Yara walked through the underground base, her footsteps nearly silent against the stone floor. The dim lighting cast long shadows across the cavern, illuminating the makeshift camps, the crude weapon racks, and the faces of those who called this place home.
It had been a long time since she'd wandered freely like this, without immediate threats lurking behind every corner. But even in this supposed sanctuary, something felt… off.
At first, she didn't pay attention to the hushed voices. It was only a murmur an occasional glance in her direction, a hushed exchange between wary eyes. But as she moved deeper into the base, the whispers grew louder.
"Is that really her?"
"There's no way... Nightmare Zero?"
"Here? Are we already doomed?"
Yara stopped.
Her expression remained cold, indifferent, but inside, her mind sharpened. They knew the title. Nightmare Zero. A name that carried weight, fear, and something much worse expectation.
But they didn't know her real name.
Yara kept walking, listening as more whispers followed her.
"I heard Nightmare Zero wiped out an entire army without breaking a sweat."
"They say she fought against gods and won."
"She's a walking calamity. If she's here… does that mean we're already dead?"
A few stared at her outright, their gazes filled with a mixture of awe and terror. Others averted their eyes, pretending she wasn't there, as if that would keep them safe.
Yara sighed internally. Idiots.
She didn't care what they thought. She didn't care about their fear.
She had fought, survived, and moved forward. That was all that mattered.
Still, the unease in the air didn't sit right with her. This base was supposed to be a refuge, a hiding place for those who had slipped between the cracks of their own stories. Yet the way they spoke her name that name felt like an omen.
Something was coming.
As Yara continued wandering, she eventually found herself near one of the deeper sections of the base, a place where few dared to go. The tunnels stretched on endlessly, filled with old crates, abandoned supplies, and the remnants of what had once been a much larger resistance force.
She leaned against a nearby stone pillar, her arms crossed, her mind drifting.
Then…
A sound.
Faint, but unmistakable.
A thud.
Then another.
The ground trembled slightly beneath her feet.
Yara's eyes narrowed.
Shouts erupted from the eastern tunnels panic, chaos, something breaking apart. She immediately pushed off the pillar and moved toward the commotion, her instincts on high alert.
And then she saw it.
A group of people staggered out from the tunnel's entrance. Some limped, others collapsed. Their bodies were broken, bleeding. A few clutched at missing limbs, their faces twisted in agony.
At the center of the group, a familiar figure emerged.
Angus.
But something was wrong.
Very.. very. Wrong.
His left eye was bleeding, the wound running down his face, staining his thick brown hair. His eye was completely shut, his breathing ragged. He clutched his longsword tightly, but his stance wavered.
Behind him, three more figures followed powerful magicians, their robes torn, their bodies barely holding together. Each of them carried wounds that should have been fatal, and yet, they had somehow survived long enough to escape.
The entire underground chamber went silent.
Then… a low, guttural sound echoed through the tunnel behind them.
The air itself twisted, darkened.
A massive shadow loomed at the tunnel's entrance.
Yara's heart slowed.
No.
Not that.
Then the beast stepped forward.
The Second Rookie Puppet.
A monster. Not of nature. Not of magic. Not of any world that should have existed.
It stood tall, its two gigantic arms barely fitting through the tunnel behind it. Thick, obsidian-like horns curled from its skull, framing the featureless void where a face should have been. Its body was pure darkness formless, shifting, yet horrifyingly solid.
And its presence alone devoured the light around it.
The magicians who had barely survived gasped for air, their very bodies rejecting reality itself in the presence of the creature.
Because it wasn't just powerful.
It was absolute.
Nullification.
Magic? Gone.
Abilities? Useless.
Anything no matter where it came from, no matter how powerful, no matter the rules of time or existence itself was stripped away the moment it came near.
The Second Rookie Puppet nullified everything.
And it had already proven its dominance.
Angus, one of the strongest warriors in the underground, stood battered and broken. The overpowered magicians who could bend reality to their will had been reduced to mere mortals.
And now, the monster's hollow, empty void of a face turned toward Yara.
For the first time in a long while…
A challenge.
A TRUE nightmare.
But before Yara could react, before anyone could move
The scene froze.
Far away, beyond the chaos, beyond the underground base, beyond even the very concept of reality…
A screen flickered.
The Narrator watched.
A small, amused smirk tugged at their lips. Its form still holding its current feminine appearance rested lazily against a massive, ornate chair, one leg draped over the other.
And beside them, sitting quietly, was little tinysy Zephyra.
The girl with snow-white hair, her jet-black bangs contrasting starkly against her pale features, rested against the Narrator's lap, eyes closed as she was gently head-patted.
The Narrator hummed.
"Well now.." it say mused, their voice dripping with amusement. "This is certainly getting interesting."
It then ran their fingers through Zephyra's hair, watching the screen flicker with the frozen scene of Yara and the monster of the horror about to unfold.
"Shall we see how she handles this one?"
Its laughter echoed in the void.