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Hungarian-British writer Arthur Koestler once said, “Nothing is more sad than the death of an illusion.”
Right now, kneeling on the cracked pavement in front of what remained of the Nasty Burger, Danny knew that was true.
He’d always thought that quote would never apply to him. That he would never be the target of the crushing weight of disillusionment. That illusions were things other people lost. But as he stared at the burning skeleton of the building that had once meant the world to him, he realized how wrong he’d been.
The neon sign had collapsed inward, its broken tubing flickering weakly before finally dying out. The windows were gone. Nothing but jagged teeth of glass embedded in scorched concrete. Smoke rolled upward in thick, choking waves, carrying the scent of grease, ozone, and something bitterly final.
This place had been loud once. Warm. Safe.
Now it was hollow.
He was surrounded by the souls of those he’d lost.
His mother.
His father.
His sister.
His two best friends.
His boyfriend.
His ex-girlfriend.
His favorite teacher.
Everyone was gone.
Their absence pressed in on him harder than the heat of the flames. It felt like the night itself had turned against him, like the city had drawn a line and decided he stood on the wrong side of it.
Danny had always known that something about his life didn’t quite fit. And now, staring at the ruins, he understood why.
His life had been one big illusion.
His parents’ love had only ever existed on the surface.
His friends only stayed because of survivor's guilt.
His ex tolerated him because he liked visiting her workplace.
His sister supported him so he wouldn’t accidentally kill himself. Or someone else.
His boyfriend loved him only because he had watched Danny long enough to know quite literally everything about him.
Mr. Lancer only tolerated him because he absolutely had to for his job.
Danny had known all of this, somewhere deep down.
But knowing and losing were two very different things.
The illusion hadn’t faded gently. It had exploded right in front of his eyes and the death of it was the saddest thing he had ever experienced.
How did his suffering become so endless?
Was he the problem?
Did he need to change?
It felt like the only lines he hadn’t crossed were his own. Even though he knew that wasn’t true. His lines had been crossed again and again over the past four years. By his parents. By the GIW. By nearly everyone he had loved and had consequently just lost.
He’d been shot at. Killed. Stalked. Kidnapped. You can name literally any bad event that could happen to someone and it had probably happened to him at one point or another over the past four years.
And yet, people still thought the greatest threat they would ever find was him.
But what if they were right?
What if he was the problem that had been hiding all along?
What if he was the monster?
He had been far too kind to his enemies. He kept them alive. Held back. Made sure not to hurt them more than necessary to stop them from hurting others.
Was that why everyone he loved was gone now?
Was that the reason everyone he loved were now souls trying to cross into the infinite realms or beyond?
He’d always known he would have felt guilty ending any of his ghostly foes. Guilt had always chained him. And what if that guilt was what had let Boxlunch run around without a care for anyone around her? What if it was what had allowed the volatile Nasty Burger sauce to overheat during their fight? What if that guilt was what turned their battle into a catastrophe?
What if his mercy had made him a monster to himself?
Now he just sat there. Staring at the flames fanning high, licking at the night sky.
All he could do right now was think.
Think about whether the cyclops felt guilty when he killed and ate Antiphos in the Odyssey.
Wonder if the witch was going insane when she turned men into pigs to protect her nymphs, or had she learned to be colder when she got older to save them the pain?
Maybe that was what Danny should have done from the very start.
Protect.
Do monsters feel guilt like Danny would have if he’d ended the ghosts attacking the town?
Or do they feel justified when they destroy those who threaten their family?
Was Danny really any different?
Was Danny a monster like the GIW always said?
Watching the building collapse inward, its bare bones devoured by flame, Danny certainly felt like one. The sirens wailed. The crowd grew. The world kept moving while his stood still.
Firefighters arrived in flashes of red and blue, shouting, rushing forward, trying to grab him. Hands stretched out toward Danny, trying to pull him away from the danger zone.
He went intangible instead.
This was his fault.
He caused the explosion.
He didn’t stop Boxlunch in time.
Everyone was dead because of him.
The guilt burned hotter than the fire. And slowly—inevitably—it twisted into anger. Anger at himself. Anger at the world.
As Eckhart Tolle once said, “Where there is anger, there is always pain underneath.”
And there was so much pain.
But guilt wouldn’t save anyone.
Danny knew that now.
He had to throw away the guilt. He had to get stronger. He had to keep the rest of his foes at bay.
In one sharp motion, he stood, turned, and let the transformation take him. Secret identity and prying eyes be damned. Phantom shot into the sky. Once he was high enough—far from the city, far from witnesses—he pulled the thermos from his suit and released Boxlunch.
She barely had time to react.
Danny didn’t hesitate.
He went straight for her core. No speeches. No mercy. No guilt. The fight ended almost as soon as it began, her energy unraveling under the force of his resolve.
When it was over, the silence was deafening.
He waited for the guilt to come.
It didn’t.
Instead, anger surged even stronger.
Why hadn’t he done this sooner?
He could have done this sooner.
He could have saved them.
A laugh tore through the air. It was loud, sharp and almost manic. It took him a few seconds to realize it was his own.
If becoming the monster meant nothing like this would ever happen again… Then so be it.
Could he get his loved ones to come home again?
Did he have to become ruthless to feel like himself again?
Deep down, he knew the truth. Ruthlessness wouldn’t bring them back. It would only make him more like Dan.
But he didn’t care anymore.
Let the world come for him.
Let them cross dangerous oceans and beaches searching for a way to stop him.
Let them fail.
Let them show him a place so deep, so dark, that even Poseidon couldn’t reach him.
He would become the monster they expected him to be.
He would deal the blow the world—including the infinite realms—to protect himself.
He would be the boogeyman who kept children awake at night, whispering for their parents to check under the bed.
And the parents would be too afraid to look.
Because the monster would already be there, lurking deep below.
He had to become the monster to try to find and protect new loved ones.
To build a new illusion of home.
And this time, he wouldn’t let it shatter.
He wouldn’t allow another sad death of an illusion.
He’ll become the monster.