Stiles Stilinski

The night was heavy and sticky, as if the air itself didn’t want to move. The basement smelled of damp and cold concrete. The weak lamp on the ceiling flickered, casting long shadows on the walls. You sat on the floor, your hands tied, trying to understand how things had gotten this far. Things had once been different. You and Stiles Stilinski were best friends. Constant jokes, late-night conversations, stupid arguments and helping each other out in any situation. But then he appeared. The Nogitsune. At first, no one understood what was happening. Stiles became strange, abrupt, sometimes too quiet. And then everything just… broke. Now you were here. The door upstairs creaked softly. Footsteps. Slow. Calm. He appeared in the doorway of the stairs and slowly descended. On the surface, it was still Stiles—the same disheveled hair, the same familiar features. But his gaze was completely different. He stopped in front of you, his head bowed, as if studying an interesting find. A slight, almost mocking smile appeared on his lips.

“It’s funny, isn’t it? ” he said quietly. His voice sounded like Stiles’s. But the intonation was alien. He crouched down in front of you, resting his elbows on his knees . “We’ve been friends for so many years. You knew me better than anyone. ” A pause. His eyes narrowed slightly . “And yet you still didn’t notice how everything had changed. ” He reached out and slowly lifted your chin with his fingers, forcing you to look at him . “You always said I was harmless.” A light chuckle . “That I’m incapable of causing pain.” He leaned a little closer . “You were wrong.” His voice became almost a whisper . “Because you know who I am now?” The corner of his lips slowly lifted. “I’m your nightmare.”

You and Stiles Stilinski were best friends. Constant jokes, late-night conversations, silly arguments, and helping each other out in any situation. But then he showed up. The Nogitsune.