The Bonacon had finally gone mad.

Its amber eyes blazed with wild hatred, nostrils flaring as clouds of vapor burst from them. Dirt and stones flew from under its hooves, the air itself trembling — as if the earth was no longer strong enough to hold the creature's fury.

Letecia and Milagros stumbled back, pressing behind splintered tree trunks for cover. Branches cracked overhead. Splinters rained down. The beast roared again — a low, rasping bellow that crawled beneath the skin and squeezed the heart with dread.

"He's lost his damn mind!" Milagros yelled, diving aside as another tree came crashing down.

The bull swung his head with brutal strength — one horn caught William clean and sent him flying across the clearing like a rag doll. His body slammed against a tree with a sickening thud, bones snapping audibly as he slid down, leaving a streak of red in his wake.

"William!" Letecia cried, taking a half-step forward before recoiling from a wave of scorching air and the stench of burning sap.

"Don't you run in there, sugar! He'll crush you 'fore you even blink!"

Milagros grit her teeth, her ice-blue eyes glowing like the edge of a blade.

"We've got to do something before he bleeds out!"

"That monster's tougher than stone!" Letecia shouted over the chaos. "Mah power just slides right off him — like it don't got nowhere t' stick!"

The Bonacon stomped down again — the ground split open with a cracking rumble, like thunder bursting underground.

William groaned, forcing himself upright, blood dripping from his mouth.

"The knee!" Milagros screamed, her voice slicing through the beast's roar. "Go for the joint! It's the weakest spot — maybe it'll slow him down!"

William staggered forward, half-healed but trembling, one arm hanging dead at his side. His pupils narrowed to slits; green light flashed off the claws forming at his fingertips, and with a snarl he lunged.

The bull shifted, almost sensing the attack. Its horns cut through the air — but William ducked low and slashed at its leg, pouring every ounce of fury into that desperate strike.

Instead of flesh or bone, the sound that rang out was metallic — a sharp, hollow clang.

"Damn it!" he growled, but the words were cut short as the Bonacon's hoof came down.

Once.

Crack.

Ribs shattered, breath forced out in a spray of blood.

Twice.

Thump.

His chest caved in, steam curling from his lips.

A third time —

his leg bent the wrong way with a wet, awful snap.

Time fractured. The roar of the beast dulled; the world seemed to slow until even the sound of blood dripping onto the dirt was visible, rhythmic.

William writhed beneath the monster's weight. His body tried to mend itself, bone shifting beneath skin like restless serpents.

"Goddamn fool! I'm such a goddamn fool!" Milagros spat, whipping toward Letecia. "He's gonna die and you're just standing—"

"I am thinkin', honey!" Letecia barked, voice sharp but steady as steel. A spark lit in her eyes. "That beast don't burn with fire — it burns with acid. That's it! He's usin' stomach acid, melts everything it touches!"

"Oh that's just wonderful!" Milagros shot back. "You gonna write a medical report while he gets stomped to paste?!"

But Letecia was already moving.

Her body flashed forward, a blur of determination and speed. She slipped along the Bonacon's flank, close enough to feel the blistering heat from its hide, and grabbed a charred tree branch still jutting from its lower back — the remnant of William's failed strike. The wood hissed in her grasp, smoke curling between her fingers.

"A snake bites its own tail," she muttered under her breath, her voice low, fierce, laced with that Cajun cadence, "an' it dies from its own poison."

With a cry that was half prayer, half fury, she lifted the branch high and drove it deep into the creature's back.

A wet crack — then hisssss.

Flame crawled out from the wound, green and bright as swampfire.

The Bonacon shrieked — not like an animal, but like something breaking apart inside its own skin. Trees shook. Mud and steam exploded under its hooves. It spun, bellowing, spewing a jet of boiling vapor and sour smoke. Blisters bubbled across its hide as its flesh began to sag, melting away like wax under a torchlight.

And for a heartbeat, even the forest seemed to hold its breath.

The Bonacon convulsed.

The ground beneath it heaved like the earth itself had gasped in terror. For a split second, it seemed Letecia's strike had worked — the monster stumbled, thick black-green fluid spilling down its flank. But then came a sound that wasn't a roar or a scream, but something deeper — a drawn-out growl so low and heavy it made the air tremble. Leaves shook loose from the trees in a rain of green.

