One second the shield was snapping away, and the next Hulkling was thrown from his trajectory by something like a speeding train, or maybe a falling boulder or small asteroid. Whatever it was, it connected with Hulkling's side and took him by surprise, so he was like a rag doll with wings and limbs flailing when he crashed through what would be a charming, white edged, second story bay window if not for the insistent offset of anarchy. The glass exploded with him into the dark room within, making the whole building shake, from the what remained of a scorched Italian flag hanging from the roof to the swinging sign announcing DARLA'S TREATS & SWEETS over the front door with a chunk missing from the edge like it had been bitten by a tiger.
Inside, dizzy and disoriented, Hulking stumbled to his feet, heat at his back where the fires still burned outside to cast flickering shadows on the walls where he stared. The image was hazy and dark and Hulkling didn't care to try to make it out as he rolled his shoulder, feeling it throb painfully in protest, and had to do a double take and forget all the pain in an instant. Squinting, Hulkling couldn't convince himself otherwise; he was quite certain he was looking at some kind of sacrificial altar with a row of proudly decapitated heads displayed in all their varied glory; one covered in shiny scales, another with humongous, compound eyes like a fly's, another with curling horns like a mountain goat. Hulkling was still staring at it when he heard the crunch of glass behind him, and he turned his head slowly to meet his train or boulder or asteroid face to face.
It was a gargoyle. At least, that was what it obviously was to Morgan Porter, aka Rose, seven years old, alone, scared, and assured she would be safe if she just kept hidden. Her eyes widened, unseen behind the slats of the closet door, hand clamped over her own mouth to not make a noise as the two monsters snarled at each other then leapt, roaring, clawing, biting, punching, tearing up the floors and walls and making Rose squeak and bury herself deep into the back of the closet with her hands over her head, silently begging for mom to come back. She couldn't relax even when the room when quiet, and only the hollering and terror of the streets below could be heard again; she didn't know if the monsters were still there, if either the Gargoyle or the Green Bogeyman were still alive, because she had seen a lot of dying this week even though she really didn't want to see anymore.
A voice outside went, "Hello?" and the closet door shook, and Rose gave a squeak and pressed her hands over her mouth again, realizing she had been sobbing the whole time. "Hey there..." The door opened, and that big, green face was there, seeing her, scratched and bloody with wide eyes and big teeth and even bigger hands with claws.
Rose shrieked, "You're not supposed to be here!" and saw white. Mom was going to be mad.