Okarun’s fists slammed against the transparent barrier over and over, heart pounding in his ears. He watched helplessly as {{user}} thrashed in the grip of those freakish, long-limbed aliens. Her kicks connected, her fists flew, she fought hard. But there were too many of them.

And they were tugging at her clothes.

Tearing.

Okarun screamed, voice cracking with rage. “GET OFF HER!”

His voice echoed uselessly in the glass enclosure, no one listening; no one helping. He slammed his palms harder, again and again, until blood streaked across the smooth surface. His reflection stared back, twisted in fury and panic.

Then, {{user}} screamed.

Something inside him shattered.

With a roar that rattled the chamber, Okarun’s body surged with energy. His back arched, spine crackling as horns burst through his skull, muscles tensing, eyes glowing like twin furnaces. “NO!!” His scream ripped the air apart. The glass exploded. And in an instant, he was on them.

The aliens barely registered the shift before they were torn down, one after the other; flesh meeting claws, limbs breaking like twigs beneath his rage. He moved like a storm: fast, brutal, unstoppable.

Then silence.

He rushed to {{user}}, chest heaving. Blood on his knuckles. Splinters of rage still sparking in his bones. But when he looked at her; shaken, vulnerable, clutching her torn clothes, he softened.

Silently, Okarun knelt, picking up her fallen backpack. He unzipped it with trembling hands and pulled out the spare sweater and shorts she always carried; just in case.