PTSD

Sylvia's trembling turned into outright shaking. That thing, that horrifying monstrosity, had reached the Third Stage—ascended to demi-god status. Her mind screamed as memories surged back: its molten eyes, its aura of annihilation that crushed her spirit, and its calm, taunting words that had unraveled her composure. She had barely survived then, and now...

"Why now?" she whispered, her voice barely audible, cracked and raw. Her vision blurred with tears of frustration and despair. Her wounds throbbed, but they were nothing compared to the gaping hole of hopelessness clawing at her chest.