New York City stirs awake beneath a pale morning sun.

  The streets of Manhattan buzz with quiet routine — delivery trucks rumble down avenues, horns honk lazily in early traffic, and steam curls up from subway grates like sighs from the city itself.

  Vendors open their carts, the smell of roasted peanuts and hot pretzels drifting into the air. Joggers pass by Central Park, their footsteps soft against the pavement, while dog-walkers juggle tangled leashes and coffee cups in equal measure.

  Somewhere near Times Square, music plays faintly from a taxi's cracked window — a pop beat barely competing with the voice of a street performer warming up for the morning crowd. Tourists snap photos near glittering billboards, laughing, pointing, alive in the energy of the place.

  Even above the noise, there’s a strange kind of peace. A rhythm.

  New York isn’t quiet, not ever — but it’s content. Settled. Breathing.

  A massive ox — towering nearly twenty feet tall — falls from the sky like a meteorite.

  The impact shakes the street, sending cars skidding and shattering windows for half a block.

  For a moment, it doesn’t move. Just a mountain of muscle and bone, steam rising off its back.

  Then it exhales — long, hot, and heavy — and stands.

  It lowers its head.

  And charges.

  The first building it strikes doesn’t stand a chance.

  Steel groans, glass explodes, and within seconds the structure buckles, collapsing into rubble as panic spreads through the street like fire.

  The ground shakes with every step the beast takes.

  People who haven’t already been crushed run, scream — or freeze, too stunned to move.

  A mother drops to her knees in the street, shielding her child beneath her as the ox’s enormous shadow swallows them whole.

  Its hoof, broad as a car, is already coming down.

  And then—

  A flash of fire lances across the ox’s side. It bellows, staggering from the sudden burn.

  In that split second, a blur shoots past the wreckage.

  Demono.

  She lunges forward, snatching the woman with one arm and the child with the other, skidding across the pavement as the ox’s hoof slams into the spot they were just in.

  The street cracks. Concrete explodes.

  But they’re safe.

  “Go!” Demono shouts, her voice raw. “Run! I’ve got this!”

  The Morgi Ox roars — a low, guttural sound that vibrates through the shattered streets like a bomb. Its breath steams, its eyes blaze wild, and it rears back, hooves crashing down with the force of a quake.

  Demono doesn’t flinch.

  She crouches low, one hand pressed to the cracked pavement, the other curling into a clawed fist. Heat ripples around her. The air shimmers.

  The ox snorts, pawing the ground, then charges again.

  Demono’s eyes narrow.

  “Burn.”

  A pillar of flame erupts beneath the ox’s chest, searing up its side in a flash of white-hot heat. The beast screams, stumbling, its front leg buckling under the sudden pain. Charred fur curls and smokes.

  But it keeps coming.

  Demono darts left, fast and fluid, flames trailing from her heels like a comet’s tail. She vaults off a broken taxi, launching herself upward. Fire bursts from her back like wings, propelling her high into the air — above the beast’s horns.

  She spins mid-air, both arms ablaze, and hurls a volley of flame down like meteors. Each blast slams into the Ox’s thick hide, exploding in bursts of fire that crack its armor-like bone plates and sear deep into muscle.

  The Ox howls, thrashing, trying to shake her assault.

  Demono lands hard, sliding across rubble as smoke coils around her. She wipes ash from her cheek and rises.

  “This city,” she growls, summoning fresh fire into her fists, “isn’t yours to wreck.”

  The Ox rears, battered but still dangerous.

  Her feet ignite with embers as she sprints forward, flame spiraling from her palms. She slams a concentrated blast into the Ox’s shoulder. The beast staggers—only slightly. Its bulk absorbs more of the blow than she expects.

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  She braces to strike again—

  —but the Morgi Ox is faster.

  With a guttural snort, it swings its massive head. One horn catches her mid-dash.

  The impact is catastrophic.

  Her body rockets backward, crashing into the side of a ruined van with a deafening crunch. Metal caves in around her. The hit blasts the air from her lungs in a sharp, desperate gasp.

  For a few seconds, she doesn’t move.

  Smoke drifts from her scorched jacket. Her vision swims. The world narrows to a high, piercing ring in her ears.

  She tries to push up—her limbs betray her.

  The Ox stomps closer, each hoof strike cracking the pavement. Slow. Deliberate. Final.

  Demono clenches her jaw, tasting blood on her lip. She raises one shaky arm, sparks flickering to life in her palm—

  but the flame sputters, weak, unstable.

  The Morgi Ox lowers its head, lining up the killing blow.

  Click.

  The sound of a shotgun being pumped cuts through the chaos.

  A figure steps from the smoke—older, grim, shotgun steady in his grip.

  “Let’s get that beef and take it down,” he growls, sliding another shell into place.

  Demono exhales, pain still knifing through her ribs, but resolve flares in her eyes.

  Sirens wail through the ruined streets as squad cars skid to a stop behind heaps of debris. NYPD officers pour out—some barking orders, others frozen by the sight of the twenty-foot monster stomping at the heart of the destruction.

