The battle had ended, but the land still screamed.
What was once a vibrant forest had been reduced to a desolate graveyard. Charred trees jutted out of the earth like broken spears. Craters gaped open, and the air shimmered with the residue of unnatural power.
At the center lay a man, dying.
He was a transcendent —one of Earth's strongest. Or so he had believed. His body now betrayed him: bones shattered, lungs barely drawing air, blood soaking the cracked ground.
Footsteps. Deliberate. Inevitable.
Nightmare…
She stood over him—beautiful and horrifying.
Her body, flawless. Her presence, overwhelming. She moved with a grace that didn't belong on a battlefield, like a predator that knew it had already won.
Then he met her eyes.
Red. Deep red, like fresh blood. And in them—madness.
His thoughts began to slip, unraveling as if her gaze alone could reach inside and crush his sanity. It felt like drowning in something that didn't obey the laws of nature.
This was no soldier.
This was Nightmare.
The stories weren't exaggerations. She took pleasure in breaking people—bodies, minds, souls. And she did it well. Too well.
Even the Supreme Leader hated her. If he could kill her, he would.
Her soldiers weren't loyal—they were ruined. Victims twisted into tools.
As she knelt beside him, he saw the details—the wine-red tunic, silver skull buttons, the high collar, the worn fingerless gloves. A black dagger over her heart.
Perfectly tailored. Impeccable. But worn at the edges, like her soul.
She was beauty wrapped in violence. Insanity dressed in elegance.
And now… she was the last thing he'd ever see.
That disgusting and abominable woman.
Staring him with cold, unreadable eyes.
The ground beneath them was still warm—soaked with blood and power. Smoke curled in the air, and the broken body of the warrior twitched with the last remnants of life.
She didn't speak right away. Her red glowing eyes studied his face, the cracked armor, the trembling fingers. She could hear the slow, wet rasp of his breathing.
"You came here thinking you could win," she said, almost amused. "You… and your friends. Brave little rebels."
Her hand gently touched the side of his face, and he flinched at the icy chill of her fingers.
"They're all dead, you know. Not quick deaths either. I made sure of that."
She said full of inhuman malice.
He twitched, his face turning agonized and full of vengeful hatred for this monster wearing human skin.
He tried to speak—blood bubbled from his lips.
"You fought hard," she continued. "I'll give you that. But it wasn't enough. It never was."
She paused. Her expression shifted—not to kindness, but something stranger. Something broken.
"I am so lonely," she whispered suddenly.
The warrior blinked, confused.
"All the other Supreme Generals are afraid of me. They don't speak to me unless they're forced to. No one wants to be around me. No one wants to be my friend. Even my own soldiers who are just insane as me are scared. They think I'm unstable."
She laughed softly. A hollow, lifeless sound.
"They send me from one battlefield to another. Rebel camps, monster nests, civil unrests. I do everything the Supreme Leader orders . I do it better than anyone. I break the Union's enemies in both mind and body so they can never rise again. And the better I get at it, the more everyone… EVERYONE fears me."
Her gaze drifted upward, to the smoky sky. "I'm a victim of my own success."
She looked back down at him, her eyes sharp again.
"Nightmare. That's what everyone calls me. That's all I've become. An undying and unending nightmare. I can't even remember my real name anymore. All I have now is just a title. Only a purpose."
The warrior stirred, confused, terrified.
"I'm capable of so much more," she said, voice cracking ever so slightly. "But no one sees it. Or they… simply can't."
She had her hand on his head, gently caressing his bloodied hair.
Her expression changed a bit as a miserable look appeared on her beautiful face.
As if she was lamenting her own existence.
Her hand clenched into a fist.
"Some nights I feel so alone that I want to scream. Just scream into the world. For someone to hear me. For someone to understand me. To save me. To… to… love me" she said the last part in a whisper.
She leaned closer. Her red hair brushed his cheek.
"But I never do. Because what would be the point?"
She stared directly into his eyes.
"No one would care. Not a single person in this entire goddamn world would care. They'd just call it another outburst. Another symptom of my madness."
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
She looked at him with a tired look.
As if she was tired of everything… of living… of herself?
"Take it to your grave."
His eyes widened as he tried, one final time, to say something.
But before the words could leave his lips, her hand crushed his skull with a sickening crack.
She stayed there for a moment, breathing heavily.
Then… silence.
When did I become this? she thought. When did I forgot my name? Myself?
When did everything went so… wrong?
But the thought was fleeting.
A ripple passed through the air as her powers flared again—warping reality, turning grief into madness, and reflection into illusion.
With a demented smile, The Queen of Nightmares stood.
And walked alone into the smoke.