William had once again landed himself in some nightmare version of Scooby-Doo—except this time, it wasn't a rubber-masked ghost chasing him through the dark.

It was a bull.

But not just any bull. This one looked like something bred in a madman's lab: a hulking, black mass of muscle slick with sweat and blood. Every breath made its flanks ripple as if waves rolled beneath the skin. Its eyes—wild, amber, and burning from within—locked on him with pure hatred.

The forest shuddered where it passed. Trees groaned and toppled, roots tore free of the ground, stones split beneath its hooves. The air itself seemed heavier—thick with the beast's grunt and the deep, rattling roar that made William's heart seize.

He ducked behind a tree, gasping, fists tight.

"Damn it… this is bad. Really bad."

He'd fought monsters before, all kinds—fangs, claws —but this thing… this was destruction made flesh. He could be quicker, maybe smarter, but not stronger. And if this dragged on, he'd be the one to burn out first. The bull wouldn't stop. It couldn't.

When the beast screamed again and lunged, William rolled just in time. The ground where he'd stood exploded under its weight—earth cracking, rocks flying like shrapnel. He sprang to his feet, eyes flashing with feral light.

"You wanna play, you overgrown steak?" he hissed, and rushed forward before it could turn again.

He grabbed a fistful of the beast's coarse mane and twisted, using its bulk against it. His claws flashed through the air—bright, deadly arcs—but barely scratched the hide. The skin beneath his fingers burned hot, yet no blood followed.

"Come on! What is it now, 'invincible monsters' season?" he snarled, feeling bones snap in his fingers as he struck again.

The bull's reply was a rumbling bellow that rattled his spine. It reared, twisting, and slammed its full weight down on him. The ground cracked beneath them. Air blasted from his lungs; his back screamed in agony.

Pain flooded him—cold, brutal, unending. The world dimmed. He could feel the soil grind against his bones, the crushing weight pinning his ribs still.

Well, he thought faintly, so this is what it feels like to be a pancake.

Somewhere beyond the haze, a name surfaced. Milagros. Her scream tore through the fog of pain.

"Hey! You four-legged freak!" came a voice.

Then—a rock struck the bull's side with a sharp crack, leaving a ragged mark on its glossy hide.

"Over here, big guy! Yeah, that's right—come get me, you muscle-bound burger factory!"

The creature swung its head around, snorted once, and barreled off after her with the force of a landslide, trees snapping like matchsticks in its wake.

William lay there for a moment, every breath a jagged rasp. Bones popped and realigned under his skin, his body piecing itself back together. The pain was still there, but it was fading, replaced by the dull hum of regeneration.

A shadow fell over him—Letecia, dropping to her knees. Her accent curled softly through her panic.

"Sweet Lord, William… you hear me? C'mon, sugar, breathe, please!"

He groaned, dragging himself upright.

"Ugh… that bastard cracked every damn rib." A wet cough. He spat out a clotted streak of red. "What the hell was that thing? My claws might as well've been toothpicks. Don't tell me it's a damn minotaur."

Letecia flinched at the distant crash where Milagros had led the beast.

"Nah, not a minotaur," she said, voice low, honey-thick with that Southern drawl. "It looked more like a Bonacon to me. Only... way too big. And meaner than sin. They don't usually attack folks first."

William gave a rough, humorless chuckle as the last of his fingers knitted back together.

"Bonacon, huh? Great. Just great. Guess the only thing left to figure out is who decided to turn it into a one-bull apocalypse." He looked her dead in the eye. "Humans just can't leave well enough alone, can they? Always gotta weaponize nature."

Far away, the bull roared again—deep, furious. The tremor rolled under their feet.

William pushed himself up, shoulders cracking, eyes gleaming with renewed resolve.

"Come on," he rasped. "We're not done yet."

Letecia swallowed hard, reached out, and helped him to his feet.

"Well, sugar," she muttered, glancing toward the sound, "Ah sure hope y'know what you're doin'… 'cause that thing ain't fixin' to give us a second chance."

