Banshee, or Puppet Bird hates the Orb

We didn't know what we had created. What was supposed to be some trick of gravity, just another experiment, turn into a cascading disaster the likes of which the city, no the planet had never seen before.

When the orb came through the breach it vaporised three city blocks. It wasn't an explosion or a fireball, it was instantaneous disintegration. Some of the taller buildings had their upper floors hang in the air as if they were hung in the sky by some invisible giant. Of course that was moments before they fell back to the Earth, cracking open like a melon of stone. The crash gave way to an eerie silence. The orb patiently waiting as if nothing had happened.

But but then it began to scream. A high-pitched whine that carried through the streets shattering windows. If you were six blocks away you'd be deaf, any closer and your brain was mush.

It moved through the streets aimlessly, this pulsing sphere of destruction.

And then the bird came, drawn by that horrific screeching the bird's eyes blazed with an an unquenchable rage.

Residents of the city had long since learned that the bird was to be left alone, lest its anger be brought down upon everyone. It was an ancient creature created of a lost art. Cloth and string and cotton brought together through the love and care of the old gods.

Perhaps it'd come in our defence, to save us from our mistake. More likely it saw this abomination of being as something too alien to exist in its world; and our city was just to be the battleground, no more important than a random desert or plains. Personally I believe this, it just hated the noise.

The two Titans clashed in the centre of the city, their initial contact enough to set fire to the very air itself. It didn't matter where you were that day you could hear as their battle rang out into the air. The bird, the Banshee, now a flame roared its counterpart to the screeching wine of the orb. It was a cacophonous music; a descending crescendo, a screeching silence.

The orb attempted to entomb the bird within its form, to draw its very essence into the place that it had come from but this the bird did not allow. Even as impossibly thin strands were pulled from its very essence the Banshee plucked and dug and strung out a tangible being from the orb. It was almost as it was creating something that could be killed knitting it together from the intangible ether.

By the time it was done neither were recognisable is what they had been before. They'd become one in the same drawn together in their mortal struggle. Tangibly intangible, a paradoxical certainty. This ancient new thing, drew away from the city and yet stood completely still as we moved away from it.

The silence of that day still deafens the minds of the survivors. As we hope and pray to never see our savoir again.