You'd understand, if you met it face to face. Massive enough to dwarf that building, but eyes as small as pinpricks and red as blood. Flesh thick as steel, yet run so ragged by the wounds of time the sinew of muscle has torn through it. So many teeth, eager to bite, that they've torn from the beast's chin. Blood as black as night, pulsing, writhing, hot enough to burn through bare flesh in seconds.
"I think my arms are getting better!"
squeak.
MEANWHILE
A Gertrude and a Madeline Blackbourne
are having an important discussion on how fucking trashy that new girl down the block is
by which i mean trudy is vehemently denying that there is anything at all wrong with socks and sandals, as long as you're comfortable, which maddie feeels is batshit insane.

You heard the kid, I'm a Monster Hunter.
Figured it was obvious by my suit of armor and Gruff, Manly Aura.