Chapter 8
In the room, Dr. Anwar finally turned to Nyla with a triumphant expression.
"Finally, the annoying pests are gone," she said, her voice carrying a tone of satisfaction as she strode confidently to Nyla's bedside. Her appearance seemed less intimidating now, and there was a certain grace to her movements that made Nyla feel a bit more at ease. Dr. Anwar’s smile softened her features, and Nyla felt a flicker of relief. The doctor began to scan her charts with focused precision while the nurse gently helped Nyla into a fresh set of robes.
"Stop!" Dr. Anwar suddenly commanded, halting the nurse as she caught sight of Nyla’s back. The nurse quickly adjusted the robe, allowing the doctor full access. As the doctor’s gloved hand brushed over the wound, Nyla couldn't help but shudder slightly, the sensation causing an involuntary tremor in her body.
"What kind of unprofessional idiot stitched this wound?!" Dr. Anwar hissed under her breath, her anger barely contained as she examined the haphazard stitching. "This is a disaster."
She turned back to Nyla, her tone shifting to something gentler. "Do you feel any pain when I touch this area?"
"No, but... it tingles a little," Nyla replied, her voice soft but steady, though the feeling of the doctor’s touch still made her uneasy.
Dr. Anwar nodded and, with a practiced air, moved to inspect more of Nyla’s body. Her eyes scanned over Nyla’s injuries with clinical detachment, but her actions were precise, methodical.
"Dr..." Nyla began, her voice faltering as a thought crossed her mind. She hadn't actually gotten the doctor's name, nor had she learned anything about the nurses. She hesitated, unsure how to ask, but the question lingered in the air between them.
“Anwar. Auset Anwar,” the doctor introduced herself, her voice steady but with a hint of warmth, as she pointed to the two nurses standing by her side. “And these are June and Pamela. We’re the medical team here.”
She indicated the nurses, each in their own way. June, the blonde, had a wide, crooked smile and an energy that filled the room, freckles dotting her face in contrast to her bright grin. She smiled back at Nyla, her eyes filled with reassurance. The other, Pamela, had dark hair and a quiet air about her, her presence subtle but no less comforting. She simply nodded in Nyla’s direction.
Nyla couldn’t help but smile at both of them, but her mind was still racing with questions. “Dr. Anwar, where am I? What is this place? Why am I here? What happened…”
She’d meant to ask just one question, but the floodgates opened, and her words tumbled out, frantic and confused.
“Slow down, one at a time!” Dr. Anwar replied, raising a hand to signal for calm. “First things first: You’re in the base of the 2nd division of the Anti-Demon Association, or ADA. We hunt demons and save lives,” she added with a small, reassuring wink, her tone light as she glanced down at the wound on Nyla’s arm.
“The location?” She continued, focusing on the arm. “We’re somewhere in the Radisal Mountain range, out west in Ublos. And, looks like you need stitches.”
Nyla froze for a moment, trying to process the new information. She hadn’t heard of the Radisal Mountain range, but Ublos was famous. It was one of the few countries that had opened its doors to the ADA because of the constant demonic activity. She hadn’t realized how far she’d been taken.
“You’re not anywhere close to Pendle,” Dr. Anwar added, noticing the confusion on Nyla’s face. “We’re on the Trozan continent, far from where you’ve been.”
The realization hit Nyla like a wave. She was so far from home, from everything she knew. The distance between Pendle and Ublos was vast, and the uncertainty of where she was now felt more real than ever.
“Why am I here?” Nyla asked, her voice shaky as Pamela placed a tray with antiseptics and a stitching kit on the nearby table.
Dr. Anwar glanced at her with a curt expression as she snapped on a fresh pair of gloves. “That I don’t know. You should ask the commander about it.”
“Commander?” Nyla repeated, confusion knitting her brow.
Dr. Anwar's tone soured as she began preparing the stitching materials. “You know, the asshole with the bland caramel hair.”
