"A hyper-realistic, cinematic close-up of the alien—now in motion, surrounded by a surging, otherworldly aura." The alien barrels forward through the vacuum of space, but the camera cuts in—tight. Close. Right on her form as it rushes through the stars. The exosuit gleams under the dim starlight, black and jagged like forged obsidian, etched with glowing red runes that pulse in sync with its movement. Around her body, the aura roars to life—no longer restrained. She’s no longer a glow. She’s a storm. Crimson lightning lashes through the energy field, tangled with ultraviolet streaks and deep violet pulses. The aura shapes itself like wings—then claws—then collapses inward before exploding again with every thrust forward. The camera focuses tightly on her face—if it can be called a face. Just that thin, vertical slit of red that blazes like a furnace. No eyes. No mouth. Just intent. Every frame captures the impossible stillness of its armor contrasted with the violent storm of energy surrounding it. Sparks fly from its hands. The void itself seems to twist in protest. She’s not flying. She’s tearing through reality. And even in motion, even at impossible speed—there’s a sense that it sees everything. Every threat. Every challenge. She’s not hunting. She’s coming.