Alexander exhaled sharply, wincing as he touched the wound on his chest. Blood seeped through the fabric, warm and sticky against his fingers. The daemon had turned out to be far stronger than he had anticipated. Every strike felt calculated, every movement fueled by a cunning far beyond the mindless brutes he had fought before.

  They were supposed to have backup by now, but things rarely went according to plan—especially not when Commander Khamal was busy overseeing the civilian evacuations. Minutes ago, a second squad had finally arrived, bringing with them fresh ammunition and supplies. The battered soldiers used the brief lull to catch their breath, reloading and patching wounds where they could.

  This was the drill now: rotate the squads, keep the pressure up. Fire, flank, retreat, repeat. Alexander was the only one getting in close enough to land real hits—slashes that barely slowed the creature, but were slowly draining it of its strength. Either the daemon and its seed would run out of energy, or they'd kill the seed and bring it all down at once. Easier said than done.

  The daemon stood guard over the seed like a monstrous sentinel, intercepting every attack with brute force and unnatural speed. It was like fighting a living shield—one that knew exactly what they were trying to do.

  “More backups are on the way, over,” came Commander Khamal’s voice through the radio, calm and clipped.

  Alexander grabbed his radio and pressed the button, still crouched behind the remnants of a crumbled wall. “Make them approach from the south side. We’re going for a pincer attack!”

  If they could pressure the daemon from both directions, even for a moment, just one bullet—just one—might slip through the cracks and find its way to the seed. That was all they needed. One clean shot.

  Alexander exhaled once more, steadying the fire roaring in his lungs. Every joint screamed in protest as he rose to his feet. The Vis running through his body—once a flood—was now a tired river, only halfway to depletion. But it was enough. It had to be.

  He inhaled sharply, grounding himself, and then sprinted toward the daemon.

  The squad behind him opened fire, unleashing a relentless storm of bullets to pin the creature down. Shells clattered and muzzles flashed. The daemon, undeterred, spread its grotesque arms in a mockery of a welcome, a twisted grin curling on its face as if it relished the challenge.

  Alexander didn’t hesitate. He leapt and slashed downward, a heavy blow meant to break through. The daemon blocked with a clawed paw, bracing itself while its tail curled protectively around the seed behind it. Alexander didn’t stop—he pivoted, bringing his blade upward in a rising arc. The daemon dodged, almost lazily.

  Switching tactics, Alexander drove the blade forward in a thrust. The daemon leaned back, narrowly avoiding a fatal hit, but the tip of the weapon carved a shallow wound into its abdomen, dark blood spilling like ink across its skin.

  Then, silence.

  The gunfire paused as the squads swapped positions, a brief second of transition.

  The daemon didn’t miss it.

  It retaliated with terrifying speed, ducking under another of Alexander’s swings and lashing its tail from his blind spot. Time seemed to stretch thin. In a split second, Alexander realized three things:

  The daemon was faster now—unnaturally faster.

  The seed behind it was regaining consciousness, limbs twitching as it pushed itself upright.

  And the tail—barbed and brutal—was coming for him, and he had no time to block.

  With a surge of will, Alexander pushed an intense burst of Vis into the muscles along his back, trying to harden them against the inevitable impact. He remembered old stories—ancient warriors using this technique to survive otherwise fatal blows. He prayed it would hold.

  At the same time, he dropped low, sweeping his blade toward the daemon’s legs—its one true vulnerability. They were thinner, less armored, less guarded. If he could sever one, even just one, he’d have a straight path to the seed.

  He knew the price. The daemon would strike him. Hard. Possibly fatally.

  But if he could land the cut—if he could just reach that seed—this battle could end.

  It was a gamble.

  And Alexander had always been the kind of man who bet everything when it mattered most.

  And then—just as the gunfire resumed—everything changed.

  A sound tore through the battlefield.

  A scream.

  Not just any scream, but the scream. The one Alexander had heard only once before—when the daemon had first torn its way into their world. It was a sound not meant for human ears: raw, primal, laced with something deeper than pain—something ancient.

  Everyone dropped. Soldiers collapsed to their knees, hands clamped over their ears, weapons forgotten. Even Alexander staggered, the force of it hammering through his skull like a physical blow. His thoughts fractured, instincts scrambled.

  This… this should’ve been the moment the daemon ended them all.

