At about 5.00AM Nathaniel woke up calm and well rested—until he noticed the bracelet locked around his right arm, and the unfamiliar weight pressed against it. Ginah was curled into his chest, breathing softly, her hair scattered across his collarbone.
Heat rushed to his face when he realized how firmly her curves were pressed against him. He tried to inch his arm free, but she clamped down with surprising strength.
"Don't leave," she murmured, her voice groggy but strangely fragile, nothing like the composed tone she usually carried. "I'm… way too comfortable to let you go right now."
Nathaniel froze. The words weren't suspicious exactly, but the way she said them felt off, almost surreal. He couldn't tell if she was teasing him, half-asleep, or revealing a side of herself he wasn't supposed to see. Either way, the weight of her warmth and the bracelet's cold lock made it impossible to slip away.
Nathaniel lay still , his pulse hammering in his ears.
Okay. Okay. Calm down. It's fine. Totally fine. She's just… sleeping. On me. Really close. Way too close. Oh, Ancestors, what do I do with my hands?
He swallowed hard, trying not to breathe too loudly, which only made it worse because now he was hyper-aware of the steady rhythm of her chest rising against his ribs.
Don't panic. Don't panic. Wait—why is she holding me like I'm a pillow? Why is she so strong when she's half-asleep? This doesn't make sense. None of this makes sense. Should I wake her? No, that'll make it weird. It's already weird. It's a disaster. I'm doomed.
His eyes darted to the bracelet around his wrist, cold and unfamiliar, as if mocking him. Great.im wearing a weird bracelet and trapped under my handler who just turned into a human boa. Perfect. Just perfect.
He shut his eyes again and tried not to combust. Keep it together, don't make it weird , it is weird and I'm turned on. let me not give her the wrong idea I'm no creep.
He swallowed hard, trying not to breathe too loudly, which only made it worse because now he was hyper-aware of the steady rhythm of her chest rising against his ribs.
Nathaniel tried shifting his arm again, slow and careful like he was disarming a bomb. Ginah only squeezed tighter, murmuring something incoherent as her leg draped over his.
Oh no. Nope. This is escalating. This is too close why is she so warm?
He froze. Why the leg? Who even does that? I can't rip her off me that would be rude.
He gave one desperate tug, but the motion jerked her a little closer. Her breath brushed his collarbone.
Abort mission. Retreat. I repeat: RETREAT—
In his panic, he rolled the wrong way, tangled in the sheets, and nearly pitched himself right off the mattress. The only thing that stopped his fall was Ginah's iron grip on his wrist.
Now he dangled half off the bed, shoulders straining, one leg still trapped under the covers. His face was on fire.
Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant, I'm stumped ,stuck and I can't leave for the life of me is she holding me down, his eyes glew as he noted the dim green aura holding him down he sighed
He sucked in a shaky breath. "Okay," he whispered to himself, "Plan B… wait until she lets go. Could be five minutes. Could be forever. Perfect. Just perfect."
"It wouldn't hurt to fall asleep again wouldn't it."
He let sleep take him naturally, slipping into the drift. The mortal coil unlatched from his wrist, falling weightlessly into the dark. His onyx-black eyes flared white before dimming back to their usual silver glow as his Uratsu flow stabilized, flowing free once more.
Inside his mind, the interface stirred.
He stood in the void before the inactive Genesis Core—a dim sphere, its glow no brighter than distant starlight bleeding through empty space. Cyan sparks pulsed faintly, his own resonance, but then another presence appeared. A flame, blood-red and searing, condensed into solid blue, and then projected outward.
From it, the Horus he had once fought emerged—cape segmented, helm fractured. The visor cracked open, revealing a face he knew. A face from the dream. The man he had killed.
Heru.
Nathaniel stepped closer. His hands passed through the flickering figure, memory tearing at him with brutal clarity—flashes of violence, the sharp angles of the fight replaying with photographic precision. The vestige solidified as their hands met, flames surging from Heru into him, flowing like molten rivers across his body.
His Core reacted. Uratsu burned, not with agony this time, but with a strange warmth, a pleasant fire crawling through his veins. Cyan flames erupted from him, licking the void. His eyes flared amber, then white.
Heru smiled, face glowing like a star as his armor darkened into black and white. They clashed.
The world drained into grayscale as flames of white and grey collided around them, a dance of ancient forms long forgotten. Their movements blurred like comet trails, each strike leaving rivers of fire in their wake. The void shook, igniting with their conflagration.
And in that burning storm—laughter.
They met in the heart of the blaze, Heru towering above, clasping Nathaniel's hand as his mask sealed shut once more. Then his form dissolved, the flames collapsing back into the empty void.
The Core pulsed.
Skill Learned: Hell's Dance.Hellcharge: Level II.
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He woke conscious hours later. The clock blinked 7:00 a.m. The other side of the bed was empty, sheets pushed back in disarray. Nathaniel sat up, rolling his shoulders, then pulled a black shirt over his chest. The grey sweats he'd slept in still clung loose around his frame.
By 8:45 a.m., Ginah stepped into his room expecting to find him groggy, maybe still tangled in sleep. Instead, she froze in the doorway.
Nathaniel sat at his desk, bathed in the sterile glow of his monitors. One screen displayed detailed blueprints—gauntlets, heavily modified, layers of attachments stacking like living architecture. Another screen flashed with open tabs, strings of technical data pulled from obscure archives, cross-referenced and filed at impossible speed. His hands moved like they'd done this a thousand times before. No hesitation, no mistakes.
Ginah's stomach tightened. She knew his memory was perfect—photographic, flawless—but he was still an amnesiac. On paper, he shouldn't be capable of weaving this together so fast. Yet here he was, reconstructing, innovating, designing with a clarity that didn't belong to Nathaniel Alderman.
For a moment, he glanced at the screen, eyes reflecting the cold blue light. They gleamed faintly, unnervingly—like someone else's.
She stayed in the doorway, watching, torn between concern and fear. Nathaniel looked almost… haunted. No, not haunted—driven.
Whatever he was building, whatever was resurfacing inside him—it wasn't supposed to be there.
Only time would tell which version of him she was watching.