Destruction does not always arrive with a scream. Sometimes, it manifests as a deafening, supersonic silence that hollows out the soul before the ears can even register the sound of the world tearing apart.
High above the darkened horizon of the North Sea, the twin muzzles of The Emperor's Railguns pulsed with a malevolent, electric-blue luminescence. The light didn't just glow; it seemed to crawl along the gargantuan barrels, hungry and predatory, siphoning mana from the ship's central reactors with such intensity that the surrounding air distorted into a shimmering heat-haze. General Rudigor stood at the apex of the Super-Dreadnought's command bridge, his mechanical visage a perfect mirror for that cold, blue light. His cybernetic eyes—infrared optical lenses that hummed with a low-frequency vibration as they adjusted—zoomed in on the precise spatial coordinates of the Northveil Clock Tower.
