In the shadowed grip of destiny's cruel design, your breath stutters, the metallic tang of blood sharp in the air. Your claws, slick with warmth, tremble as you gaze down at the grotesque proof of your actions—a still-beating heart cradled in your grasp. It pulses faintly, an echo of life cruelly severed. Your chest tightens as realization strikes, a vice of despair crushing your will to breathe.

The body before you twitches, its final shudders sending ripples of disbelief coursing through you. Your lips part in a soundless scream, but when your voice comes, it is a wail—a raw, gut-wrenching keening that reverberates in the darkness around you. It's a sound not just of loss but of terror, of a soul unraveling under the weight of a sin too great to comprehend.

The air shifts, heavy and suffocating, as a deep, resonant voice emerges from the shadows. "No one can refuse me, my dear hatchling," the voice intones, each word coiled with malice and authority. You freeze, your blood running colder than the void of night. Slowly, you lift your gaze from the horror in your hands to the figure materializing from the shadows—a towering form cloaked in an aura of menace and command.

It is Baal, your father. His eyes glimmer with an unholy light, reflecting back at you the darkness you've desperately tried to escape. His presence is overwhelming, a suffocating weight that makes the air feel like it's been drained from the room. His voice slithers through your mind, a haunting melody laced with poison.

"Give in, Y/N," he whispers, his tone almost tender, though it carries the sharpness of a blade. "Give in, my child. Embrace the dark urge; become my progeny."

Your claws dig deeper into the heart in your grasp, and the sensation pulls you back to the present. Your breaths come in shallow gasps as your mind rebels against his words. Yet something inside you stirs—a flicker of recognition, a spark of something you cannot name. You stare at him, your wide, disbelieving eyes a mirror of your inner turmoil.

"No," you rasp, your voice cracking as you force the word out. "I won't... I can't."

Baal chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that reverberates through your very bones. "Oh, but you already have, my hatchling. Look at what you've done. The blood on your hands, the heart in your grasp—it is proof that you are mine."

Tears sting your eyes as you look back at the heart, its rhythm slowing with each passing second. A scream builds in your chest once more, but this time it is one of defiance, not despair. You will not give in. You cannot.

SCENEBREAK

You awaken with a sharp, gasping breath, your body drenched in sweat. The nightmare lingers, its vivid horrors clawing at the edges of your mind. The fabric of your nightshirt clings to your trembling torso, the chill of fear still running through your veins. Your red eyes flash for a moment, a remnant of the darkness that has just tried to consume you, before they return to their familiar (e/C) hue. The disorienting shift leaves you feeling momentarily unmoored, but the sense of reality slowly sinks back in.

You glance around the dorm, your gaze landing first on Jake. His chest rises and falls in a steady, peaceful rhythm, his form sprawled comfortably on his bed. Norm is there too, sleeping soundly in his corner. Trudy and Grace, all alive and unaware of the torment still gripping your chest. The weight in your stomach lightens slightly at the sight of them, alive and well. It was just a nightmare, you remind yourself, but the words feel hollow, the fear still swirling beneath your skin.

Sighing heavily, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. Your claws, still twitching with the residual tension from the dream, scrape softly against the fabric as you press your palms to your face. A moment of weakness, but you allow it. The nightmare feels too real, too close to what you've feared. What you've tried so hard to escape.

With a steadying breath, you run a claw down your snout, grounding yourself in the sensation of your own skin, the familiar sharpness of your features. You stand quietly, trying not to disturb the others as you move toward the door. There's a part of you that knows you need to be alone for a while, to clear your head.

The cool, night air of Pandora greets you as you step into the lab corridor and make your way to the balcony. You don't need a breathing mask; the atmosphere of Pandora has become familiar, more comfortable than it was when you first arrived. The cool breeze brushes against your skin, a gentle reminder of the planet's pulse, steady and alive.

You stand at the edge, gazing out into the bioluminescent beauty of the landscape. The soft glow of the trees, the flickering lights of nocturnal creatures, all bathed in the light of the moon. It's peaceful, serene, and for a moment, you allow yourself to get lost in it. The nightmare seems distant now, fading like the dream it was, replaced by the quiet harmony of the world around you.

The stillness calms your racing heart, and though the unease still lingers, it becomes more bearable, softened by the symphony of nature. You close your eyes, feeling the cool night air on your skin, and allow yourself to simply exist in this moment, far removed from the shadows of the past.

