Smoke thick. Smell of ozone and ruptured coolant lines.
Harsk Fenward dropped onto the western gantry to overlook the central administrative plaza, taking in the absolute scale of the disaster. Thirty thousand armed laborers swarmed the base of the Faith Point condensers like locusts, completely engulfing the infrastructure. One condenser had already shattered entirely, violently leaking localized domain energy into the thick atmosphere.
At the center of the plaza, Nissa Tarvond stood frozen beneath her two-hundred-meter silver barrier.
Tactical assessment immediate. Nissa paralyzed. Civilian density overwhelming. Korthane hardware distributed uniformly across the hostile force.
Harsk felt the cold, analytical grip of the Ghost Doctrine slipping. The doctrine demanded a high-value target. It demanded surgical precision. It demanded that the shadow of the Sovereign strike the head so the body would die.
But there was no head.
