Nightmares

It had been two days since that fateful event. Fortunately, no one had found the man's body yet, and everything seemed to be going back to normal. His life, once again, was under control. Well, most of it, at least.

That morning, he woke up early and started his routine as usual, though he couldn't ignore the lingering problem he'd been carrying since then: the image of a decapitated, armless body in his room still haunted him. No matter how much he tried to distract himself, that scene kept replaying in his mind, over and over, as if it had been permanently burned into his brain.

He knew something had changed in him. "They say seeing death up close can leave a deep impression. But then, what would happen to me if I ever killed someone?" That question had consumed much of his thoughts over the past few days, like an insistent echo he couldn't escape.

This wasn't a comic book or a movie, where killing seemed as easy as eating candy. This was real life. Every person—even criminals—had aspirations, dreams, a life behind their actions, whether good or bad. But then again, "Is it okay to kill someone who's beyond saving? Someone who doesn't deserve to live?"

He shook his head violently, as if the simple motion could clear those dark thoughts from his mind. But he knew it wouldn't be that easy. Something had changed since that day. He could feel it deep within himself. It was as if something inside him had awakened—something he couldn't quite understand.

Normally, he had a voice in his head—the same one that helped him organize his thoughts or solve problems. But this time, it was different. These thoughts weren't his. Or at least, they didn't feel like his. He'd never had such extreme or cold thoughts before. The idea that it was okay to kill, that he felt no guilt for thinking it, terrified him. Something—or someone—was planting these ideas in his mind, and he didn't like it one bit.

But what could he do about it? Going to a psychologist or therapist wasn't an option. The questions would be inevitable, and the answers, impossible to give. "I can't tell them the truth. I can't say I found a dismembered corpse in my room, decided to get rid of it instead of calling the police." The very idea was absurd. They'd call him crazy—or worse, they'd arrest him.

He clenched his fists in frustration. "This has to pass. It's just a side effect," he thought, trying to convince himself. Surely, this was a normal reaction after witnessing something so grotesque. After some time, everything would go back to normal. It had to.

He just had to endure it.

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The day passed as usual. Classes, commutes, even the silence in his apartment—everything was in its place. That routine offered him a sense of comfort that few could understand, and while his mind continued to flutter between dark memories and strange thoughts, he clung tightly to the monotony he valued so much.

When night came, he got ready for bed. He secured all the locks in his apartment, checking every window and every corner, as had become his habit since the incident. He had even added more security measures: metal bars to block the windows and strings tied to empty cans that would make noise if someone tried to break in. "It's more work than I should have to do just to live in peace, but it's worth it."

He glanced around his small apartment, ensuring everything was in order. No one would get in. It was too much trouble for any average Gotham thief, and with that thought, he could sleep soundly.

He let himself fall onto the bed, allowing the exhaustion to overtake his body.

—All I need is to sleep… to forget everything for a few hours —he murmured, pulling the blankets over himself until he was completely covered.

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The nightmares.

They were always there, waiting. Maybe, to some extent, he had grown used to them. But that didn't change the fact that he hated them. After all, who would want to sleep only to be chased by the darkest memories of their life?

He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. Maybe tonight would be one of those nights where the darkness left him alone.

After about fifteen minutes, he finally drifted off. But this time, something was different. Normally, he would dream of something confusing, dark, perhaps violent. But what was about to happen would go far beyond anything normal.

As he slept, he began to relive the events of his childhood. That day. The worst of all. The memories of that fateful day—the day he lost his parents—played out again and again before his eyes, like a movie he couldn't stop. No matter how much time passed, that image remained, haunting him, buried deep within his mind.

His body twisted and turned in bed as the nightmare took hold. His hands gripped the blankets tightly, and beads of sweat began to form on his forehead. But this time, it wasn't just the nightmare that tormented him.

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A shadow began to emerge from his chest. Dark, dense, almost liquid, it spread slowly over his body. It seemed to have a life of its own, moving with intent. The shadow first encircled his torso, covering every inch of his skin. Then, it began to spread to his arms, protruding from his forearms in the shape of blades. However, the blades were not fully formed yet; they were chaotic, incomplete, as if they were still in the process of transforming.