“You mean Gale?” Nyla said, the name slipping out with a half-smile, hoping to lighten the mood.
Dr. Anwar's eyes widened slightly, clearly surprised. “Yes and no. I don’t know where you got the name Gale, but his name is William Turner. He’s the commander of the 2nd division.”
Nyla's smile faded as her mind raced to process the new information. "William Turner? The commander?" Her voice trailed off as she pieced together the puzzle.
Dr. Anwar’s jaw tightened as her thoughts turned inward. And the asshole who’ll guide my son to his death… She bit back the anger threatening to surface, keeping her face neutral.
“No way,” Nyla muttered, her eyes widening with shock. “He’s Gale, the part-timer we hired at the store a while back. And—”
Her words faltered as the truth settled in, and the realization hit her like a punch to the gut. If Gale, the clumsy, awkward man she had known at the store, was really the commander of the 2nd division, then everything she thought she knew about him was a lie. What was he doing working there? he was so overqualified for such a menial job!
“He was probably doing some undercover stuff, dear,” June said softly, her tone meant to comfort.
Nyla’s eyes glazed over as she processed this, forcing a small smile. “I see…” she said, but her voice was distant, the weight of the truth sitting heavily in her chest.
Dr. Anwar's eyes narrowed as she observed Nyla’s reaction. She could read the disappointment in the young woman’s face. Nyla had thought of the commander as someone else—perhaps someone more approachable, more human. It wasn’t the first time someone had fallen for that illusion. Dr. Anwar knew the truth about William Turner: He wasn’t the charming, friendly man some made him out to be. In fact, he was the kind of man who sent people to their deaths without hesitation, all in the name of the mission. It was that ruthlessness that had earned him the command of the 2nd division at such a young age.
The Turners were a family entrenched in the very fabric of the Anti-Demon Association. Their influence stretched back centuries. Some whispered that the association itself might not exist if it weren’t for the Turners, and for generations, they held the reins of the ADA’s direction. They controlled the vision, the decisions, the fate of countless hunters—and the 2nd division had been passed down to them, one after another. But, over time, their power had waned. By the time Powel Turner took command, the division was little more than a ceremonial shell, a fading institution.
Then came William.
At just 16, after the suspicious death of his grandfather, William took over. His rise to power wasn’t just sudden—it was shrouded in mystery. Some whispered that he had been behind Powel’s death, his ruthless ambition driving him to seize the command. Once in charge, he moved quickly, securing Alexander and his elite unit for the 2nd division. Their presence brought a new edge to the group, but it also came at a cost: the death toll of those under his command increased as his success rate against demons soared.
Dr. Anwar knew the rumors. They were hard to ignore, especially the one suggesting that William had murdered his grandfather to take the position early. But that was something she’d never say out loud—not even in her darkest moments. After all, the truth of it didn't matter; William Turner was a necessary evil in the war against demons. And the rest? It was all just background noise.
But Nyla—Nyla had seen something else in him, something Dr. Anwar couldn’t quite understand. Perhaps it was the naivety of youth or maybe the fact that William had mastered the art of pretending to be what people wanted him to be. It didn’t matter now. What did matter was that the same man who had gained power through bloodshed and manipulation was also the one she might have to rely on, and she hated that more than she could say.
She wondered if Nyla’s disappointment was a reflection of what her own son had felt when he first met the commander. If he, too, had once seen William as someone better, someone more. Dr. Anwar didn’t know what to make of it, but she didn’t need to. The commander’s image was carefully crafted, and he was far more dangerous than anyone realized. And if Nyla was looking for comfort in that, she’d soon learn that even the most charming faces could hide the darkest truths.
"Dr. Anwar… My family at the orphanage… we were attacked by a… a de… demon… do you know…"
Nyla forced the question out, her voice shaking, though she already knew the answer. She had to hear it confirmed.
