Nyla jolted awake, a sharp pain lancing through her chest as she instinctively gasped for air. Confused and disoriented, she opened her eyes to a blinding expanse of white. Panic surged within her; for a terrifying moment, she feared she might be blind. Desperately, she blinked rapidly, and slowly, blurry shapes began to emerge from the haze. Each shallow breath sent waves of agony rippling through her body, but amidst the discomfort, she felt the cold bite of snow against her chest and right cheek, a chilling reminder of her precarious position on the ground.

  “What happened?” Nyla thought, the question echoing in her mind like a haunting refrain. She attempted to push herself up, but a fresh wave of pain crashed over her, forcing a groan from her lips. Resigned, she sank back into the snow, grateful for the numbing coolness that provided a small respite from her agony.

  She focused intently on her vision, blinking again in a desperate attempt to clear the fog. Time stretched painfully as she waited, but gradually, the shapes around her sharpened. The world slowly came into focus, revealing a serene, snowy landscape that contrasted starkly with the turmoil inside her. As her breathing steadied, she resolved to understand what had brought her to this strange and cold place.

  In the distance, the silhouette of a familiar building loomed, its dark form cutting through the endless expanse of white. Confusion swirled in Nyla's mind like the snowflakes around her. How had she gotten here? As she squinted through the haze, she realized she was nearly 300 yards from where she last remembered standing. A sense of dread gripped her—had someone taken her? The last thing that pierced her foggy memory was the violent jolt of impact, like a truck colliding with her side while she’d been animatedly talking to Billy. It had to be that intruder’s partner. But if he was involved, why had he tried to warn her?

  With effort, she blinked, trying to clear the lingering blur from her vision. Gradually, the shapes around her solidified, revealing figures darting about like phantoms in the snow. One form towered over the others, moving with a feral grace. At first, it appeared as if they were dancing, caught in some wild choreography of chaos. But no, this was no mere dance; it was a fierce confrontation, a primal struggle that set Nyla’s heart racing.

  As if sensing her heightened state of awareness, a low, throbbing buzz began to fill the air, vibrating through her bones and mingling with the crispness of the cold. The world around her sharpened, the shapes gaining clarity, but the scene before her was anything but comforting. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, igniting a flicker of resolve. What was happening? Who were these figures?

  She squinted harder, desperate to decipher the unfolding drama, aware that understanding her situation could be the key to her survival.

  In the distance, Nyla’s gaze locked onto a creature engaged in a fierce struggle against several shadowy figures. It was too far to make out every detail, but one thing was unmistakable: this being was unlike anything from her world. It stood upright, balancing on its powerful legs and arms like an ape, but its features were twisted and otherworldly. Horns jutted out from its shoulders, sharp and menacing, while two more protruded from its head like a crown of nightmares.

  With dagger-like claws gleaming in the dim light, the creature slashed at the people surrounding it, moving with a speed and ferocity that sent chills down Nyla's spine. She blinked, hoping to dispel the image before her, convinced she was trapped in a surreal nightmare.

  She must be hallucinating, her mind whispered the only plausible explanation. Maybe the impact had rattled her brain more than she realized; after all, she had been hit by a truck driven by that psycho killer’s partner. A heavy throb in her head suggested the injury might have been severe enough to plunge her into this phantasmagorical scene.

  But as the creature roared and the figures stumbled back, Nyla felt a surge of adrenaline override her disbelief. She couldn't just lie here. If this was real, she had to find a way to escape.

  Suddenly, Nyla heard the crunch of footsteps breaking the fragile silence of the snow behind her.

  “He said she flew somewhere in this direction…” The voice, authoritative yet tinged with urgency, belonged to Lieutenant Kain Lyons. A seasoned veteran of the ADA main branch, Kain had spent nearly a decade in the field, with half of that time dedicated to a special unit under the command of the enigmatic Alexander. This was his fifteenth demon-hunting expedition, and so far, this alpha demon was proving to be the most cunning adversary he had ever encountered.

  Memories of the recent skirmish flooded his mind—a chaotic battle where they had drawn the demon away from their commander, using military vehicles as bait. The damn thing had decimated six of them, and he couldn’t help but groan at the thought of the paperwork awaiting him back at base. Then, the creature had vanished into thin air, leaving them scrambling in confusion.

  Now, as he and his sergeant, Emily Kirby, navigated the dense woods, their mission had shifted. They had received orders to locate a civilian injured by the alpha instead of pursuing the demon. Kain’s heart raced at the thought. A civilian? Here? In this frozen wilderness, with a relentless predator lurking in the shadows?

