A violent shudder traveled through the centipede, beginning at its head and traveling the entire length of its body. It thrashed back and forth, slamming into the cliffs on either side. With every impact, water spewed from the chinks in its carapace, and the centipede movement dulled. With a final scream, the centipede stiffened and its flailing legs stilled. Then, its head exploded in a pressurized rush of fluid–conjured water, blood, and a grayish substance that looked like brain matter.
A deafening silence engulfed the canyon. For a breathless moment, all was still, the only sound was the thin whistle of wind through the chasms. The scent of wet earth and something like rotting seaweed filled the air. Then, a sickening squelch followed by the clatter of chitin, and the centipede's corpse collapsed to the ground. Its death caused as much damage as any of its actions in life, splitting the earth wide open and destroying what little remained of the once beautiful rock formations.
