Divine Singularity || Reader x Murder Drones

V

You wanted to scream.

You wanted to tear at your own skin—no, not skin, this writhing mass of flesh and sinew that pulsed and twitched with every uneven breath you took. You wanted to dig your claws—dear god, you had claws now—into the grotesque thing that had become your body and rip yourself out of it, peel away the layers until you found something, anything, that was still you beneath it all. But no matter how hard you willed it, no matter how violently your body shuddered in protest, you remained caged inside this monstrous shell, suffocating beneath your own existence.

The nightmares had finally come true.

Every single wretched vision, every horrible dream where you had looked down and seen something that wasn't you staring back—every single time you had awoken panting, hands clutching at your metal chest, reassuring yourself that you were still intact—it had all been leading to this moment. And now, there was no waking up from it.

Your hulking form trembled beneath its own weight, every movement feeling wrong, too heavy, too unnatural, as you backed further into the cold stone walls, desperate to disappear into the darkness, to let the shadows swallow you whole. But the shadows wouldn't take you. You were too large. Too wrong. Even they recoiled from your presence, as if rejecting you as something not for them, something not meant to exist in this world.

Your hundred—no, thousand—eyes darted downward, and in a grotesque cacophony of overlapping perspectives, you saw everything.

You saw the shifting, pulsating flesh that made up your limbs, twisting and contorting as if it were still trying to decide what shape to take. You saw the sickening mass of eyes and teeth that gnashed and clicked together in places where no mouth should be. You saw hands, too many hands, fingers curling and uncurling, grasping at nothing, shaking violently as if even they wanted to tear themselves away from you.

And then you saw it.

A Worker Drone's body, lying still on the ground.

No... not just any drone.

That was you.

The sleek casing, the familiar purple optics now dim and lifeless. It was the body you had awoken in, walked in, lived in. It was you. Or at least... it had been.

A strangled noise tore from your throat, something between a sob and a growl, a sound too unnatural to belong to any living thing. Your vision blurred, not from tears—you had no idea if you even had the capacity for that anymore—but from sheer, overwhelming horror.

Had... had you died?

No. It didn't feel like you had. You didn't know why it was, but what you were experiencing didn't feel like death. It was more like... you had shed your skin. You had molted like a creature that had outgrown its husk, leaving behind the fragile, familiar shape you had once called your own.

With nowhere left to retreat, you curled inward, wrapping your malformed, shifting limbs around yourself in a mockery of a hug. Your claws—too long, too sharp—dug into your own flesh, slicing through it with ease. The pain was immediate, searing and electric, but it was welcome. A lifeline in the chaos. A reminder that you still existed. That there was still something left of you beneath the layers of this deformed, shifting nightmare you had become.

And then you saw it.

The blood—or what should have been blood.

Not red, not like the crimson that had dripped from Tessa's cut hand, staining her skin in tones of maroon. No, this was something else entirely. It was white—brilliant, blinding. It glowed as it spilled from your wounds, seeping onto the cold stone floor, pooling in thick, viscous drops. And as it touched the ground, something impossible happened. Patches of grass bloomed in its wake, lush and green, thriving in the lifeless dungeon beneath the manor. The sight was mesmerizing, but wrong, so terribly wrong. You hissed at the sensation, recoiling, but at the same time... you craved it. The pain, the raw, tangible proof of your body still responding to the world, was the only thing tethering you to reality.