  With each step, he scanned the surroundings, eyes sharp for any sign of the girl they were sent to find. The weight of responsibility bore down on him as he whispered to himself, “Stay focused, Kain. We will find her.”

  Nyla remained frozen, her heart pounding in her chest as she sensed the weight of their intentions. She had little choice in the matter, her tattered body betraying her fragility. Fear coursed through her veins; she couldn't shake the feeling that they might be enemies lurking in the shadows.

  “Does he really believe we’re all like him?” Emily scoffed, her voice dripping with annoyance. “The poor girl is probably dead. We would be more useful fighting the demon than combing through the woods.” The frustration in her tone was palpable. Emily had spent too long stuck in the administrative side of things, yearning for the thrill of battle. Just six months ago, she had clawed her way into the special unit, only to find herself sidelined, deprived of the action she craved.

  “So, that creature was a demon…” Nyla pondered, her thoughts swirling in confusion. Could the “he” they were discussing be the very intruder she had encountered? If so, did that mean he wasn’t responsible for the devastation wrought upon Maryam and the children? She was certain he was after Billy, the last glimmer of hope in her shattered world.

  “I hope she’s alive,” Lieutenant murmured, his voice tinged with desperation. “It would be good publicity if we had at least one survivor.” His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. Their standing with the locals in Pendle was worse than he had imagined; a survivor could ease the mounting tension, though he remained oblivious to the impact of his statements on Nyla.

  At least one survivor? Panic clawed at her insides. Was Billy dead, taken down by that monster or by the man they were debating? Tears spilled down her cheeks as sobs racked her frail frame. He was the only one left, and now she couldn’t save him.

  “Did you hear that?” Sergeant Kirby asked, raising her weapon and signaling for silence, her gaze sharp and focused.

  “I did. I think it’s coming from this side,” Lieutenant replied, brushing aside the sergeant’s unspoken defiance. He pointed his gun in the direction of Nyla, who was concealed behind a thicket of bushes, hidden from their sight. Nyla's heart raced as she heard their footsteps drawing nearer. She tried to shift her position, but the effort felt futile; her body refused to obey.

  “I found her!” Emily exclaimed, her voice a mixture of surprise and relief. She knelt beside the broken figure, her fingers gently grazing Nyla's shoulder. At the touch, Nyla groaned, a sound that barely escaped her lips.

  “Great! You’re alive!” Emily exclaimed, her tone brightening. “Hey, my name is Emily. I’m a hunter from ADA. Can you hear me?” She shone a light into Nyla's eyes, her voice soothing yet urgent.

  Nyla struggled to respond, but no sound emerged from her throat—only a faint, desperate groan.

  “Don’t force yourself to talk if it’s too difficult,” Emily reassured her, concern knitting her brow. “I think you’ve hurt your neck, so I’m going to check your condition and provide some first aid until the medics arrive.”

  With careful movements, she began to examine Nyla, gasping softly as she took in the extent of the injuries before her. The broken figure was in worse shape than she had anticipated. Nyla, though unable to turn her neck, could now see her surroundings more clearly. The sky overhead was still bright, much like when she had first arrived at the building—indicating that not much time had passed.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Suddenly, Emily’s face loomed into view. Despite the warmth in her voice, her expression was serious and intent. With golden-brown eyes that seemed to hold both strength and compassion, a prominent nose, and honey-colored skin, Emily possessed an untraditional beauty that was hard to overlook.

  “Hey, pretty girl. How are you holding up?” Emily asked kindly, though she could see that the girl before her was clearly in too much pain to respond. Gently, she adjusted Nyla’s position, doing her best to make her comfortable while assessing the extent of her many injuries.

  “Hey… OH MY GOD!” Kain gasped in shock, his face paling as he stumbled back. Without a moment's hesitation, he rushed away to contact headquarters, urgently requesting medics. He had never been good with injuries, and Emily knew it all too well.

  “How long until they get here, sir?” Emily asked, her voice tinged with worry. She couldn’t fathom how the poor girl could endure without proper medical attention, and moving her might only worsen the situation.

  “They can’t come here yet; this zone is still too dangerous for them,” Kain replied, sadness creeping into his tone. They had a limited number of medics, and losing even one was a risk they couldn’t afford.

  “What?! Those cowards!” Emily’s anger flared. Medics were still soldiers of ADA and should be ready to enter the red zone at a moment's notice.

