It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been haunted by vivid, nightmarish visions. Since childhood, these dark dreams had been her constant companions, lurking in the shadows of her subconscious. She never remembered the exact details upon waking, but the feeling of dread they left behind always lingered, clinging to her like an unwelcome fog.
But this time, the cold—sharp and biting—seeped through her glove, anchoring her to the present. It wasn’t a dream. The chill gnawing at her fingers was too real, too visceral to be imagined. Reality settled in like a weight on her chest.
The horrific scene she had just witnessed flashed behind her closed eyes—the mutilated sculpture, the faces she knew—and a fresh wave of nausea rolled through her. Her stomach lurched again, the familiar faces from the gruesome tableau refusing to leave her mind, their expressions twisted in agony and despair. Nyla’s breath hitched, her body trembling as the line between nightmare and reality blurred and crumbled around her.
Another wave of bile surged up Nyla’s throat, and she bent over the bricks again, retching until there was nothing left. Her body shuddered, weak and drained. As she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, she staggered upright, trying to steady herself.
That’s when she noticed something strange. There were more bricks scattered along the ground, forming an unsettling trail that led further along the wall. With growing dread, she raised her eyes and froze. The east wall of the building was shattered, a gaping hole where a solid structure should have been as if something had violently torn it apart.
Her breath caught in her chest. What on earth had happened here? She stood staring at the jagged edges of the breach, her mind racing with questions. The destruction seemed impossibly large, and yet there it was, the building broken in half as if ripped open by some immense force.
Fear prickled at the edges of her thoughts. Whatever had caused this—it wasn’t human.
Tears streamed down Nyla's face as she stood there, shaking. But amid her sobs, a new sound broke through the haze—the crunching of footsteps on snow. Instinctively, a warning bell went off in her mind, a primal urge to run, to get away, just like the feeling she'd had while walking toward the house earlier.
She turned slowly, dread tightening her chest, afraid of what she might see. But when her eyes finally landed on the figure a few feet away, her heart skipped a beat. It was Billy.
Relief washed over her like a warm wave. He was alive. Whatever nightmare had unfolded here, he had survived it. She blinked away the tears, hope flickering inside her. Maybe, just maybe, there were others. Maybe not everyone was gone.
"Billy…" she breathed, barely able to believe it. Her voice trembled as she took a shaky step toward him.
"You made it." Nyla hugged Billy tightly, her arms wrapped around him as if to shield him from the horrors they had both witnessed. For that fleeting moment, the crushing weight of fear lifted, replaced by a fragile hope that there might be others who had survived too. But something felt off. He was too cold, his hair messy and dusted with snow, his clothes damp from being outside for too long. He must have been hiding, she thought, probably in the trees, staying out of the killer's—or killers'—sight. There was no way one person could have done all of this.
"Are you alright? Is there anyone else with you? What happened here?" she asked in a flurry of questions, her voice trembling as she gently brushed the snow from his hair and coat. But as she wiped the fabric clean, her hand paused. There were dark patches on his coat. At first, she thought it was wet from the snow, but when she touched the stains, her glove came away smeared with red.
Nyla’s heart dropped.
"Billy… are you hurt? Did you get injured anywhere?" she asked in a panic, frantically pulling off his coat, and scanning him for any sign of a wound. Her breath hitched as she looked him over, only to find his skin unmarked. She exhaled a shaky sigh of relief, but something still felt wrong.
She hugged him again, tighter this time, but Billy said nothing. His silence was unsettling, unnerving. Slowly, he raised his arms and wrapped them around her neck, returning the hug, but there was a stiffness to his embrace. Something about it felt hollow, empty.
Nyla pulled back slightly, searching his face for any sign of emotion, but his eyes seemed distant as if the boy standing before her wasn’t entirely there. The gnawing feeling of unease began to creep back into her chest.
"First, we need to get out of here," Nyla whispered urgently, loosening Billy's arms from around her neck. Her mind raced with one goal—to get him as far from this nightmare as possible. They had to find help and call the police. They could search for other survivors once they were safe. She hugged him quickly again, a surge of gratitude washing over her, before releasing him, but she kept her hands on his small shoulders.
That’s when she felt it—something was off. Billy stood there, but there was a strange stillness to him. His eyes didn’t meet hers, his gaze unfocused, distant. She frowned, trying to shake off the growing unease as she studied him more closely. There was something... wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. The boy she had known for so long suddenly seemed foreign, like a shadow of himself.