Dr. Anwar paused, looking up from her work. Her gaze met Nyla's desperate brown eyes, and for a brief moment, the doctor's expression softened. Behind her, June and Pamela exchanged sad glances. They didn't know the full details of Nyla's situation, but they understood the consequences of demon attacks all too well. They had all been victims at one point, then soldiers, and they knew how rarely these encounters ended without loss.
"I don’t know… you should ask the commander about it," Dr. Anwar said flatly, her voice cold.
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
She deliberately shifted the responsibility, as if hoping the commander would take on the difficult task of telling Nyla the truth. Dr. Anwar could manage this much, at least—a small consolation for the bitterness she harbored. She could never forgive the commander for taking her son away from her.
************
For the next few hours, Nyla was moved between different rooms and floors of the building, undergoing a series of tests—X-rays, blood samples, and various other procedures she didn’t even know existed. Unlike the previous hospital, where she had been treated with efficiency but little care, everything here was handled by Dr. Anwar and her small, attentive team. They treated her with a kindness that made her feel, for the first time in days, a little at ease.
Among the three, June was especially friendly. She was from Marvoria, a neighboring country to Azul, and although both nations shared many cultural similarities, Marvoria was more open-minded about the ADA. Nyla learned that June had once lived as a farmhand with her family before a demon attack claimed them all. It was during that attack that Dr. Anwar’s husband had saved her, and from then on, June had followed the couple all the way to Ublos to train as a nurse. She spoke freely and openly, sharing her past and her journey with Nyla, making the long hours in the hospital more bearable.
Pamela, on the other hand, was quieter. She didn’t offer much in terms of conversation, simply giving Nyla clear instructions about what to do and what was coming next. She was all business, her face carefully neutral throughout the procedure. June later explained that Pamela came from a small village in Veilstead, a distant country on the far continent of Ewor, where demon attacks were a nearly daily occurrence. Pamela had lost everything to one of those attacks—her entire village, including her family. She had joined the ADA with hopes of becoming a hunter, seeking revenge on the demons, but a genetic heart condition had kept her from passing the rigorous training exams. Now, she served the ADA in a different capacity, though her past still lingered, unspoken.
After the final test, Dr. Anwar finally allowed Nyla to return to her room and gave her permission to eat. The day’s exhausting ordeal was over, and while Nyla felt physically drained, there was a strange sense of comfort in the care she had received.
As soon as June cleared away the trays, Dr. Anwar suggested a hearty meal to help Nyla replenish her strength. Before she could protest, the door opened, and in walked Liam, followed by Alexander. Liam looked exhausted, while Alexander wore a scowl that deepened the moment he saw Nyla. They had spent the entire morning in a video conference with headquarters in the capital, and Alexander was clearly running on fumes. Despite the brief respite, his day was far from over.
“How are you doing, Nyla?” Liam asked, flashing a warm smile, though it was clear from his eyes that he was tired as well. Alexander leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on Nyla. His expression was unreadable, but Nyla could tell he was assessing her, noting the progress since this morning. She looked better—calmer, certainly—but there was still a hint of tension in her posture. Her long brown hair was braided neatly, resting over her right shoulder, and the bandages on her arms caught his eye.
Nyla straightened up a little, feeling a surge of nervousness as her eyes flicked to Alexander before quickly looking back at Liam.
“All is good, Gale… I mean, Commander Turner,” she said, her voice betraying an edge of accusation.
Liam’s eyes widened in surprise. “You already figured it out, ha?!” he said with an embarrassed laugh. He wasn’t particularly ashamed of the deception—it was part of his role to gather information under a false identity. But his clumsy performance at the supercenter had caused more than a few problems, mostly due to the man standing right behind him.
He shot a quick glare at Alexander, who returned it with an almost imperceptible sneer, one that made Liam grit his teeth.
“Dr. Anwar told me who you are. Gale… I mean, commander…” Nyla stumbled over the words, unsure whether to feel more confused or betrayed.
Liam smiled, attempting to ease the tension in the room. “Liam is fine,” he said, his voice warm again, as if to downplay the awkwardness of the moment.