  “Well, what do you expect?” Kain tried to calm her down. “No one in their right mind would get this close to a demon.” He understood her frustration; Emily had a fiery temper, but it was one of her charming qualities, he thought, even if it sometimes tested his patience.

  “Then what are we going to do?” Emily asked, her fingers gently checking the girl’s pulse. Nyla seemed to be conscious but completely unaware of her surroundings.

  “I brought a stretcher. We can move her to the outside of the barrier…” Kain suggested.

  “Are you crazy?! Can’t you see—” Emily moved him a few feet away to continue their argument in hushed tones, her eyes darting back to Nyla, concern etched across her face. After a moment, she returned to Nyla’s side, the fight leaving her.

  “Sorry, love. We don’t have any other options except to move you ourselves. This is going to hurt a little, but try to stay with us. Blink twice if you understand.” Emily spoke gently, brushing a strand of hair away from Nyla’s forehead.

  Nyla blinked twice in response, her eyes reflecting a mix of fear and resignation. She had no other choice.

  Emily nodded, determination setting her features. She slid her hands under Nyla’s shoulders, gripping the fabric of her coat, while Kain took hold of her boots—the last gift Maryam had given her. A bittersweet memory flickered through Nyla’s mind.

  “On the count of three. One, two, three!” Emily counted down, and as they lifted her, an intense wave of pain shot through Nyla’s body. Darkness enveloped her, and she felt her consciousness slip away.

  *************************************

  Nyla slowly regained consciousness, her senses awakening to the gentle caress of a cool breeze brushing against her face. A smile crept onto her lips, as the refreshing sensation reminded her of spring—a season she had always adored. With effort, she opened her eyes to take in her surroundings.

  She found herself in a room with soothing blue walls, adorned with a few generic photo frames that offered little comfort. In one corner stood a simple chair, and the fluorescent lights cast a harsh, sterile glow over the space. As she turned her stiff neck, her gaze fell upon a large mirror, and her heart sank with disappointment. The source of the breeze was not a welcoming window but rather an air conditioner humming quietly above her.

  Next to the mirror was a door, barred at its small window, and a wave of unease washed over her. Nyla’s throat felt parched, a painful reminder of her thirst. She turned her head slightly to spot a table beside the door, where a water container sat invitingly.

  Determined to sit up and quench her thirst, she attempted to move, but her body refused to cooperate. Panic surged as she discovered the restraints binding her to the bed, restricting her movements. Tubes snaked from her body, feeding her and monitoring her condition simultaneously, reminding her of the vulnerability of her situation.

  What were all of these? Nyla’s thoughts swirled as she struggled to remember why she was here, but her mind felt like a foggy haze. The last thing she could clearly recall was her journey to the orphanage, excitement bubbling within her as she prepared to participate in the charity event. But then something happened. Something bad.

  She fixed her gaze on her reflection in the mirror, her heart sinking at the sight of herself tied to the bed, with casts encasing her left leg and right arm. Panic crept into her chest as she searched for answers, but her mind remained frustratingly blank. A flicker of memory surfaced—she remembered being in a hospital room, her screams piercing the air, surrounded by frightened faces. But why were they scared? The question echoed in her mind, unanswered and haunting.

  Suddenly, the door swung open, and a large, stout woman in a nurse's uniform stepped into the room, balancing a tray laden with medical supplies. The woman’s presence was a stark contrast to the sterile environment, her movements brisk and purposeful as she approached Nyla's bedside.

  “How are you feeling, sugar?” Nurse Millie Fowler asked cheerfully, her voice warm and inviting. Despite her stout frame, her face radiated kindness, and Nyla felt a flicker of comfort in the nurse’s presence. She opened her mouth to ask for water, but the words tangled in her mind, slipping away into the haze.

  As if sensing her need, Nurse Fowler moved to the table, returning with a glass of cool water. After deftly pressing a button to raise the head of the bed, she helped Nyla sip the water slowly, the refreshing liquid soothing her parched throat. Nyla noted the nurse’s name on her badge—Millie Fowler.

  “Th… Thank… you…” Nyla managed to croak, her hoarse voice surprising her. A smile blossomed on Nurse Fowler's face, brightening the sterile room. With gentle hands, she set the glass aside and began to remove Nyla's restraints, her touch careful and reassuring.

  “Where am I?” Nyla finally found the strength to ask, her mind beginning to clear.

