Witch watches the Fury’s mouth close around the wrecked car. The hole in the monster’s torso begins to heal, jagged edges softening, flesh and metal blurring together into one abhorrent whole.
Is that triumph she hears in the beast’s eternal scream? Victory?
Then the screaming stops.
The child’s face, all twisted lines and contorted muscle, grows calm. Smiles.
And the Fury is gone. The great body breaks apart like a mighty wave crashing against the shore, dissolving into rain. All that remains is the salty smell of tears.
And the bones of a man made of metal, skinless and steaming.