At the same time, out in the wasteland, a student-packed coach was rumbling along a dusty service road. Without warning, a black shadow streaked across the sky above it. Seconds later came a deafening snap—one of the bus's tires blew out, and the coach screeched to an abrupt halt.
The driver, thick glasses perched on his nose, and an elderly teacher climbed down to inspect the damage. When they reached the rear wheel, they saw a razor-sharp dart embedded in the tire—it was the dart that had punctured the rubber. As the two men retrieved it, they realized in horror that the shaft was crafted from bone, and at its center was a strip of flesh. Even more chilling, there was a belly button on that patch of skin—there could be no doubt which creature it had come from.
Their spines chilling, the driver and teacher scrambled back toward the coach, determined to drive away on three wheels if they had to. But the ogre granted them no such luck. With a thunderous crash, it descended from the sky. First the security guard waving his signal paddle was snatched aloft; then the teacher, too, was swept up. The students aboard let out shrill screams, but only the ogre's cruel, triumphant laugh answered them.
Perhaps it was savoring the hunt more than the feast; perhaps it wasn't hungry yet. Instead of devouring its captives, the monster turned and lumbered away. Not long after it vanished, a girl named Minnie went pale and collapsed.
Her classmates assumed shock had overwhelmed her—but in truth, Minnie's spirit had slipped into a trance. In that otherworldly realm she found herself standing in a field of withered wheat. At its center stood what looked at first like a black scarecrow—but when Minnie drew closer, she realized it was the ogre itself.
Terrified, she tried to flee, but two gaunt figures materialized at her side. Their hollowed bodies and tattered clothes marked them as past victims of the ogre. In low voices they told her its origin story, and one of them intoned: "Once the ogre chooses its prey, there is only one fate—death. It toys with your soul, savors your despair, then kills you."
Minnie's heart sank. She felt utterly helpless—until a clear, confident voice rang out behind her.
"Really? I don't buy that. You're saying this ogre can kill right in front of me?"
Minnie spun around to see a small blonde girl with delicate features, calmly surveying the wheat field. Before Minnie could ask who she was, the girl gave her a curious once-over and said, "A rare spirit-seer—too bad you awakened your gift so late. You'd have made a fine radar."
That newcomer was none other than Gabrielle.
Minnie's trance ended in the next instant, and Gabrielle vanished from sight—though not before pinpointing Minnie's location in the real world. Back in the wasteland, Old Burke gunned the engine and steered the coach toward Minnie's position.
Minnie came to on the bus, her first act telling her shaken classmates what she had seen—everything about the ogre's history. She didn't mention Gabrielle; she didn't even know what to call that fearless little angel. Still, hope flickered in her chest. Gabrielle had sounded so fearless herself; perhaps she would save them.
While the students scrambled to send distress signals to a nearby farm, the ogre struck again. With a roar, it plummeted onto the coach's roof. Its talons ripped through the metal, grabbed a boy's skull, and began to lift him skyward.
Minnie and the others leapt into action—only for the ogre suddenly to pause, its head snapping toward some unseen threat. It flared its bat-like wings to intimidate whatever approached. The students held their breath—until the thunder of a mighty shot split the air.
A barrage of bullets slammed into the ogre, hurling it off the roof. Simultaneously, screeching tires announced the arrival of an off-road vehicle that skidded to an impossible stop beside the bus. The passenger door flew open, and Gabrielle hopped out, Colt Python in hand—the very weapon that had felled the monster.
Old Burke climbed down and stared at the scene: a tiny girl armed with a heavy revolver and an ogre toppled in the dirt. He shook his head in exasperation. Gabrielle was undeniably an angel, but she had more personality—and firepower—than any angel he'd ever known. She reveled in the roar of her gun; where others might call upon holy light, she preferred lead.
Minnie's eyes shone with recognition—and, deep inside, with gratitude. Whether by divine intervention or sheer pluck, she believed Gabrielle might just turn the tide against the ogre yet.