Burn
Cindre loses his cool.
Ben shook with abject terror. This beast hadn't killed him yet, but time and again it proved itself explosively dangerous.
Raising it's short snout, it turned to him. "Go," it whispered raggedly. "Go now, or die."
"Where do I g-go?"
"Just go!" it roared, and flared with light, so brilliant, so pure, spilling out of him all over, eyes a brutal red.
Eyes darting left to right, he found the nearest window, and threw himself out of it with a shatter of glass.
The heat made the flooring bubble and crack, boiling and pooling at every step. A cabinet burst into flame, collapsing into his path. Leaping lightly over it, relentless, the beast slowly unfurled its wings, filling the room and igniting everything they touched. The man cowered, as a cruel, gnarled claw pointed at him. He felt an itching, a searing pain. Screaming wildly, he erupted into flame, engulfed and consumed instantly. The alien creature, wreathed from ear to toe with tongues of fire, bent to drive a silvery shape into the dust that remained, rumbling slowly.
With a cough, it stopped. The blade was small, but the cut was long, and well placed. Falling to its knees, it whined in pain. The man behind him was badly burnt. He shook, gratified at least in avenging his boss and perhaps saving his own life. He went to pull the knife from the monster, but it was stuck. The monster swayed with the effort, like huge doll, barely heavy at all. He pulled again, and let go as it bit at him with heat. His stomach sank to his feet as he watched the blade quickly melt and flow away.
The building erupted. Ben saw it fall slightly inward from a roof two blocks away, a beam of light stabbing to the night sky. Every window shone like a sun, and with one pronounced, volumnous ball of flame, the building collapsed entirely, nothing more than a bonfire fifty feet high.