Aava rose in all his might and splendour, to seal the crack.
And the sand fell.
Thor reeled back, battered by thundering deserts.
He hung on what was left of the rock bridge, staring. Upreared in green iridescence, showered by falling tons of sand that formed a tan curtain around him, Aava writhed. His great bulk was twisted into strange convolutions, distorted grotesqueries of liquid movement. A great spray of fire lapped out and upward to seal the gap through which the sand streamed downward. It rose against the falling tons, and was pressed back and down.
Thor huddled in the darkness, cold and numb. He was watching the death of a god, a god that he had killed.
The sand showered down, lapping and laving at the monstrous green tentacle that was Aava as he died.
The androids stared deep within the bowl of the urns. The green filament was out, dead. They glanced in fright at the stone tower and stared at one another.
"Aava is dead! The Lord Aava is no more!"
Peter Gordon notched an arrow to his bowstring, sent it whizzing down and into the braincase of a robot. The flying arrow was like a signal. Spears and arrows darkened the sky. The androids fell in scores.