Obsidryx

Obsidryx did not walk. Obsidryx charged. From the moment it rose from the

cooling stone of the young earth, it moved in only one direction: forward.

Nothing stood in its way because nothing could. Mountains shattered against

its armored skull. Forests were trampled flat beneath feet that struck the

ground like falling meteors. And when Obsidryx reached the far edge of the

first great continent and found ocean, it turned and charged again. And again.

And again. Each pass carved deeper fractures into the land. Fault lines that

would take millions of years to finish their work were started in a single

afternoon by Obsidryx's passage. The continents did not drift apart on their

own. They were broken first — cracked like an egg by a beast that knew nothing

except momentum. The world's geography is a map of everywhere Obsidryx ran.