass suicide. I had watched it on TV with my then-girlfriend. She had wept. A week later, I had found her hanging from a rope in her apartment.
One-third of the global population had vanished—suicide, disaster, madness. Most had blamed the entity.
As I had said, it had defied all form. Even then, I hadn’t been able to grasp it. It had flickered between shapes. Tentacles had surrounded what might have been a mouth. Its hide had glimmered, slimy and green, though others had seen something else. Perhaps it had been an intelligence with psychic power. Perhaps we had all been dying of exposure to a thought.
Chapter 3
The cold of space had brought a deep, lonely dread. With nothing but the music of the stars and my story, I had waited in failure—until something had touched my mind. It had entered like an old friend, offering comfort. Its presence had felt like belonging.
It had spoken in no known language, yet I had understood. Its revelations had shredded my sanity. Had it been recruiting me? Or toying with me before the final blow?
I had been nothing to it. A speck. A breath.
Then had come warmth, like mescaline. A soft high. I had thought: Was this God? Was this death?
I had tried to remember joy but couldn’t. My mind had been full of sorrow and ruin. My friends and family—already gone. My mission—failed. Humanity—doomed.
I had readied myself then for the abyss. I had been strapped in, set on a collision course with what I believed had been its mouth. I had wondered: Had I forgotten to arm the warhead on purpose? Had I already been under its influence? Or had I simply failed?
As I had approached the gaping maw, warmth had washed over me again. I had realized:
I was finally coming home.