And together, they ran toward the rumbling earth.

They ran through a stinking, blood-slick clearing carved through the forest like a wound. Smoke still curled from the shattered trees where the Bonacon had stormed through moments ago. The ground hissed with steam, every step pressing heat out of the earth. Branches whipped across their faces; the air reeked of ash, iron, and something nauseatingly organic—like the forest itself had started to rot from fear.

"William!" Letecia gasped between ragged breaths. "Ah gotta tell ya somethin' 'bout that Bonacon!"

"Then talk!" he barked, vaulting over a fallen trunk. "Don't hold out on me—how do we kill the damn thing?"

She gritted her teeth, splattered with dirt and blood. "I don't! But it's got one kinda defense—"

She didn't finish. Up ahead, through the broken trees, Milagros came into view—flat against the ground, the monster looming above her like a shadow from hell itself.

William didn't think. He moved. One heartbeat and he was airborne, springing from a splintered log straight onto the creature's back. His fingers tore into its matted mane, claws shrieking over its hide.

"Get off her, you slab of meat!" he roared, flashing his fangs.

But the bull jerked beneath him, muscles heaving. Its tail shot up—and a wave of hot, foul liquid blasted straight into William's face. The stench hit like poison gas. His instinct screamed, too late.

He fell hard, clutching his face as smoke rose from his skin. Flesh bubbled and sloughed away as if it had been dunked in acid. His eyes darkened; blood and burning filth poured down his jaw.

"That's what I was tryin' to tell ya!" Letecia shouted, her voice muffled behind a hand pressed to her mouth and nose. "These bastards're like giant skunks—but what comes outta them? It's acid, sugar. Straight-up, melt-yer-skin acid!"

Her jaw trembled, but she tore her gaze away from William's writhing form. His face steamed, flesh hissed—but she knew he'd live. He'd survived worse. And right now, she and Milagros couldn't afford to wait for his healing.

"Hang on, kitty," she muttered through clenched teeth. "We'll keep yer dance partner busy."

Milagros was already in motion. Her eyes flared with a cold, spectral light as she leapt, teeth sinking deep into the bull's neck. The beast bellowed, twisting, blood spurting in a hot red arc that speckled Letecia's cheek.

"Now that's more like it!" Milagros snarled through her bite, voice muffled by muscle.

"Hold tight, darlin'," Letecia hissed, slapping her palms against the beast's side. "Let mama borrow a lil' strength, huh?"

Her eyes dimmed to black. Something in her chest clicked like a lock turning, and she began to draw energy out of the creature. But it fought her—its fury boiling like magma, endless, choking.

"Holy hell… this ain't right!" she shouted, staggering. "He's got enough rage to drown the world! Feels like I'm tryin' to drink a hurricane through a straw!"

The Bonacon roared and convulsed, flinging Milagros loose. She hit the ground hard, rolled, slammed into a stump, then sprang up again with blood trickling from her lip, fangs bared.

"Fantastic," she spat. "We just had to pick a fight with Beelzebull himself."

And then—between them—stood William.

He wavered on his feet, half his face melted away to white bone and pulsing sinew. One eye burned a sickly green; the other ran red as ink. He grinned—crooked, feral.

"You ugly son of a bitch," he growled. "You ruined my face."

The words collapsed into a guttural snarl. His claws lengthened, their tips glowing green with inner fire. With every strained breath, his skin knitted back together—but imperfectly, jagged, monstrous. He was no longer entirely human.

And with a sound that wasn't quite a roar, he attacked.

His claws tore into the dark hide, deeper this time—finally finding purchase. Thick, molten blood spilled in heavy streaks, reeking of iron and sulfur.

"Like that, huh?" he shouted, ripping a branch from a shattered bush. "Then how 'bout a quick anatomy lesson!"

He spun, driving the jagged wood upward with brutal precision right beneath the creature's tail. The crack that followed was somewhere between thunder and bone breaking.

The Bonacon screamed. The forest itself shook.

