The colossal arm shifts.
The giant hand descends like a divine hammer. The sheer mass and velocity of the strike compresses the air beneath its palm, sending a localized hurricane whipping across the clearing before the physical impact even hits.
My soul practically leaves my body. But if I don't do something right now, this is a literal death sentence. That strike is going to completely reconfigure the local geography.
Fighting every biological imperative screaming at me to cower and skirting the very edge of absolute madness, I throw my arms up and scream.
"Stop! Let's talk!"
It is the most ridiculous, desperate, utterly pathetic thing I could possibly do. But it's either that or sit here and accept the end.
I clench my eyes shut, bracing for obliteration.