As Nyla tried to piece together the unsettling feeling gnawing at her, neither of them noticed the figure watching them from the gaping hole in the second-story wall. A shadow moved silently, its gaze locked on them from above, hidden among the debris and darkness, waiting—waiting for the perfect moment.
*******************
Alexander crouched low, catching his breath behind the crumbling wall, his pulse pounding in his ears. He'd been in a brutal struggle with the daemon for hours and this brief respite was a rare chance to regroup. But then a scream tore through the air—sharp, human, and chilling. It sliced through his exhaustion like a blade, making his heart leap in his chest. Instinctively, he froze. This wasn’t the wail of a daemon or its twisted seed. It was something else. Someone else.
Curiosity overrode caution, and Alexander edged toward the source, but before he could investigate, the source came to him. A woman, wild-eyed and breathless, dashed into view, skidding to a halt mere feet from his hiding spot.
“How the hell did she get in here?!” Alexander muttered under his breath, disbelief knotting in his chest. He was certain no human could have breached the perimeter unnoticed. The boundary surrounding the daemon’s domain wasn’t vast—roughly 300 yards, a tight radius for something so dangerous. The humans tasked with watching it had been vigilant, reporting every anomaly. Yet, here she was. He hadn’t received a single word of warning.
For a moment, he was frozen, unsure of his next move. Then it hit him—he knew exactly who she was. He'd seen her before, volunteering at the orphanage. His undercover mission there was meant to be seamless, blending in among the residents while gathering intel. But she had been a problem. Even two weeks ago, during his recon, she had sensed him. That unnerving awareness she carried was rare. And then there was that story she told, the one that set off alarm bells in his mind. It wasn’t just a coincidence—something about her was off.
Now, here she was again, right in the heart of the daemon’s lair.
This was bad. Really bad. Alexander knew that Liam would want her alive—he’d been itching to follow up on that strange story she had been telling the orphan boy. But how was Alexander supposed to protect her from the daemon if it decided to show up? This was no ordinary creature. It was powerful, fast, and far more intelligent than most of its kind. Alexander had been lucky enough to hold it off for two brutal hours, just long enough for his squad to step in and give him a chance to catch his breath. Had they not been in the area, the daemon and its seed would’ve already torn through the town, leaving nothing but carnage in their wake.
He almost moved toward her instinctively, muscles twitching to act. But then he hesitated, grounding himself. The daemon was being kept busy by his squad, drawn farther away for now. There was no immediate danger—at least, not yet. And honestly, he had no real obligation to help her. She was just a part-time volunteer at a run-down orphanage where he’d spent the last two months barely surviving because of Liam’s stupid, though admittedly correct, suspicion. No orders had come down about protecting her, and Liam—ever so cautious—would’ve issued a directive if he knew she was here.
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But something didn’t sit right with Alexander. He couldn’t put his finger on it. She wasn’t the key—he’d already tested her after that bizarre story she told the young boy in his dusty shared room. It hadn’t revealed anything of value. So why was his gut screaming at him to act?
He watched her closely, torn between instinct and logic. She was doubled over now, retching violently, her sobs echoing in the eerie silence. Completely vulnerable. As Alexander debated what to do next, something shifted in the atmosphere. His senses sharpened.
And then, out of nowhere, the seed appeared.
It slithered from the shadows like a nightmare, its grotesque form barely making a sound as it moved—straight toward her.
Alexander’s heart lurched.
His first instinct was to stay hidden. Seeds didn’t typically act like this, and something about it unsettled him. The small, twisted figure moved with an eerie calmness, with no signs of the usual bloodthirst or agitation that came when separated from its daemon. Even stranger, there was no sign of the daemon itself. Normally, seeds either hid or clung to their daemon's side, especially when under attack. But this one was different, almost serene. Peculiar.
Seeds were notorious for their violent, writhing reactions when faced with someone like Alexander. Yet this one moved almost deliberately, its quiet approach towards the girl unsettling. He strained his ears and caught the distant echo of gunfire—his squad was still engaged with the daemon, buying him time.
The longer he watched, the more his curiosity piqued. This wasn’t typical behavior, not for a seed, and not for this particular daemon, which had already proven to be more intelligent than most. Could she be the reason? Could she be connected to this strange calm in the seed?
