The mists curled about his feet, as a wet breeze tickled his ears. He could just barely make out that much, though. The sky was a muddy brown twilight, which gave the fog around him an oppressive glow.
“Hello?” He called out, cupping his hands together so he could be better heard. “Is anybody out there?”
The rumble of thunder overhead was all that answered his query. Instinctively, his hand went to his side, but was met only with the rough cloth of his pants. Normally, he would have tried to illuminate this alien landscape with his lightsaber, but he was denied even that simple comfort.
“Always alone.” a voice whispered from behind him. As Bentre turned, he saw nobody, and a sense of dread began to create a knot in his stomach. “Never could get along with the others.” Footsteps pattered unseen in the mists, and the sound of a child's cruel laughter rang out, oddly unmuffled by the mists and fog.
“I-” the human tried to gather his courage. “I have had enough of these tricks. I faced the illusions at that temple. You are no different!”
“Oh,” the voice of a young girl giggled. “We are very different.”
“This is not like that temple,” another younger girl snickered.
“No,” a familiar voice spoke in even tone. “This is all on you, buddy.” The familiar crackle of a lightsaber activating came from behind the fog. Footsteps were approaching, and the blue light traced the approaching figure. Bentre recognized the same face he saw every day in the mirror, staring back at him with a cruel smile. “What's the matter, buddy? Aren't you happy to see me?” the voice was mocking.
“You are a trick.” the Guardian grit his teeth.
“Now,” the doppleganger seemed to stop and consider the statement. “I don't think that is quite fair. For you see, the fun part about this little place is this is technically your world, Bentre boy. History has shown you, even more recently with your little temple escapade, that a man cannot lie to himself. So, please do yourself a favor, and stop trying.
“You are an illusion.” he continued to insist. “You mean nothing. You are nothing!” as he sputtered the last word, he felt tiny hands wrapping around his thighs. Glancing to either side, he saw two small children, a Zabrak boy and a Twi'lek girl has taken hold of his legs. Bentre tried to shake them off, but his efforts were in vain.
“You don't seem to believe that, buddy.” the figure drew out the last word, raising an eyebrow as he did so. “See, even your inner fears are reaching out to stay your hand. You spout words of nasty intent, never realizing what is really going on.” The figure began to step forward, and Bentre could see the hazel eyes glowing dimly from behind the dark locks. As the phantom drew the lightsaber up, he saw the manic fire in the eyes.
“You are a monster.” Bentre snarled.
The weapon came down in a sharp arc, and the Corellian closed his eyes tightly. Before the weapon met his flesh though, he heard the cry of a child. As he opened his eyes in disbelief, he saw the blade pass close to his head again as it came about in another tight arc. The blade felled the Twi'lek girl holding his other leg, a groan escaping her lips as she hit the ground below the mists.
“No, buddy boy. I am not a monster. I am merely a product of your subconscious. I am your tormentor, your constant companion, and your only comfort in the cold nights while you lay in your bed.” The figure turned the lightsaber about, before driving it into Bentre's chest. “I am here to help you realize what a monster you are.”
Bentre's world faded into a blur of pain and madness. The moments blurred into minutes, and the minutes blurred into hours. All was a blur of screams, pain and sweat as the lightsaber burned his innards. Yet, he found himself paralyzed. The glowing eyes of his doppleganger burned into him. There was nothing hidden. There was nothing to fall back on.
"No," the Obelisk grunted out in defiance. "I-" he took a steadying breath, forcing the words out, "I will not." He tried to draw on his last reserves of strength to raise his hand. His body was slothful in response, trembling a bit as he raised his arm just above chest level. "I will not make my bed with you." He let his hand drop, clasping over the lightsaber handle.
The phantasm laughed. "Seriously?"
"Watch me." Drawing a deep breath and clenching his teeth, Bentre grasped the lightsaber with all his might. With a great shove, he pushed the blade sideways, cutting through his own side. The pain was unbearable. Still, he bit the inside of his lip until he tasted blood. Pushing through the pain, he brought his other hand up, grabbing the weapon in reverse of his normal grip with it.
The phantasm gaped for a moment, then his face twisted in anger. "Sit down like the dog you are!" The words hissed forth, and its eyes began to glow red.
"You had it right the first time," Bentre smiled coldly as realization dawned on him. He gripped the weapon with his left hand, turning it about in a haphazard swing. The weapon passed in an arc, coming around to meet shoulder muscle. "I am not a dog." The smell of burning flesh invaded his nostrils as the weapon separated head from corpse, and he saw the illusion's head hit the ground.
"I am a monster," he kicked the head, and the world around him seemed to begin crumbling. "Even if I have to deal with specters like you," he watched the fog, mists and sky begin to brighten and blur together. "I will prevail over all my enemies." He watched as even the head faded into the mists. "Both within, and without."