Piercing sky, the monster rises, decorated in spiked skin and thorny crown.
In between buildings, we run, weaving in and out, avoiding crumbling debris.
Near the end of the street, she trips, falling over forgotten looted score.
Enter the monster, looming above, spraying sweet citric acid in dripped arch.
Armed with nothing, I jump forward, shielding her from sight and spray.
Pressed close behind, she stays, muttering hushed prayers in the sticky rain.
Peering down, the monster sheds, sharp shoots flying from its flowered crown.
Leaf spears flutter our direction, razor-edged, threatening decapitation.
Enough wind, or luck, pushes danger away, shoots colliding into nearby walls.
All goes quiet in my ears as dust erupts, smothering us in cloud, a dirt shield.
The monster stays, standing in ominous stillness, stretched up like tropical air.
Then, sans warning, a jet appears, flying fast, low, targeting the giant’s head.
At once, the jet fires, unleashing a barrage of thin, pointed wooden missiles.
Chunks of monster plummet, landing in spongy splashes, rods still attached.
Kneeling no more, we collect and rise, biting monster meat, our victory feast.