Gaea’s Heir

The last humans in the solar system studied the death of Earth from their vantage point two-hundred-and-thirty miles above Hawaii. Long-range scanners measured the violent shift in tectonics as the planet’s inner core ripped apart. The expected devastation had been predicted as far back as the twentieth century. What the observers had not foreseen was the release of something from the core.

Energy readings and changes in mantle density plotted the escape route – circular at first, as it devoured the perovskite and ferropericlase, then moving up as it ate into the asthenosphere. It left nothing in its wake, the Earth now only an empty sphere.

The scientists knew that anything created within the five-thousand-two-hundred-degree core was nothing short of magical.

Still the anomaly moved outward, absorbing the inner earth. Some feared this was dark energy, that it would not stop at the consumption of the planet but would touch the space station and instantly transform it – and its crew – to nothing. Others posited that upon reaching the surface, whatever irregularity they were witnessing would pop out of existence. Both theories were soon proven wrong.

The first breach was detected on the opposite side of the planet. Within minutes, another hundreds-mile long fissure swallowed the Arctic Ocean. A third took out Antarctica and the fourth opened in the Pacific, north of Hawaii.

From this final break in the Earth’s crust, the onlookers were afforded their first glimpse at the entity. Twelve gigantic antennae, a translucent shade of ultra-violet, pushed forth, stretching miles ahead of the bulk to which they were attached. Its form too big for the opening, the creature pulsed until the remaining skin of the Earth split into myriad pieces.

With a gentle beat of its four wings, the lifeform swooped away from its now-discarded egg.