The barks of the Molossi and the shouts of the crowd bring you to the balcony. The object has appeared in the center of the great square, crushing the fountain and its statue of Fate and her Hounds. The air is filled with steam and marble dust.
You prod the hull with the tip of your sword and the vibrations from within the plast numb your hand. The Molossus soldier on your left snarls and howls and wets herself and is dragged away by the scruff of her neck screaming wards against curses and the Night, pitiful whining dog magic. The sword has made a mark on the thing. It can be cut.
Your soldiers dig their heated daggers into the skin. It melts into the air and the smoke mixes with the steam from the fountain. There is a sharp breath of sweet air when the first dagger cuts deep enough, and the buzz increases to an unbearable din.
You run out of chain sixty cubits in. It rattles and jerks at the harness. The scouts’ chains make the same sound a moment later and you hear them panting through the smoke. You close your eyes against the light and reach for the clasp. The Molossi disappear in the smoke and the light. Their voices fade to nothing.
And then you think you see her.