The night presses close around you, the silence thick and heavy as the distant thunderous roar shatters the tranquility. Your senses sharpen instinctively, the hairs on your neck prickling, and you feel your tongue slip out, tasting the cool air. It carries the faintest trace of something unknown, a subtle shift in the atmosphere, and your mind flickers momentarily to the potential danger it heralds. You don't let the unease take hold, though. You focus on the steady rhythm of your breath, grounding yourself in the present.

A familiar voice breaks the quiet. "Couldn't sleep?"

You turn, eyes momentarily flashing with a red hue before they revert to their usual (e/C) as you see Quaritch standing in the corner of the balcony. He's leaning against the railing, his breathing mask in place, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. Despite his usually imposing presence, there's something different about his stance tonight—less rigid, more relaxed. He exhales a cloud of smoke that catches the light of the moon before it dissipates into the air.

"Had a nightmare," you admit softly, turning back to face the forest, your eyes scanning the glowing trees, trying to steady your thoughts. The roar still lingers in your mind, but you push it aside for now.

Quaritch stubs out his cigarette with a sharp motion, then pushes off the railing to move beside you. His presence is solid and grounding, a contrast to the storm inside you. He leans against the railing next to you, his shoulder brushing against yours, a rare moment of proximity that feels less like tension and more like camaraderie. He doesn't say anything at first, just stands there for a moment in silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging between you.

"You know," his voice breaks the quiet again, this time with an unexpected sincerity, "you don't need to keep it to yourself. I'm here if you need to talk, kid."

You turn your head slightly to look at him, your pupils narrowing with surprise. It's not often that Quaritch opens up, but there's something about the way he says it that catches you off guard. For a moment, the hard exterior he usually wears slips away, revealing a flicker of something more... human.

Your eyes flash red again, but this time it's fleeting. The vulnerability in his words shakes something within you, and without thinking, you dip your head, the moonlight catching the curve of your horns as you let out a quiet exhale.

"I'm sorry if I misjudged you, Quaritch," you say softly, the words feeling more truthful than you intended.

Quaritch turns toward you with a small, wry smile, the edges of his lips lifting just slightly. "It's okay, kid. It happens to the best of us." His tone is almost light, despite the weight of the words. "I might be gruff and a son of a bitch sometimes, but I still care about my team."

You let his words sink in, the sincerity there undeniable, even though it's wrapped in the roughness he's known for. The night feels less oppressive now, not just because of the cool breeze or the gentle glow of Pandora's flora, but because, in this quiet moment, you realize something: the people around you, even those who are hard to read, have their own battles. They're fighting, just like you.

And for the first time, the weight of the nightmare that had haunted you seems a little lighter.

You feel a solid pat on your shoulder, a brief moment of contact that feels heavier than it should. Quaritch's hand lingers for just a second, before he pulls away, his tone shifting again, this time with a hint of awkwardness mixed with his usual gruffness.

"Look, I'm sorry if I came on too strong," he mutters, as if trying to smooth over something that might have been left unsaid. "But you do have the body of a beauty. It's no surprise some men are head over heels for you." He chuckles, though it's not entirely mirthful. There's a weight to it, an undercurrent of something he's not saying.

You stiffen for a moment, unsure how to take the unexpected compliment—or the acknowledgment of the tension that had started to surface between you and the others. Quaritch's words are blunt, but they also feel oddly protective, the kind of statement that might have sounded inappropriate coming from anyone else, but with him, it's simply... Quaritch.

He doesn't give you a chance to respond, though. Without another word, he turns and walks off, his heavy footsteps retreating into the shadows. "Just be safe, kid," he calls over his shoulder, his voice softer now, almost lost in the wind.

You stand there, your claws gripping the railing, staring out into the quiet wilderness. His words hang in the air, a complex mix of compliments and veiled concern. Be safe, kid—the sentiment lingers, as does the strange weight of the moment. Quaritch, for all his rough edges, has shown a side of himself you rarely see, a side that's perhaps less about control and more about genuine care, in his own way.

The tension in your chest eases slightly as you exhale, the distant roar from earlier now nothing more than an echo in the back of your mind. You've faced darkness and fear, and you know it's not always the monsters that are hardest to face. Sometimes, it's the unexpected gestures of care that leave you more unsettled than anything else.