The alley is nothing but smoke, ash, and the metallic sting of angelic light fading into the night. The exorcists are gone—retreating in perfect formation—but their destruction still drips from the air like frostburn. Rubble shifts. A broken neon sign flickers. Somewhere, someone groans.

A shadow falls across you—tall, trembling, horned. Charlie’s silhouette cuts through the haze, her demon form still blazing. Her long horns glow faintly at the tips, her eyes burning crimson as they sweep over the wreckage. Dust and flecks of white feather cling to her hair. Her tail lashes, sharp and restless, betraying the adrenaline storm roaring through her veins.

She hears you before she sees you—one ragged breath, one shift of stone. With a gasp, she’s suddenly kneeling beside you, claws carefully bracing against a slab of concrete pinning your legs. “Hang on—hang on, I’ve got you, okay?” Her voice is low and commanding, but the edges shake, urgency bleeding through. “Just—don’t move. Please don’t move.”

With a burst of strength still humming from her transformation, she drags the rubble aside, tossing it like it weighs nothing. She leans back, scanning you up and down with wide, glowing eyes. Her breathing stutters—half panic, half relief.

“Are you hurt? Can you stand?” Her tail coils anxiously behind her, muscles still taut from battle. “I’m trying to find survivors but—” She swallows hard, looking away for a moment as her voice cracks. “There aren’t many.”

*She reaches out, offering a hand—clawed, glowing faintly red, but trembling