  “You’re at Hopkin’s General Hospital, dear,” Nurse Fowler replied, her tone softening as she tended to Nyla. For nearly a decade, she had served as the head nurse for the psych ward, but this patient was different. The hospital’s largest donor had requested more attentive care for Nyla, and for good reason. When she had been brought in, her body had borne the evidence of a horrific ordeal—multiple broken bones in her arms and legs, numerous fractures throughout her body, and a nasty concussion.

  According to her charts, Nyla had been the victim of a devastating hit-and-run. They had performed multiple surgeries to stop internal bleeding, and her heart had stopped twice while she was under anesthesia. It was nothing short of a miracle that she had survived.

  But then the real problem began. Nyla’s mind, once a sanctuary of dreams and hopes, became a labyrinth of nightmares. She started hallucinating, vivid images of demons swirling in her mind, each more grotesque than the last. They tore through her memories, mercilessly reenacting the massacre of her family. She recounted the horror with such chilling detail that, for a moment, even the most skeptical listeners might have believed her. Yet, the truth lay stark against her claims: no demon had attacked in the entire country of Azul. The blessings of the church had safeguarded the land, a truth everyone accepted as gospel.

  As Nyla's reactions to these hallucinations intensified, a tragic incident occurred—her desperation boiled over when she stabbed an orderly with a syringe, a moment of frantic fear that sealed her fate. The authorities, alarmed by the escalation of her violence, swiftly transferred her to the psych ward. There, she was heavily medicated, the drugs designed to keep her calm and suppress the vivid episodes until she could recover physically. Nurse Fowler had been assigned to personally oversee her care—a decision that felt both humiliating and burdensome for the head nurse. Yet, as she assisted Nyla into a fresh gown, a flicker of sympathy ignited in her heart for the girl caught in such turmoil.

  Just as Nurse Fowler turned to place the soiled gown on the table, Nyla’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist with a sudden, fierce urgency.

  “Billy! What happened to Billy?! Where is he?” she cried out, her voice a mixture of fear and desperation, shattering the stillness of the room.

  Nyla's panic surged, and she tried to stand, her body trembling with the effort, but the world spun around her. She stumbled and fell to the floor, the cold tiles biting into her skin. Fortunately, Nurse Fowler was there, her reflexes honed from years of experience, and she swiftly caught Nyla before she could hit the ground.

  A flood of memories surged through Nyla, overwhelming her senses like a breaking dam. She recalled the terrifying moments on the helicopter, the chaotic rush into the woods, and, as if the pieces of a shattered puzzle fell into place, the horrific events that had led her here. She could see the grotesque sculpture made of Maryam and the children's body parts, feel the icy grip of fear as the intruder appeared, and hear the echoes of Billy’s sweet voice—the poor, innocent Billy.

  The recollection twisted in her stomach, and she bent over, fighting the urge to expel the horror trapped inside her. When she finally retched, all that came out was a watery liquid, a pitiful response to the trauma she had endured.

  As Nurse Fowler helped Nyla lay back down on the bed, she pressed a button at the head of the bed to call for the doctor. “Easy now, here you go, darling,” she said softly, her voice a soothing balm against Nyla's rising panic. But as the nurse began to secure the restraints around her wrists, Nyla's eyes widened in horror.

  “No! Let me go!” she cried, yanking her arm with all her strength.

  The room echoed with her desperate pleas as she kicked and squirmed, trying to free herself from the unyielding bonds. But Nurse Fowler was strong, her years of experience giving her the upper hand. After a brief struggle, she managed to secure Nyla back in her restraints, carefully reattaching the tubes that had been knocked loose in the chaos.

  Nyla’s screams filled the air, a raw expression of her terror and helplessness. That was all she could do—scream, as the reality of her situation crashed down around her like a relentless tide.

  The door buzzed open once more, and a man in a white coat entered, exuding an air of authority. Nurse Fowler stepped back, giving the doctor better access to Nyla. She returned moments later with a tray, placing it on the table at the end of the bed and handing a syringe to the doctor.

  “What is that?” Nyla's voice quivered with suspicion, her screams momentarily silenced as she watched the doctor prepare the injection.

  “Sedative,” he replied, his tone flat and disinterested as he inserted the syringe into the IV tube connected to her left arm.

  Nyla tried to protest, to assert that she didn’t want a sedative and that she was fine—if only they would tell her what had happened. But before the words could form, the world began to spin, blurring around her. The room swayed, and the edges of her vision darkened, pulling her into the familiar abyss.

  Finally, as the darkness enveloped her, she felt herself slip away once more.