The black meteor of Moros’s body tore through two miles of saltwater in a single heartbeat.
Sonic shockwaves flattened the deep-sea kelp forests as the Warden-Elder crashed onto the volcanic canyon floor.
Boiling steam exploded around his boots, carving a jagged crater in the black basalt.
Sulfur smoke hissed from the cracked rock, mingling with the cold, sweet rain that washed down from the surface.
Along the upper canyon ledges, five hundred thousand allied soldiers leaned over the star-iron bulwarks in breathless silence.
They watched the eighty-foot dry shaft of air that Moros’s Saint Vessel Mid domain had carved down to the grotto floor.
On the quarterdeck of the allied flagship, Deacon Vane raised his brass speaking-horn with trembling hands.
“Warden-Elder Moros!” Vane shouted down the shaft. “You are trespassing within the private residential perimeter of an allied sovereign!”