“Did Dr. Anwar tell you anything else?” Liam asked cautiously, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched Nyla. Since his grandfather's death, his relationship with Auset had been strained, and the tension only deepened over the years. She had loved his grandfather like a father and, in some ways, still blamed Liam for his death. But the situation worsened when she lost her husband, who had been sent on a mission by Liam. That had been a blow, but the final breaking point had come when she found out about his involvement with Jamal.
Liam, though outwardly calm, couldn't deny the weight of the fractured relationship. Since then, he'd been extra cautious during missions, afraid that any injury would bring out Auset's wrath, especially when it came to his medical treatment. It was a strange sort of paranoia that he couldn't shake, and Nyla, with her keen eyes, had no trouble noticing the subtle unease in his voice.
Nyla shook her head slightly, sensing the tension between them. She had overheard June speaking about the rocky relationship between Dr. Anwar and Liam, the rift that had only widened over the years. June’s words painted a picture of years of unresolved pain, and it wasn’t hard for Nyla to see that some part of the bitterness lingered in the air.
In Nyla’s opinion, a proper conversation could probably clear the air, but then again, there were wounds so deep that they couldn't be healed with just words. As much as she wanted to be the one to suggest it, she had learned enough to know that some battles weren’t hers to fight.
“You guys have met before, but to formally introduce you, this is Alexander,” Liam said, pointing to the man who had been standing by the door, his arms crossed and gaze elsewhere. Alexander gave a curt nod, barely meeting Nyla's eyes before quickly looking away.
Nyla offered a hesitant nod in return, unsure how to feel about this new introduction.
“He’s sorry for frightening you last night,” Liam added with a teasing tone, nudging Alexander with his elbow. Alexander mumbled something under his breath, barely audible.
“What’s that?” Liam asked, his voice light, as if he were trying to get a rise out of him.
“My bad!” Alexander responded loudly, and Nyla flinched slightly at the sudden volume. The apology felt rushed, almost forced.
“SATISFIED?!” Alexander snapped, turning sharply to Liam with his arms crossed.
Liam nodded slightly, clearly amused by the exchange, and then took a few steps toward Nyla, his tone shifting to something more reassuring. Nyla, still processing what she had just witnessed, glanced between the two of them. Liam seemed to have a friendly rapport with Alexander, but his blunt demeanor and the way he handled the apology left her uncertain. Was he really someone she could trust?
“He seems to be scary, but he’s... okay,” Liam said, reading her hesitation. “He’s in charge of our special unit and one of the few people who can fight against demons.”
Nyla’s eyes flicked to Alexander, who had remained stoic throughout the explanation. His scowl only seemed to confirm her growing unease, but Liam’s words did little to ease her doubts.
“Is that what you were doing at the orphanage?” Nyla asked, her gaze locking onto Alexander now.
He met her question with a direct look, the intensity in his eyes not softening at all.
“Yes,” he said shortly, his answer clipped. There was no need for further details. Whatever had happened at the orphanage, he wasn’t inclined to explain.
Nyla’s hands twisted nervously in her lap, her thoughts swirling. She had so many questions, but one in particular lingered at the forefront of her mind. What had really happened that night? But she couldn’t bring herself to ask it. Deep down, she feared she already knew the answer.
"Liam… The orphanage… is there any…?" Nyla’s voice trailed off, her words left unspoken. She had learned enough throughout the day to understand that survivors of demon attacks were exceedingly rare.
"Survivors? There is one!" Liam answered, trying to sound upbeat. Nyla’s eyes flickered with a hint of hope.
"You. You survived it," Liam added gently, giving her shoulder a reassuring pat.
"No… It’s my fault! If I had gotten there quicker, then Maryam, Billy, and the others wouldn’t have…," she choked on her words, her voice breaking. A sob escaped her mouth, and she covered it with her hand, feeling the wetness of her tears.
