Inside the pale, humming cocoon, Nikki sleeps, her form nestled in a web of silken threads. Her skin glimmers with the shifting hues of butterfly wings—painted patterns alive even in slumber. The air vibrates with the low thrum of machinery, every monitor screen displaying her vital signs in green, undulating lines. Time seems to slow, as if holding its breath for her awakening.
The infection finds a hairline crack and seeps inside, tendrils curling and twisting as they penetrate the cocoon's delicate fibers. Nikki's serene face twitches, her painted skin darkening where the corruption touches her. The cocoon pulses faster, every heartbeat echoing with an alien rhythm. Monitors flicker, alarms blaring, but the lab is empty—no one comes.
Nikki emerges, her eyes glazed with a new hunger, veins black beneath her skin's painted veneer. She stumbles to a table, seizes a vial marked "DNA: Synthesis," and drinks it in a single, trembling motion. Her wings flutter, scales shifting into something harder and sharper. Without a word, she returns to her capsule and lies down, the lid sealing shut with a hiss. The infection within her grows dormant, waiting.
Nikki's capsule unlocks, mist rolling out as she awakens. Her eyes reflect the devastation outside; the infection has spread far beyond the lab. She rises, uncoiling her body with a predatory grace, drawn to the fabled "Well of Death" at the lab's heart. Without hesitation, she drinks deeply from the obsidian pool.
Nikki[/@ch_1]'s back, writhing like living nightmares.]
She screams, voice warbling between human and monstrous, as her wings expand and her form twists. She seeks the last dragons, slaying them with new claws and drinking their ancient blood. With each drop, her body mutates—wings becoming immense and draconic, scales blooming across her arms. She hovers above the ruined earth, eyes burning with an unnatural power.
Nikki fuses with the heart, her body reshaping in a storm of light and shadow. Fins sprout along her limbs, gills flare open on her neck, and shimmering antenna unfurl from her brow. The infection melts over her body, forming a living cloak that pulses with every heartbeat. Now, the infection is not just within her—it is her. She steps into the new world, ready to claim it as her domain.
