It’s a strange feeling, watching that terrifying sphere of complete darkness flying upward. More than anyone else, I have an inkling about what’s to come, but even I’m not sure exactly how it will go down.

I only have seconds before the inevitable impact and expansion of the gravity bomb, and here I am, floating on a ship, unable to anchor myself to anything. Ah, hindsight, my old friend, we meet again, here on the edge of extinction.

Even my attempt to warn the ants within range is totally useless. The pull is already so strong that my pheromones are whisked away along with the air around me. My minds are currently sagging inside my head, finally relieved of the incredible strain I put them under, but I force them to keep working, spinning together a broad mind-bridge that I snap onto everyone I can reach.

[THIS IS AN URGENT, IMMINENT THREAT OF DEATH ALERT, AND I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT THE ROCK. The spell I threw up there is going to go crazy. Ants, you all know what I’m talking about. Weigh these ships down, anchor them to the bottom of the Lake if possible. Activate the bubble shield things because the water is going to rise up all around us. MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!]

People respond, shouting back questions, trying to make sense of what I told them. Thankfully, others are more proactive, already leaping into action. I can feel mana stirring all around me as ants and brathian mages frantically begin to weave magic, trying to keep themselves and the fleet safe.

All the while, that dreadful, horrifying shriek of the wind continues to rattle my carapace and send shivers running through my mandibles.

HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWLLLL!!!!!

It’s beyond deafening, and this is only the beginning. For the first time, I feel a quiver of genuine fear run through me at the thought of what I have made. This gravity bomb is going to be the biggest, most devastating thing I’ve cast, and it’s not going to be close.

I’m not sure I’m ready for the consequences. Or if I’ll even survive them. However, ready or not, it’s coming regardless.

Desperately I begin to cast about for something I can do to try and protect the fleet. How the heck am I going to counteract the incredible amount of gravity that bomb is going to produce? I’m floating on a boat, for goodness’ sake! There’s no hole I can jump into, no way to burrow down to safety, or create a hardened shield of rock to protect the fleet, what the heck would I anchor it to? The water?!

A sad realisation strikes me. The only thing I can do to try and stave off the monstrous pull that’s going to come our way, is to counter it with another pull.

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My brains groan in despair as I put them to work once again, sucking in mana and pushing it through the construct. If I can create a Well that covers the entire fleet, it might be enough to cancel out at least some of the pull that’s coming.

It’s possible that better ideas exist, but I sure can’t think of them, so I’m going to do this. The only problem is, there’s no way in heck that I’ll have a Gravity Well ready to go before the impact. I simply can’t push my brains as hard as I did before, they’re running on fumes right now.

As the fleet erupts into action around me, mages trying to coordinate, soldiers trying to impose order and tie down everything they can, I catch a glimpse of the Legion fleet in the distance.

Wisely, they are putting some distance between themselves and this golgari madness, sailing as fast as they can to get away from the drop zone. It’s not going to be enough.

I toss the thought back and forth in my mind for a second before I clack my mandibles in irritation. Morrelia’s over there, I can’t leave them out of the loop. With great effort, I weave together a mind bridge and fling it toward the Legion ships, hoping it will cover the distance, and latch onto someone.

Thankfully, it does, if only just.

[Tie yourselves down so you don’t get sucked off the deck of your ships! My spell is going to reach you!]

It’s not much of a warning, but it’s all I can muster. I cut the contact immediately, hoping whoever I managed to latch onto is smart enough to spread the word around.

Overhead, the blurred edge of the dark meets the plummeting stone, and I’m pleased enough to see that my aim was on point at least. The bomb flies directly into the hole carved by the previous one, vanishing within the rock and disappearing from view.

Fearful, I lower my body down to the deck of the ship, but there’s nowhere for me to go. Carefully, I fully crouch, letting the bottom of my carapace rest on the deck, and then extend my legs out, pushing through the gaps in the railing on the edge of the ship. If I start to rise off the deck, at least I’ll have something to hold on to.

A second later, it happens.

My antennae, sensitive to the ebb and flow of gravity thanks to a mutation, buzz like a phone set to vibrate. They literally begin to tremble and shake as an unfathomable new gravitational force erupts directly over my head.

I can’t see it yet, but I know it’s there, inside the stone, like a hidden dragon, or crouching tiger that’s also a black hole.

Then it happens. The massive rock, millions upon millions of tons of condensed stone, which had been plummeting down toward us with enough force to flatten a mountain, begins to slow.

The rock above groans loud enough to send ripples flowing through the still-frothing water around us. Cracking sounds can be heard, sharp detonations deep within the stone that echo outward for dozens of kilometres in every direction.

For a brief moment, I’m hopeful. Maybe, I’ve calibrated everything perfectly, and the gravity bomb will consume the city-sized chunk of condensed rock, and then vanish. That’d be nice!

Then I hear it, a deep, resounding crack, so sharp and profound it feels like the world was snapped in two.

The rock breaks right in the middle, and I see for myself what I have made.

Holy. Moly.

This is going to suck.