His legs started to disappear, consumed by that same dark substance. The shadow enveloped him entirely, as if trying to consume him from within. It was a strange and unsettling sight—a transformation that seemed to occur beyond the physical plane, affecting something deeper, something he couldn't even begin to comprehend.

Meanwhile, his body continued to writhe, trapped in the nightmare. But now, the nightmare didn't feel like just a dream.

Something else was happening.

Something beyond his control.

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In place of his legs, a kind of dark smoke began to materialize, replacing them entirely. The smoke seemed to move with a will of its own, expanding and contracting as if it were part of a living organism. Meanwhile, something else began to cover his head: a dark helmet formed around his face, fitting perfectly until not a single trace of skin was visible. It was as if the young man had disappeared under this new form, as though he had been erased from the world.

Minutes passed in silence. His body remained still, but the atmosphere in the room was suffocating, charged with a strange energy that seemed to vibrate in the air. Just when it seemed like nothing else would happen, his body began to move in an unnatural way. Without warning, he rose from the bed—not walking, but floating. His figure glided through the air, the strange smoke that now made up his lower body allowing him to move without touching the ground.

When he reached the window, his first action was to pull the curtains open, letting the moon's silvery light flood the room. The soft rays illuminated every corner, making the helmet covering his head gleam faintly and highlighting the unnatural nature of his new form. The moonlight seemed to trigger something else, because at that moment, his body began to transform again.

His arms slowly stretched, growing several inches longer. In the process, the musculature he once had disappeared entirely, leaving behind thin, almost skeletal arms that looked as though they were designed solely to intimidate. His hands began to change as well: his fingers stretched grotesquely until they formed long claws, ending in razor-sharp points that seemed capable of tearing through metal.

On his shoulders, pauldrons began to form, resembling pieces of ancient armor. They emerged naturally, as though they were part of him, crafted from the same dark, opaque material as the helmet now covering his face. Meanwhile, the ethereal blades that had extended from his forearms finally solidified. They gleamed in the moonlight, reflecting a deadly sharpness that left no doubt: these were weapons built for destruction.

Throughout this entire process, his head had remained tilted downward, but now he slowly lifted it, revealing the new face he had adopted. The helmet that covered him lacked a mouth, and his eyes were no longer human. Two large, glowing white hollows—devoid of pupils or eyelids—shone intensely from the depths of the dark helmet. They were cold, empty, and yet radiated a strange energy that exuded menace.

The creature raised its head toward the moon, staring at it and the few stars scattered around it. A low, deep sound emerged from its throat, a growl that reverberated through the room. Then, in a voice that was deep and resonant, it spoke for the first time:

—It feels good to be out after so long…

Its words were drawn out, each syllable laced with a dark satisfaction. Slowly, it floated toward the window, but when it tried to open it, it encountered something unexpected: the locks the young man had installed earlier resisted.

The creature let out a sound of irritation, a low growl, and raised one clawed hand. With a single motion, it shattered all the locks as if they were made of paper, ripping them from the window effortlessly.

—Annoying… —it said, its tone tinged with disdain.

With the locks no longer in its way, it pushed the window open wide and floated outside, finally leaving the apartment. Once in the open air, it rose slowly, ascending several meters before coming to a stop. Its figure looked even more imposing under the moonlight, a dark and terrifying silhouette hovering over Gotham.

Looking down at the city sprawling beneath it, the creature let out a low, deep laugh.

—This world… looks so delicious. So much fear…

Its words echoed in the silence of the night as it continued to ascend. Soon, it was hundreds of meters above the ground, looking down at the city from a perspective no human could ever reach. From there, it could feel the chaos, the fear, the uncertainty that permeated every corner of Gotham. And to it, this was perfect. It was as though all of it nourished and strengthened it.

Finally, it tilted its head slightly to one side, as if listening to something no one else could hear. A twisted smile—though invisible beneath the helmet—seemed to form on its face.

—Let the hunt begin… —it said softly, but with an intensity that made the words feel heavier than they should.

Without warning, its body tilted forward and began to plummet. Its form sliced through the sky like a projectile, moving at an impossible speed as it descended straight toward the streets of Gotham.

That night, something had awakened. Something that wasn't supposed to exist. And though the world didn't know it yet, everything was about to change.

That creature, which had once been an ordinary young man, would only be the beginning. Just one of the many evils that would soon plague this world. A new chapter was about to begin, and no one had any idea what was coming.