Alexander, watching the exchange, shot Liam a disappointed glare. Liam immediately regretted his attempt to bring light to the situation. He had tried to offer her some comfort, but it had backfired. He stepped closer, wrapping her in a gentle hug, allowing her to cry. He had seen this before—survivors of daemon attacks often felt relief at first, but that relief quickly turned to guilt. It was a difficult burden to carry, and the best approach was always to let them work through it at their own pace.
"THAT’S BULLSHIT!" Alexander’s voice cut through the room, his anger flaring.
"Alex…" Liam began, ready to intervene. He had brought Alexander along, hoping that Nyla might have useful information, but this was turning into a mistake.
"What could YOU have done?! You would’ve died alongside them when the seed manifested his daemon!" Alexander snapped, cutting Liam off. He couldn’t help but feel the sting of guilt. It was partially his fault that no one had survived. After two months undercover at the orphanage, he had disobeyed Liam’s orders and left his post. He was still in town when the attack happened, but by the time he returned, it was already too late. If only he had stayed, maybe things would’ve turned out differently.
"ALEXANDER! THAT’S ENOUGH!" Liam’s shout was sharp, as he quickly rose from the bed, leaving Nyla in her stunned silence. She was no longer crying, but now she looked utterly bewildered, caught between the tension in the room.
Alexander didn’t say another word. He shot them both a cold glare before storming out, slamming the door behind him so forcefully that the entire building seemed to tremble from the impact.
Liam turned to Nyla, his expression softening. "Please forgive him, Nyla. Believe it or not, he’s angrier with himself than you." He sighed, knowing Alexander’s gruff exterior often masked the turmoil inside. They’d known each other for years, and while Alexander wasn’t one to wear his emotions on his sleeve, Liam knew the truth. Alexander’s anger was never truly about others—it was always about his own failures. Nyla nodded slightly, her gaze distant. The man who had seemed so terrifying just moments ago now seemed more like a storm of regrets trapped in a body too proud to let anyone see.
The weight of her own guilt still clung to her. There was nothing she could have done. Not against that monster. A shiver ran down her spine as she remembered the claws—those impossibly sharp, monstrous claws.
"What did he mean by seed manifesting his daemon? Is it related to the demon attack at the orphanage?" Nyla's voice broke through the silence, curiosity flickering in her eyes. The words Alexander spat had gnawed at her, strangely familiar but utterly incomprehensible. Liam's eyes flickered with hesitation. This was a secret kept hidden from most, even within their own ranks. Only those initiated into the ADA knew the grim truth, and even then, the full story was murky.
"First, tell me how much you know about demons and their origin, so I can gauge where to begin." Liam leaned forward, his tone a little lighter, though his eyes were serious. According to Alexander, Nyla had a story to tell—a unique understanding of daemons that intrigued him.
"Demons are manifestations of our sins and are sent to punish us by God?" Nyla’s voice faltered as she spoke, uncertainty creeping into her words. The teachings of the Church of Lux had never fully convinced her, but the story was what everyone had always believed. She could tell from Liam’s raised brow that this answer wasn’t what he was looking for.
"Let me guess," Liam smirked slightly, "you learned that from the Sunday school teachings of the Church of Lux?" Nyla blushed, nodding sheepishly. She felt a little foolish now—her entire worldview of daemons had been shaped by those old stories. Liam paused, his fingers absently touching his chin—his thinking habit. He cleared his throat before continuing, his voice turning more serious.
"First of all, they’re not demons, Nyla. They’re called daemons." The correction hung in the air for a moment, as though he were setting the stage for something far more complicated.
"Daemons?" Nyla echoed, her brow furrowed in confusion.
"Yes," Liam continued, his voice steady. "It’s a misconception that was started by the Church of Lux. They made people believe that daemons were creatures of punishment, but the truth is far different." He paused, his eyes locking onto hers, ensuring she understood the gravity of what he was about to say. "Daemons are protectors. They don’t stop until everything—and everyone—who threatens them is destroyed."