The western viaduct shuddered under violent gravitational torsion, its masonry arch splitting into three writhing pale botanical strands suspended across the dead ravine.
Below the fractured crossing, an unfathomable chasm plunged into pitch darkness, where the severed aqueducts of the outer ring disgorged vaporous mountain mists.
Eirwen planted her traveling shoes upon the quaking precipice, her twelve crystalline Shards rotating in an aggressive protective orbit around her brow.
Beside her, Juna beat her feathered Wings to maintain altitude, using controlled blasts of atmospheric mana to deflect plummeting chunks of roadbed.
The refugee supply carts remained stalled upon the eastern lip of the gorge, their axles creaking as the synthetic roots convulsed beneath them.
The city's central command layer was siphoning municipal pressure into the western pylons, actively twisting the root fibers to collapse the bridge into the abyss.
