The shockwaves spread outward in widening rings as the battlefield committed fully. The pretense of probing had ended. From this point forward, every strike carried the weight of full intent, and the ocean responded by losing whatever coherence it had left.
From within the eastern storm, a figure stepped onto the upper deck of the Kezryx Void Imperium's command vessel.
Jaskrit Kezinos.
Rank one across all participating kingdoms. Tier-42. Three hundred and forty-one million combat power.
He did not raise a weapon. He did not gather energy in any visible form. He simply lifted one hand, palm open, and the storm above the eastern fleet folded inward toward him. Lightning that had been crashing wildly across the sky stopped mid-arc. Every bolt bent in his direction as though attracted to a singular gravity. The clouds themselves descended, compressing into a dense column of contained pressure that hovered above his hand.
Then he closed his fingers.