  But instead, it fled.

  Alexander blinked through the ringing in his head, rising shakily to his feet. Dust kicked up by the daemon's massive form clouded the air as it leapt, scrambling away across the battlefield—no longer a predator, but something else.

  He stared, stunned, until the dust began to settle.

  And then he saw it.

  The body.

  The seed lay crumpled and still, half-hidden in rubble. Alexander ran, stumbling over debris until he reached it. He dropped to one knee and saw the wound: a clean bullet hole through the forehead. No blood, just the eerie stillness of a life violently cut off.

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  And in that moment, everything clicked.

  The daemon’s power. The sudden surge of speed. The retreat.

  The seed was dead.

  Someone had taken the shot.

  His eyes flicked upward instinctively—toward the rooftops, toward where he knew Nyla had taken position.

  His stomach dropped.

  This was bad.

  Very bad.

  Because if the seed was dead, the daemon wasn’t just wounded.

  It was unbound.

  And now, it had nothing to protect.

  Only rage to unleash. And it was smart enough to know where to unleash it.

  *************

  Nyla watched as the seed’s body collapsed, a bullet wound marking the end of it all. Guilt hit her like a wave—but before she could process it, the scream came. A deep, unnatural wail that shook the ground and tore through the air.

  She bolted toward the children, flinging her rifle aside, and threw herself over them, trying to shield them from the noise. Her radio crackled in her ear, but she ignored it, holding the boys tighter, arms wrapped like armor around their small bodies.

  The scream finally stopped.

  Nyla looked up, her ears still ringing. She avoided Ari’s gaze, ashamed, her hands trembling from the shot she’d taken. The boy stared at her, wide-eyed and silent.

  Then the voice blared from her radio, raw and panicked.

  “NYLA! You stupid girl! Take the boys and RUN!”

  Alexander’s voice.

  She blinked, confused. The seed was dead. There shouldn't be anything left to run from. But then, deep in her chest, every instinct screamed at once.

  Something was coming.

  Something wrong.

  A presence—dark, vast, and full of fury—was approaching fast.

  Without a word, she shoved the boys behind a pile of debris and gestured for Ari to stay quiet. He nodded quickly, placing a hand over his mouth while clutching his unconscious brother with the other.

  And just as she ducked behind the rubble, she felt it.

  The weight. The rage.

  It was behind her.

  Nyla turned slowly.

  The daemon was there.

  It radiated vengeance, its body trembling with restrained violence. Grief and fury twisted its face into something monstrous. It had lost everything—its purpose, its seed—and standing before it was the one responsible.

  She wanted to speak, to say something. Anything. But there were no words left. Nothing that would change what she had done.

  The boys were behind her. That mattered more than anything now.

  So she did the only thing she could.

  She stood tall—shaking, exhausted, unarmed—and stepped between the daemon and the children.

  “If you’re going to kill me,” she whispered, her voice cracking but steady, “then do it here.”

  The daemon didn’t move.

  Not yet.

  It stared at her, as if trying to understand what she was. Why she had taken the only thing it had.

  For a split second, Nyla thought the daemon understood her. It locked eyes with her, its expression almost human—and then it screamed and lunged.

  She froze. This was it. Her end.

  But then, out of nowhere, Alexander appeared between them, sword raised, intercepting the blow. His body and blade shimmered with a fading blue halo.

  “NOW! GO!” he roared through clenched teeth, straining against the force of the daemon’s attack.

  Nyla didn’t hesitate. She turned and sprinted, leading the daemon away from the boys’ hiding spot. This was exactly what they had learned in daemonology—rare cases when daemons lingered for a few minutes after their seed died, fueled by pure instinct and wrath. All they had to do was survive those few minutes.

  She risked a glance back—just in time to see the blue aura around Alexander flicker and vanish. He was out of vis.

  The daemon grinned at him and, with a savage swipe of its tail, sent him flying across the rooftop. His body slammed against the wall and slumped to the ground, unmoving.

  Then the daemon turned.

  Not toward Nyla—but toward the boys.

  It knew.

  Nyla’s heart dropped. The daemon had realized the truth—she wasn’t running for her life. She was leading it away from the children. And now, it was heading straight for them.

  “Here! Yo—you dummy!” Nyla shouted, desperate to draw its attention back to her. But it didn’t stop. It walked slowly, purposefully, toward the boys' hiding place.

