There is a myth of a bird. One who can bring both creation and destruction. He is occasionally a benevolent god to those like him — to avians — but a creature from one's nightmares if you are some 'lesser' species in his eyes. That last fact, however, is precisely why one particular group of bats chose to summon the avian to bring about the end of their world. A dark god of flight to match their own dark wings and dark imaginations. These bats had suffered all manner of insults from humans and other species who thought them to be monsters. How fitting they knew of a dark, winged creature who would be a true monster to them all.

The summoning ritual, like so much other classical witchcraft, was done on the night of a full moon. The silvery light would glisten upon his feathers and feet, giving the creatures beneath him a chance to appreciate the view of their imminent destruction. As the cauldron of bats collected at the edge of a cave, they started laying out their summoning materials. Twigs were laid out in the shape of an anisodactyl foot. A few black feathers collected from the forest floor served as the tips of the bird's talons. Once the moon reached its highest point in the sky, the ritual began.

A young adult stepped into the space between two of the toes laid out on the ground. His words briefly caught in his throat, as he reconsidered if this was necessary. But as the group looked on, eager to see the giant, the male found his voice and spoke to the heavens. "Apothem!" The bat declared, "God of destruction. Lord of flight. We summon you. Apothem, cleanse this world of those flightless mites who speak ill of our species. Erase the mistakes of this Earth to start it anew. Apothem, let tonight be the night our civilization falls!"

The bat's voice steadily rose until he was shouting at the heavens. When he stopped, the resulting silence was deafening. Even the insects had gone silent and the wind had gone still. Several moments passed. Nobody dared speak.

Then, he arrived.

A sky-blue dot appeared above the group. At first it looked like a new star in the sky, but as it grew, the bats realized what it meant. Their fantasy was becoming reality. If any of them had second thoughts, it was far too late now. He was here, and the sky blue eye of an impossibly large raven was the clearly visible through the blackness of space.

Apothem's arrival was heralded, in part, by frighteningly strong winds. His body - well over a hundred miles in length - simply displaced the air around him with such force that anything in the air crashed to the ground. Insects, bats, birds, aircraft, even satellites fell from the sky as if prohibited from using it. The gift of flight was his and his alone, to grant or revoke upon his whims. On a world full of creatures that assumed they had his blessing to fly, he chose to correct them immediately.

"The sky isn't yours to use, mites." He said, his word becoming an absolute law of physics on the planet beneath him. Every person on the planet heard that voice in their heads, as if it was spoken directly into their ears, in whatever language they understood. In that moment, planes attempting to take off found that their wings simply would not generate lift, sending those 'aircraft' running off the end of the runway and crashing nose-first into the dirt just beyond. It was fitting because, to Apothem, all of these creatures were mere dirt, and their attempts at flight an unforgivable, mortal sin.

With a few flaps, Apothem descended onto the world. Every beat of those wings unleashed another hurricane-force gust across several states, with the resultant straight-line winds scouring homes, trees, and people alike from the planet's surface. His descending foot pushed clouds out of the way, leaving a ring around his ankle that steadily rushed outwards. As the lights on the ground below failed due to catastrophic damage to the electrical grid, only moonlight remained to give the people below a view of what was to come.

Communications failures were instant and ubiquitous. Without satellites, most television broadcasts simply ceased to function. International calling became impossible. Local transmissions worked, but under the darkness of night, many simply had no idea what was happening. Apothem, unfortunately for the society below, knew exactly what he was doing. His foot came down right on the summoning ritual, as a final 'gift' to the bats who'd foolishly welcomed him. Their night vision and echolocation gave them a view of his sole as it descended, before they were all destroyed in an instant beneath a single scale upon his feet. They were too insignificant for the corvid to notice or acknowledge; their death wish was granted with scarcely a thought from the god.

"You pathetic gnats thought yourselves worthy of flight?" Apothem said. "Your arrogance is your downfall. But perhaps I can show you another form of flight..." As the raven spoke, his brilliant pink cock began to emerge from his cloaca. He allowed the people beneath him several long moments to appreciate the view of his body dominating the sky. It was an obscene display both of his power and the complete lack of power for the world to fight back at him.

Militaries around the world scrambled anything they could to try defend against the giant invader, but nothing worked. Even the most advanced fighter jets crashed uselessly off the end of carriers. Missiles refused to launch, then blew up in their silos. Ballistics still worked, but there wasn't a gun in the world capable of even being felt by the almighty avian, much less one capable of injuring him.

Ballistics, however, have other uses as well. Objects in freefall naturally follow a ballistic trajectory, as do liquids falling through the air. "Being summoned does mean I need to relieve myself, after all..." He allowed the mites beneath him a few moments to process that sentence. Whether they understood or not was immaterial. There was nothing they could to handle the Biblical flash flood about to overtake an entire continent. He raised one leg and relaxed, emptying his bladder upon the world below.

Under the moonlight, the golden stream firing from the raven's cock was perfectly visible. It was a yellow laser piercing the heavens. His urine was just low and slow enough to avoid going into orbit, but it was still a hypersonic pressure washer with an impact area of dozens of square miles. The stream broke up in flight and every droplet impacted with the force of an extinction-level event, sending both piss and dirt back into the air; entire mountains were sent flying as if they were mere stones skipping on the surface of a pond. He rocked slightly on one foot, and those subtle movements caused the devastation to move miles at a time. It ensured that his flood blasted away much of the ground across the ocean, even as he created a new ocean of dangerously acidic brine that was incapable of supporting life.

Even the mites who weren't beneath the stream could feel its impacts. The world shook from the continuous assault. The hot liquid caused a surge in global temperatures, as the arctic became temperate and the topics became inhospitable. The smell started as no more offensive than a sea breeze, but quickly intensified to an stench that fouled the entire atmosphere.

Gradually, the stream subsided. The liquid began to splash into the ocean and turned it several shades darker. Then, the final drops began falling on the ground near his feet, collecting into a deep crater lake directly beneath his tip. "Ah, thank you, mites. That was a nice break. Goodbye~" he said, before taking flight once again. A single flap of his wings carried him off the planet's surface and into space, leaving that quickly-dying ball of mud to its fate.