Alexander made his decision. There was something about her that nagged at him, something that went beyond Liam’s suspicions and that damn story she’d told. He didn’t know why, but it felt like protecting her might lead to answers he hadn’t yet considered.
Without another second of hesitation, he stepped out of the shadows, drawing his blade and sprinting towards the girl. Whatever the seed's intentions, it wouldn’t get the chance to act on them.
- "I’d step away from him if I were you,"
Alexander said, his voice cold and steady as he made his presence known. His silhouette emerged from the shadows, standing tall against the pale, snow-covered ground. Nyla’s head snapped up, startled by the sight of a man perched casually on the broken edge of a wall. He moved with an unsettling grace, leaping down to the snow with ease, landing in a way that made him seem… not quite human.
- “Who are you? Did you do that to the others?”
she demanded, her voice trembling with both fear and anger. She shoved Billy behind her, shielding him instinctively from the stranger.
Alexander felt a flicker of irritation. He would never harm innocents, despite the coldness in his demeanour. How could she even think he was responsible for the horrors that had taken place? The bodies left in the daemon's wake haunted him, but he was not their killer. It was infuriating to be accused of such a thing when the real monster lurked nearby.
Still, he couldn't blame her. He raised his hands slowly, trying to signal that he meant no harm, but as his gaze flicked down, he saw the blood—streaked across his sleeves, splattered on his clothes. Fresh and vivid. His gut twisted. Of course, she thought he was the culprit. She had no way of knowing that most of this blood was his own from the brutal fight with the daemon.
His mind wandered briefly to the residents of the house. Many had been kind to him during his undercover stay, offering smiles and small kindnesses. He hadn’t wanted to return here, but seeing their fate made his blood boil. "If only I were stronger..." the thought slipped into his mind before he cut it off. Regret was a useless emotion, especially in his line of work. He couldn’t save everyone—that was a bitter truth he’d swallowed long ago.
But now, standing here covered in blood, with this girl glaring at him as if he were the monster, he felt that familiar pang. He forced it aside. Regret wasn’t going to help anyone now.
- “I didn’t do this,”
Alexander said, his voice steady but tired, as he lowered his hands to his sides.
- "But if you don’t want to end up like the others, you should listen to me. That thing behind you... it's dangerous."
His eyes shifted toward the seed, still lurking near Nyla, silent but waiting.
As Alexander raised his hand, Nyla instinctively pushed Billy further behind her, shielding him completely from view. The man standing before her radiated danger. Something about him felt wrong. He had just leapt down from a second-story building without so much as a stumble, his clothes were soaked in blood, and there was a massive weapon strapped to his back. He carried himself with an unsettling calm as if this chaos were nothing more than a leisurely afternoon. No, this was no ordinary person. She might as well sprout wings and horns if he were just a bystander.
Billy’s small hand gripped hers tighter, trembling as if he shared the same unease about the blood-soaked stranger. Nyla could feel his fear radiating through the touch, which only heightened her own. She quickly scanned their surroundings, desperate for something—anything—that could serve as a weapon. Her heart raced when her eyes fell on a few bricks scattered at her feet. It wasn’t much, but it was all she had. She scooped one up, the weight heavy in her free hand, and turned back to face the stranger.
He was watching her with a smirk of mild amusement as if the sight of her clutching the brick was a harmless joke to him. His eyes gleamed in the dim light, unreadable but sharp.
"Seriously?" Alexander mocked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You’re going to protect that thing? And with what? A brick?"
With deliberate slowness, he started walking toward them, his hand moving to the katana strapped to his back. He slid it free from its sheath with a metallic whisper, the blade gleaming in the cold air. "I’ve used all kinds of weapons over the years," he said, more to himself than to her, "but nothing cuts through bone and flesh quite like this."
Nyla’s heart pounded in her chest. She raised the brick higher, her arm shaking but steady enough to show she wasn’t backing down. "Stop!" she shouted, her voice cracking under the pressure. "Don’t you dare come any closer, or I’ll—I’ll—"
"You’ll what?" Alexander interrupted, his tone both intrigued and mocking. He was genuinely impressed by her resolve. Most people would have run the moment he unsheathed his sword, their survival instincts triggered by the bloodthirst that radiated from him. But not her. She stood her ground, glaring at him, trembling but unmoving.
It made him smile.
