Adrian closed the door to his room, the soft click echoing in the sudden quiet. He leaned against it for a moment, letting out a long, slow breath he hadn't realized he was holding. What a day. From the blinding flash of light to the bewildering reality of Oakhaven, it had been a relentless torrent of the impossible.
He walked to the window, gazing out at the peaceful, unfamiliar village bathed in moonlight. Just this morning – or was it yesterday morning? Time felt so warped – he was Adrian, a software developer, sitting in his gaming chair, anticipating a raid. Now, he was Nyxal, the Primordial Apex Devil, in human guise, navigating a world that had once been a game. The absurdity of it all was staggering.
He thought of the initial terror of waking up as Nyxal, the raw, alien power thrumming beneath his skin. The sheer, terrifying truth of his immortality, a concept that still hadn't fully settled in. Then came the fleeting memory of Chameleon's Visage, his unlikely salvation, allowing him to mask the monstrous reality beneath. He'd walked into Oakhaven, a bustling hub of genuine lives, not lines of code.
Elara's genuine warmth, her innocent curiosity, had been a surprising comfort. It was easy to forget, amidst the cosmic horror of his situation, that these were truly sentient beings. And then, Yena. Her unsettling intuition about his "dark scent" was a stark reminder that even his powerful disguise wasn't foolproof. He had to be careful, incredibly careful. The Adventurers' Guild, with its bustling activity and the promise of information, felt like his only real lead in understanding this new, terrifying existence. The trials awaited him tomorrow, a chance to prove his 'worth' while hiding his true nature.
He ran a hand through his hair, the sensation of human hair strange and comforting. He was still Adrian, wasn't he? Somewhere inside this powerful, demonic vessel, the human remained. But for how long? How long could he hold onto his old self when he was living the life of a devil?
Exhaustion finally claimed him. He stripped off the borrowed clothes, feeling the subtle hum of power beneath his transformed skin, and lay down on the surprisingly comfortable bed. The soft mattress, the clean sheets – simple human comforts that felt like luxuries now. Sleep came quickly, pulling him down into a profound darkness.
But his rest was not peaceful. Almost immediately, the dream began. It wasn't the fuzzy, disjointed chaos of typical nightmares. This was vivid, sharp, almost a memory. He was in a vast, desolate landscape, bathed in an infernal glow. The air crackled with raw magic and the screams of countless beings. Towering before him, dominating the hellish panorama, was a figure.
It was undeniably Nyxal, his true form. But this Nyxal was not just powerful; he was a force of absolute, unbridled destruction. His obsidian skin gleamed with malevolent energy, and his colossal wings, vast as storm clouds, blotted out the burning sky. His horns, even larger than Adrian had perceived in his waking nightmare, spiraled upwards, catching the demonic light.
The dream-Nyxal moved with an almost casual, terrifying grace. He saw cities, once vibrant and alive, crumble to dust with a mere wave of the creature's hand. He witnessed entire armies of valiant warriors, their faces contorted in fear, dissolving into ash at Nyxal's roar. The devil's eyes, pools of molten gold and shadow, burned with an ancient, cold fury, reflecting scenes of utter devastation. Elven forests withered, dwarven mountains shattered, human kingdoms turned into desolate wastelands. This Nyxal was not just fighting; he was dominating, eradicating, sweeping aside all life with an effortless, terrible might.
The dream-Nyxal turned, its colossal head slowly, inexorably, towards Adrian. There was no rage, no malice in its gaze, only a profound, chilling recognition. And then, a realization slammed into Adrian with the force of a physical blow: the features, the way the light caught on the angles of its terrifyingly perfect face, the very essence of its posture – it was his face. The "idol's face" he had glimpsed in his human form, now stretched and exaggerated to a grotesque, cosmic scale. The dream-Nyxal was not just a devil; it was him, Adrian, if he fully embraced the monstrous power that now resided within him. This was not a premonition of a devil. This was a premonition of him, the Primordial Apex Devil, fulfilling some horrifying, forgotten destiny.
Adrian tried to scream, but no sound escaped his throat. He tried to run, but his limbs were leaden. The dream-Nyxal raised a hand, and the world dissolved into searing light, leaving Adrian with the lingering taste of ash and sulfur.
He awoke with a gasp, sitting bolt upright in the bed, sweat beading on his brow. The room was dark, silent, save for the gentle sounds of the inn. The dream faded, leaving only a bone-deep chill and the unsettling certainty that what he had seen was not just a nightmare, but a terrifying glimpse into a potential future. His future.