The energy that poured out of the combined arms of a small Zarethian fleet was immense. In a great, blue-white wave of pure, volatile energy flew out from the cultist's crimson orb of a barrier. This blue-white wave of energy flew out, blowing through nearly five kilometers of the infrastructure that comprised the whole of the capitol city. Concrete and steel melted away and evaporated immediately, the ground itself melted away and buckled under the immense force and heat. Unlucky citizens of the Zarethian empire were caught in the blast and instantly vaporized in a moment of brief, but immense agony.
Billions of people saw the explosion on the horizon, the mushroom cloud that plumed into the highest bits of the sky, seeming to touch the heavens themselves. For a moment, the whole world was silent. And then it came.
"Oh, holy Aser, no!" Isoldr breathed, his eyes suddenly open.
The blast itself was so great that the planet cracked to its core, a great fissure spread across the planet for hundreds of kilometers, opening up as if the maw of hell itself had come forth to consume the unlucky living. Hellfire and magma burst forth from below, sending toxic fumes up into the atmosphere. Whole cities vanished, falling into the pit, their contents consumed by the molten magma. Across the world, the ground shook, rose and fell and heaved as if the very gods were remaking the whole of the planet into some new, abominable nightmare realm.
For a brief moment, the orange, fiery fissure spread across the planet in a macabre facsimile of a grin. Then, the grin disappeared as the contents of the world's atmosphere, so useful for the facilitation of life, ignited and set the whole world ablaze.
Millions died in the initial blast, but the whole of the planet's population, some ten billion people, died in the aftermath. Ships were incinerated as they attempted to reach orbit, billions of others died where they had stood, laid or sat. For some it was painless and quick, for others, it was much, much worse.
Isoldr was flung back against the metallic walls of his meditative room by the psychic backlash of the sudden deaths of billions.
The crews of the Zarethian ships in high orbit watched in complete and utter silence, struck dumb by the horror they were witnessing. As the planet became a fireball, the crews, many members of whom had family or lived down on what was once a peaceful world, cried out for their fallen friends and family. It was a gradual cry, started by some, picked up by others. It was a banshee's wail of keening grief, generated by the Zarethians innate magical energy. It echoed throughout the whole of the system, sound magically traveling across the stars of the universe. It was a cry of great loss, of mourning and above all, revenge.
It meant war.
