They made the causeway, bore down on him.
He, in turn, held up a cube darker than the emptiness of space. Prismatic light speared out in a beam, danced on the lead rider, then spread in an arc. Questing, analysing, measuring the dimensions of each rippling muscle and strand of perfumed hair.
A keening whine emanated from the box. It shook in Trazyn’s mechanical grip. He triggered the lock.
The charge stopped. It did not falter, or pull back, it merely ceased movement. Raptors froze mid-leap. The carnosaur’s bellow was cut off. All was still, save for the void-silk banners, which due to their unusual physical properties, continued to slowly ripple in a non-existent wind.
And then it was gone, all of it. Not even a scent remained.

The Infinite and the Divine