  Across the rooftop, Alexander stirred, groaning, trying to rise. But his limbs wouldn’t respond.

  Panic surged through Nyla. She grabbed a nearby stone and hurled it with all her strength. The rock struck the daemon in the back.

  It stopped.

  Turned.

  And grinned.

  Nyla ran toward the daemon, her legs burning, heart pounding. But she could already see—she wasn’t going to make it in time.

  The daemon was carefully pulling away the debris hiding the boys, piece by piece, as if savoring the moment before claiming its prize.

  Even if she reached it, she knew she couldn’t stop it. Not like this. But she had to try.

  She had to try.

  She had to save them.

  This time, no matter what.

  Flashes of Maryam and the children from the orphanage filled her mind—their laughter, their smiles… and then their twisted, broken bodies, part of that grotesque sculpture. Burned into her memory.

  She wouldn’t let it happen again. She wouldn’t let those boys die.

  “Do you want to save them that much?”

  A voice echoed inside her head—familiar. One she had known her whole life.

  “Yes!” she gasped without hesitation.

  “No matter what?”

  Nyla hesitated.

  Then, silence.

  “Alright… I hope you don’t regret it.”

  The voice vanished.

  The daemon pulled away the final slab of stone, revealing the boys curled together.

  Ari’s scream pierced the air as he looked up—and saw the monstrosity towering over them.

  “NOOOOOO!” Nyla screamed—and something inside her exploded.

  A surge of energy ripped through her body. The pain, the exhaustion—gone. In their place was something else. Something electric. She had never felt more alive.

  Everything around her slowed. The daemon’s clawed hand stretched toward the boys in a crawl of motion. On the other side, Alexander had finally gotten to his feet, one arm outstretched toward the children in a desperate attempt to reach them.

  Nyla looked down. Her body was glowing—bathed in golden energy, radiant and pulsing with raw power. Her breath caught in her throat.

  The daemon was almost there.

  She didn’t think—her body moved on its own. The energy surged from her hands, a golden wave that shot forward and struck the daemon, engulfing it completely in a brilliant sphere of light.

  A blast of force pushed against her. Nyla staggered, then collapsed to her knees, breathless.

  She looked up, heart pounding.

  The daemon was suspended—trapped—inside a glowing orb of golden energy, thrashing but unable to move.

  They were safe.

  She forced herself to stand and staggered toward the children. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alexander collapse to the ground. Whether it was from his injuries or the sheer disbelief at what had just occurred, she couldn’t tell. She didn’t fully understand what had happened either—but she knew she had done it.

  Reaching the boys, she dropped to one knee. “Are you hurt?” she asked.

  Ari stared at her with wide, unblinking eyes, then looked past her to the daemon behind.

  Nyla turned.

  The daemon was no longer thrashing. Its body was still, floating in the center of the golden orb, fading at the edges like mist unraveling in the sun. It let out a soft, low moan—not the roar of a beast, but something else entirely. A sound of pain. Of resignation.

  Nyla felt a strange pull.

  She stepped closer, slowly, unable to stop herself.

  Behind her, Kain, Emily, and the rest of the squad finally reached the rooftop. The scene they stumbled upon brought them all to a halt. Kain rushed to Alexander, helping him to his feet, but their attention—like everyone else's—was locked on Nyla.

  She was now standing before the orb.

  The energy radiated a comforting warmth, like sinking into a hot bath. Nyla gazed into the daemon’s eyes, and it looked back. There was recognition in that stare. A flicker of memory. Maybe even... understanding.

  Then, the daemon did something no one expected.

  It opened its arms—and from beneath its thick fur, two smaller limbs extended, delicate and hidden until now. The arms moved toward the edge of the barrier and stopped just before crossing it. Then, gently, they dropped something.

  It passed through the energy with ease.

  Nyla caught it reflexively and flinched, closing her hand around it in fear.

  Gasps echoed behind her. Everyone tensed, ready for an attack.

  But none came.

  She slowly opened her eyes—and the daemon was gone, dissolved completely into the golden light. As if sensing its purpose fulfilled, the barrier faded too, vanishing like the last breath of a dream.

  Nyla looked down at her closed fist.

  She opened it carefully.

  A piece of candy lay in her palm.