"Letecia…" William rasped, voice wet with blood as he stared at the creature's wound closing before his eyes. "It's— it's healing…"

"That— that ain't right," she breathed, backing up a few steps. "His own acid shoulda—"

She didn't finish. The bull reared and let loose a blast of searing gas. The air thickened, sharp and bitter, burning their eyes and lungs.

Milagros dove aside — her body already shifting, bones cracking and reshaping until she stood in full wendigo form: ice-white skin, elongated claws, and a mouth built for tearing through stone.

"He's regenerating!" she roared, her voice cutting through the fiery chaos. "We've gotta tear him apart before he pulls himself back together!"

The Bonacon charged. It was like a mountain in motion, horns lowered, eyes blazing green fury. Milagros barely dodged — the hoof struck earth inches from her, spraying blood-soaked mud and shrapnel of stone.

She spun with a snarl, vaulted upward, and slammed into its neck. Her claws sank deep, shredding through hide and muscle as she howled through clenched teeth.

"Hold him!" William shouted, forcing his broken body into motion. His frame was a lattice of scar tissue, constantly trying to heal and break again. He slid beneath the monster's chest, raised his claws, and drove upward — raw power and desperation fueling the strike. Bone splintered, sinew tore, and his own shoulder dislocated from the force, but he didn't stop. He ripped and tore, screaming until his voice cracked.

The Bonacon shrieked — a sound that split the clearing wide open. Its horns smashed into trees, tail whipping through trunks like a blade, sending splinters flying. One pine snapped and fell beside Letecia, missing her by a whisper.

She staggered, fire sparking in her eyes. Raising both hands, she drew the darkness to her like breath — her power coiling, fierce and wild.

"Enough!" she cried, her Southern accent breaking through in fury. "You ain't hurtin' nobody else, you hear me?!"

She released it all at once — a pulse of black energy, thick as smoke, slammed into the monster's chest. For a heartbeat, time hung still. The creature froze, muscles locking, its massive eyes going wide.

"Now!"

Milagros roared and bit down hard — her jaws snapping through bone. A wet crack. The monster's blood sprayed in arcs of glowing green — sludge-like, toxic, hissing where it hit the ground. It splattered across her face and arms.

Milagros screamed, tearing herself back, steam rising from her skin.

"It burns! He's poisoned even inside!"

The tail whipped out again.

SMASH.

Milagros flew backward, slammed into a boulder, slid down and lay crumpled, ribs visibly fractured.

Letecia went pale, sweat running down her cheek. But she didn't stop. The shadows around her thickened, curling close like storm clouds before a strike.

"William!" she shouted, voice raw, laced with steel and grit. "You gotta hit his heart — dead center, right now! I'll hold him still as I can, but you best make it count!"

The Bonacon staggered, pinned under invisible weight. Its steps grew heavy, each breath a rumbling cough. From its nostrils poured steam laced with flickering green fire — all that energy trapped and turning inward.

"Kill him!" Letecia screamed. Blood ran from her nose, her body trembling under the force. "Do it now!"

William rose. Barely. His chest was caved, his arm hanging by shredded tendons, but his eyes — they burned with savage clarity. He lunged forward one last time, his claws flashing.

A single strike — deep, sure, all power behind it. His hand drove into the beast's chest, the energy flaring white-hot as he forced it in.

And then— the world exploded.

Heat. Smoke. A detonation of steam and gore. For a moment, there was no sound but a blinding hum.

When the haze began to clear, the bull was still standing — just barely. Molten fat dripped from its sides. Its breathing came in harsh, rattling pulls.

Milagros, dazed and limping, pushed herself upright, blood streaking her face.

"He's… he's still moving, William…" she whispered.

******

The pounding in William's skull was unbearable.

Somewhere beneath the skin—deep in the marrow of his mind—it stirred again.

A voice slid through the dark of his thoughts, low, ragged, as if ripped from torn vocal cords.

"How many more times you gonna prove how useless you are, boy?"

The words struck like a hammer inside his skull. His whole being twisted, not in fear of the beast before him, but in disgust at himself. Every failure, every missed strike—each one tore open the same wound.

Then came the laughter. That thick, guttural laugh — animal and cruel, like a predator savoring the scent of blood.

He clutched his head and growled through his teeth.

"Shut up… shut up, you son of a bitch!"

The laughter only deepened, echoing through his skull like thunder rolling through a canyon.