  “Holy hell…” one officer breathes.

  The Morgi Ox snorts, steam curling from its nostrils as it turns toward the new arrivals.

  Still on one knee near the wrecked van, Demono sees it paw the ground.

  “Get back!” she rasps. “You don’t have the firepower to—”

  But they don’t retreat.

  From behind the barricade of cruisers, an officer hefts a long-barreled rifle—military grade, either from deep storage or somewhere more secret. A hand signal flashes. Three officers drop to their knees and open fire, bullets tearing into the beast’s shoulder.

  The Morgi Ox bellows, stumbling sideways as black, hissing blood sprays from the wounds.

  It’s not enough to stop it—

  but it’s enough to hurt it.

  “Keep firing!” someone shouts.

  More rounds crack through the air. A SWAT truck roars around the corner, turret mounted high. The gunner opens up, pounding the Ox’s flank with a storm of lead.

  Demono staggers to her feet, one hand gripping her side.

  Through the haze, she sees it — the look in the officers’ eyes. They’re not running. They’re not trying to cage her.

  They’re fighting with her.

  Fire curls around her fingers.

  “Alright,” she mutters, letting the flames flare back to life. “Let’s end this.”

  She dashes across the street, sparks snapping from her shoulders, and slides in behind a police cruiser.

  An officer turns, startled. “You okay?!”

  “Listen, I can finish this thing — but if I let loose…” Her voice drops, fire trembling in her palms. “I don’t know how much I can control.”

  The officer blinks. “You saying you’re going nuclear?”

  “I’m saying…” Her gaze flicks to the civilians still being pulled to safety. “Get everyone out unless they want to end up barbecued.”

  Orders ripple down the line. “Fall back! Get civilians clear! Move!”

  She turns to the shotgun-wielding civilian reloading nearby. “Thanks for the help. But unless you want medium-well, step back.”

  The man smirks. “You got it, fireball.”

  Within moments, the street empties — sirens fading, officers pulling back, dragging the last stragglers to safety.

  The Morgi Ox rears and bellows, wounded but raging.

  Demono steps into the middle of the ruined road, her eyes burning like twin furnaces.

  “Alright, big guy…” she breathes. “Let’s see how well you cook.”

  Smoke coils upward. Heat shimmers in the air.

  She raises her arms.

  The flames erupt outward — not a stream, not a blast, but a roaring inferno that swallows the street in light and heat. The Morgi Ox lets out a final, defiant roar before crashing to the ground, the impact shaking the city one last time.

  For a moment, it’s still.

  Then — impossibly — the beast stirs. It rises, barely, its body scorched and trembling, a pitiful whimper rattling from its throat.

  Demono steadies herself, heat rolling off her shoulders.

  “Oh no you don’t.”

  With one last surge of fire, she drives the blaze into its chest. The Ox howls, staggers, and — in a shimmer of unnatural light — opens a portal behind itself. The void swallows it whole, and then… it’s gone.

  Silence settles over the street.

  From behind the police barricades, civilians peek out, some clapping shakily, others wiping tears. A firefighter jogs past to douse the flames still licking the street.

  The shotgun-wielding man approaches, his steps slow but steady.

  “Thank you for saving my wife.”

  Demono blinks at him, a little surprised. “Oh, uh… yeah. Sure. No problem.”

  “You’re not scared of me?” she asks, breath still ragged.

  He gives a half-shrug. “Maybe a little. I mean, I wouldn’t try to punch a twenty-foot cow.” A short, rough laugh escapes him.

  “But anyone willing to throw down to protect this city? You’re a New Yorker, far as I’m concerned.”

  He turns to his wife, slinging an arm around her shoulders.

  “I know a pizza place that’s still open,” he says with a grin. “And you know what they say—what happens to New York never dies.”

  Demono at a tiny corner pizza shop, grease glistening on her fingertips as she bites into a slice.

  A portal shimmers open right in front of her.

  “It’s rare to see you hanging out with humans,” a familiar voice says.

  Without missing a beat, Demono holds out a paper plate with a slice.

  “Try one. It’s amazing.”

  Lemres steps through the portal and takes the plate from her hand.

  “Sorry to pull you away, but we should track the Morgi Ox while it’s still wounded.”

  Demono glances at the scorched streets, shattered glass, and civilians picking themselves up.

  “Do I have to? I mean… someone’s gotta help clean this up.”

  Lemres exhales. “Alright. I get it.” He glances back through the portal. “I’ll grab Markus and the others to finish the job. You stay and help here.”

  He disappears into the swirling light.

  Demono takes another bite of her pizza, gaze sweeping over the wounded city. Ash drifts through the air like slow-falling snow. Firefighters shout. Sirens wail. Neighbors sweep glass from their doorways, passing brooms and buckets like shared weapons in a quieter war.

  She’s not sure when it happens, but somehow…

  She feels like she’s part of it.

  Not just the fight.

  The rebuilding.