The sound wasn't just noise—it was a living vibration that tore at their chests. William felt blood run from his ears; Letecia and Milagros both clapped their hands over their heads, teeth bared in pain.

The beast staggered, its hooves gouging trenches in the earth. From its new wounds gushed not blood but thick, black fluid that smoked and hissed where it struck the ground.

Letecia exhaled, a wild grin cutting across her dirt-smeared face.

"Well now," she drawled, voice trembling with reckless glee. "Now we got ourselves a fight."

Milagros spat out blood, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Just make sure he doesn't cut loose again, Les. I don't think I can handle blast of eau de death-ass."

And William—half-shrouded in smoke, flesh half-mended and still glowing faintly green—stood his ground.

He looked at the monstrous bull, still heaving, still burning, still far from beaten.

And when his one good eye locked with the beast's, the forest itself seemed to hold its breath.

The battle wasn't over. It was only waking up.

The Bonacon shuddered violently, its entire body rippling like a storm caught in flesh. Muscles rolled beneath its hide in trembling waves, every vein straining as if the beast's fury was stretching it to the edge of its own skin. Branches splintered, stones cracked, and the very air began to hum — a terrible, low vibration, as though the creature was swallowing rage only to throw it back at the world tenfold.

Then the ground exploded.

The bull leapt — impossibly fast for something so huge — a mountain of black muscle rising and crashing down again with earth-shaking force. The shockwave hurled Letecia and Milagros off their feet, the forest bursting around them in dust and fragments.

"Back!" William shouted, clutching one side of his melted face; steam still rose from the half-healed wounds. "Get back, damn it—move!"

But it was already too late.

The Bonacon surged forward again, eyes burning like twin furnaces, smoke billowing from its nostrils. Each breath carried heat like a forge.

Milagros rolled aside just as a hoof struck ground where she'd been an instant before — the impact sent up a fountain of dirt and stone shards. Another hoof collided with a boulder, shattering it to dust.

"This son of a bitch's tougher than a tank!" she shouted, blood streaking her hands, claws dripping with grime and the creature's tar-like ichor.

Letecia barely heard her. Her fingers were already glowing, threads of green light unfurling around her body like restless spirits. She was drawing power straight from the earth — from every leaf, root, and dead insect beneath her boots.

"William!" she yelled, her voice carrying like thunder through the trees. "Don't go for the head-on! Ya gotta strip its shell first, sugar, or it'll bury us all!"

William turned to her, eyes burning with a feverish mix of pain, wildness, and pure animal rage.

"You think I'm just scratching it?!" he snarled back — and slammed his claws into the bull again. Sparks flew—steel on stone.

He ducked under its horns, hooked his arm beneath its massive throat, and ripped. Finally, the hide gave. Flesh tore; strands of sinew snapped. Hot, viscous blood splattered across his chest, thick as molten metal.

"That's it… that's it, you bastard!" he roared, his own skin hissing where the monster's blood touched it.

Milagros seized the opening. She leapt, jaws wide, fangs slicing into the newly exposed muscle. The sound was wet, sickening — bones grinding, meat tearing. The Bonacon bellowed and slammed its body sideways, flinging them both off; its wound gushed like a ruptured vein of lava.

The bull stumbled. The ground beneath it burned black where the blood fell. The air reeked like melting iron.

William staggered to his feet first. He spat a mouthful of blood, peeled a strip of charred flesh from his cheek, and rasped,

"He's gonna get angry now. Real angry."

He didn't have to wait long.

The beast's eyes turned milky white, its pupils swallowed by pure light. Smoke poured from its mouth—then flame.

"Oh, hell no," Letecia breathed, stumbling back, her accent slipping thick in her panic. "He's overheatin' his core, William! That's the berserk stage! He ain't even fightin' no more — he's jus' burnin' alive with rage!"

The Bonacon lowered its head. A deep, low hum filled the forest — steady, suffocating, the sound of something enormous about to break.

Milagros felt it vibrate in her bones. Her ears rang, heart hammering.

"Perfect," she muttered darkly. "We pissed him off to death. Guess we're all goin' down together."

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