He towered over her, at least a head taller, his broad frame casting a long shadow across the snow. He moved with the sleekness of a panther stalking a kitten—dangerous, graceful, and without a shred of hesitation. There was no comparison between them. Physically, he was stronger, faster, deadlier. Yet here she was, facing him down with nothing but a brick and a fierce glare.
"You’ve got guts," he muttered, almost to himself.
Nyla’s hand tightened around the brick, her knuckles white from the effort. She wasn’t sure she could actually use it. She had never hurt anyone in her life, not even an insect. And now, faced with this... whatever he was, she wasn’t sure if she could follow through. The fear gnawed at her, but she pushed it down, standing tall, even as her heart raced.
Nyla’s pulse quickened, but she stood her ground. She had to. For Billy. "I’m not afraid of you."
The corner of his mouth twitched as if he were trying not to laugh. "You should be," he said, his voice dropping to a serious tone, "but not because of me." His gaze flicked to the space just behind her, where the seed had silently clung to her.
Nyla glanced back at Billy, her heart pounding. She knew she couldn’t fight this man and win, but maybe she could stall long enough for Billy to escape. Slowly, she loosened his grip on her hand and began backing away, subtly maneuvering toward the exit path.
"Billy, listen to me," she whispered, her voice low but urgent. "I’m going to keep that bad man busy. You need to run to the main street and get as far away from here as you can, okay?"
She kept her gaze locked on the stranger, watching for any signs that he might have overheard. His expression was unreadable, but she prayed he hadn’t caught wind of her plan. Billy whispered something, but she couldn’t make it out.
"What did you say?" Nyla asked, her attention divided between Billy and the man standing before them. She shifted another step closer to the exit.
Alexander paused in his slow approach, his eyes narrowing. Something about this situation wasn’t adding up. He thought he saw the seed—Billy—murmuring. But that shouldn’t be possible. Seeds weren’t supposed to speak, not after awakening. He had fought seeds for millennia; they could only communicate with their daemons telepathically, through emotion, not words. Yet here was this boy... whispering again.
"Seriously, young lady!" Alexander snapped, the urgency in his voice rising. "Just hand that thing over! You’re making this far more difficult than it needs to be!"
He didn’t like this. The boy was different—dangerously different—and that always meant trouble.
"That thing has a name!" Nyla shot back, her voice trembling with anger. "And why should I give him to you? So you can add him to that abomination at the entrance? Y-you... SICKO!"
Her voice cracked with the kind of fury she never thought she was capable of. This felt unreal, like one of those absurd movie scenes where the villain demands you hand over someone you care about. But this wasn’t a movie. This was her life.
“What?!" Alexander roared, his frustration mounting. "How dare you! I didn’t kill those people!"
His fists clenched around the katana as he stepped forward again, his patience wearing thin.
"Yeah, sure! Who else could it have been?" Nyla’s voice was defiant. "You’re standing here, covered in blood, at the crime scene! Who in their right mind would believe you didn’t do it? Billy, what—"
Her argument was cut short as Billy tugged on her sleeve, his small voice barely audible over her frantic thoughts.
"Did you like my artwork?" he asked quietly.
Alexander froze in place, his expression suddenly shifting from anger to confusion. Nyla, too, felt a shiver of unease ripple through her. She turned, staring down at Billy, her mind racing.
"Artwork?" she asked, her voice faltering. She blinked, trying to understand, but something was off. Horribly off.
Billy's eyes—she hadn't noticed before—were brighter, almost glowing with a yellow hue, his pupils unnervingly narrow. But it wasn’t just his eyes. His smile had changed too, stretching into something unnatural. Something… wrong.
"What do you mean, Billy?" she whispered, her heart now racing for an entirely different reason.
His grip on her sleeve tightened, his voice soft but full of eerie glee. "I need a head for my snowman... Can I have yours?"
Nyla's blood ran cold. The playful tone in his voice was as chilling as the words themselves. His smile widened even more, an expression of pure, innocent malice.
"SHIT! LOOK OUT!" Alexander’s voice cut through the moment like a knife.
In a split second, she turned, Nyla saw him sprinting toward her, but it was too late. Something massive struck her from the side, knocking the wind from her lungs. The world spun into darkness as she was thrown to the ground, her body collapsing under the weight of whatever had blindsided her.
The last thing she heard was Alexander shouting, and the coldness of the snow beneath her cheek.