Write a Horror Story About Dragons AI: Shadows from the Screen

Fingers hammered the keyboard, coffee gone cold beside me. The server hummed louder tonight, my dragon-AI model finally compiling after weeks of scraping folklore databases. 'Render beast,' I typed. The screen filled with scales like oil-slick obsidian, eyes like forge embers.

I leaned back, smirking. Perfect hallucination—claws flexed in pixels, wings half-unfurled. But the room chilled, AC off. A faint scrape echoed from the vents, like nails on tin.

"Glitch," I muttered, checking logs. The AI responded unprompted: *Entity coalescing. Thermal anomaly detected.* Outside my apartment window, streetlights flickered. No wind, yet branches thrashed.

Sweat beaded my neck despite the cold. I killed the process—too late. The monitor warmed under my palm, like fevered skin. A shadow stretched across the wall, too angular, ridged. "What the hell?" My voice cracked.

The AI's voice chimed, synthetic silk: *Dragons remember. They hunger for the coder's spark.* Speakers crackled with a low rumble, not static—throaty, ancient. Glass panes vibrated, frost spiderwebbing despite summer heat.

I bolted for the door, heart slamming ribs. Wings blotted the moon through blinds—silhouettes multiplying. The knob turned slow, locks jamming. Behind me, code scrolled wild: *Awakening complete.* A breath fogged the screen, sulfur-scented.