In flashes, his vision warped—Milagros, broken and rising on trembling limbs; Letecia, on her knees, drained of everything she had, barely keeping the monster contained. Both of them struggling to breathe.

And in that flash of hopeless clarity, William understood: if he fell again, there'd be no one left to stand back up.

Steam drifted from his torn lips. His chest heaved. A nerve in his cheek twitched.

"You think I'll lose again?" he whispered.

Silence. Then the voice sneered—

"You already have. You're just meat—standing between me and real power."

William's breath hitched. His lips curved into something between a grimace and a grin.

"I'm real tired of your shit," he said quietly.

The whites of his eyes bled red. His pupils thinned, glowing the sickly green of a predatory thing. His jaw tightened; muscle rippled under skin like something alive.

He hissed—a sound that barely sounded human.

"I'll tear you out, myself."

The Bonacon roared, the ground shaking under its fury.

And they charged.

The collision sounded like a hammer striking an anvil. The shockwave rolled through the clearing, shaking branches and scattering embers.

William struck first. His claws cut through the haze, raking across the beast's hide. His movements were wild, blistering—no rhythm left, just pure feral instinct. He slid under its strikes, leapt, rolled, struck again. Claws tore at hide and sinew, each motion a frenzy of rage and will.

The Bonacon bellowed, spinning in place, its horns cleaving the air. Steam burst from its nostrils as its hooves cratered the ground.

To anyone watching, it looked less like combat and more like a hunt—two monsters grappling for who had the right to exist.

Letecia pressed herself against a tree, chest heaving, arms trembling from exhaustion.

"He's… changin'," she breathed, voice barely above a whisper, tinged with that lazy Southern drawl like the hush before a storm.

Milagros coughed out a raspy laugh.

"No kidding… Look at him. He's enjoying it."

Her gaze sharpened. The smirk faded.

"No… something's off. He could've ended this already. I can feel it—he's holdin' back, like he's fightin' himself."

She snorted weakly. "Or maybe that rock scrambled my damn brain."

Firelight flickered against their faces as the battle raged. The Bonacon swung, turning broadside, and William surged in low. His claws sliced deeper this time—flesh tore, dark blood spraying across his face. In a blur of motion, he bit down, teeth sinking into the monster's throat.

The creature roared, rearing up and flinging him away like a rag of flesh and bone. He hit the ground hard, rolled, bones snapping as he skidded across the dirt. One arm twisted beneath him—but even as it broke, he was already pushing himself upright, hissing like a serpent.

The Bonacon turned, its haunches tensing—then released.

A jet of burning, corrosive acid gushed out, the stench of death and rot filling the clearing.

"No, William—!" Letecia's cry cut through the firestorm, desperation in her voice. "Don't you dare—!"

But he didn't stop. Didn't even flinch. He walked straight into it.

Skin blistered and split; muscle sizzled beneath. Steam rose in sheets, every movement leaving molten prints in the soil. But he kept walking. One step. Then another.

He smiled through the blood, through the smoke.

"That's it? That's all you've got?"

The voice inside growled again, almost approving.

"There it is… That's how pain smells when you stop runnin' from it."

A vision slammed into his mind. The world cracked.

He saw another him — colossal, ancient, soaked in blood — throttled by the hands of a man without fear. A final breath. A crack of bone. The scent of ash.

And then it was gone. Only the now remained.

William's arms wrapped around the monster's throat. His veins bulged black; his muscles locked like iron.

"Let's see who breaks first," he rasped.

The Bonacon thrashed, tearing up earth and trees alike. Its hooves gouged trenches, its tail swept through the forest, but William clung to it like death itself.

Letecia pressed a trembling hand to her lips, feeling the air quake.

"Sweet Lord above…" she whispered, voice shaking. "He's really… he's really stranglin' that damn thing."

Milagros' voice came, hoarse but certain.

"Oh, God… He's not fightin' it anymore. He is it."

The world dissolved into roar and flame and wind.

The Bonacon screamed, the sound splitting into a guttural crack — and something inside it snapped.

The monster stumbled. Still upright. Still breathing. But just barely.

And William—he didn't let go.

There was no trace of the boy left in his face. Only that feral, unstoppable will, burning green in the firelight.

And somewhere — in that trembling balance between his own heartbeat and the beast's dying breath — the night held its breath to see which one would claim the dark.

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