The heat descending from the upper atmosphere scorched the sea into roaring curtains of white steam.
The crimson beam from the orbital Star-Array cut through the clouds like an incandescent blade.
High on the flagship bridge, Princess Valeria pointed her saber toward the heavens, her voice cracking through the fleet’s acoustic arrays. “The beam will strike in three minutes! It will glass the archipelago and incinerate the continental coastline!”
She looked down at her flagship’s carved mahogany figurehead. The varnished wood was already beginning to smolder, curling into grey smoke under the intense, descending radiation.
Elder Sterling slammed his gauntlets onto the balustrade, his beard singed by the descending wave of dry heat. “Three minutes! We have three minutes before the entire world turns to ash!”
The old general turned to his captains, his voice rough with emotion. “Seal your final messages in iron cylinders! Toss them into the deep trenches! Perhaps the next age of mortals will find our bones!”
Deacon Vane rapidly tabulated the casualty projections across thirty ledgers, his gold-capped teeth gritted in sheer terror.
“Zero percent survival rate,” Vane announced through his communication trumpet, his hands shaking violently. “Even an immortal wrapped in ten layers of ancient dragon scales will be vaporized into ionized steam. There is nowhere on earth to run.”
