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‘I’ve always known what should be done, though it wasn’t until now that I harbored the heart to follow through.’ mused the Ashiq.

Of course, his brother the King had managed to save as many lives as possible, using the old castle as a vehicle to do so. While he was thankful for this retribution, his brother the King has since left the burden of the weight on the culprit. Now, years later, he’s come to deliver on his heinous procrastination. Though perhaps he wasn’t here because it was the right thing to do so much as he did to quell the evidence of his released guilt.

He’d made peace with it, affording the land the same was the least he could do.

His family and ancestors would agree with the method as the most reasonable way, they’d already cursed his name for bringing about such catastrophe to begin with. They supported the King and his declaration of penance. Not only must he follow through with his choices, but he must remain until the aftermath is no longer readable on the land itself. An approximate eternity.

Torrential waters ebb and flow, crashing harshly into the banks, beaches, and cliffsides the island had to offer. The waters swelled with anger and rage, as if threatening to swallow the whole island itself. With each cleaving fulmination from the heavens, the glint of corrupt artificial life reflects unquenching. It’s ilk threatening at this point to spill into the waters and begin expanding beyond the borders of their fallen nation.

He hovers far up in the stratosphere, just below the enraged clouds that wept and screamed for the once great nation. His holily form scintillates ephemerally, juxtaposed with the center of the island from his altitude. His arms wave in opposing repetitious, circular patterns in which the trailing light from his glow paints the unmistakable image of a lemniscate. Perpetuity.

Infinity.

His typically emerald, green eyes burned a brilliant gold that was almost white, emissive. His eyes remained thin open slits, revealing only the sclera as his mouth gapes ever so slightly. His breaths are long and slow, in through his nostrils and out through his mouth. Patiently, he cycles the raw prowess of the potential energy limitless in the universe. He siphons these ribbons, knitting them finely into a singular knot that gradually grows with each completed revolution.

The heavens vibrate subtly with his culmination, shuttering in fear as he prepares certain annihilation to the compleation thriving below, the ruins of homeland. The atmosphere continues to sweat in anticipation as he maintains his spell craft, invoking the strongest destructive force entrusted to the royal family for generations. Albeit the weaker variant thereof. The Ra’sastra. The warbling far below him intensifies as the bane of the island’s life shrieks in protest of their misperceived demise.

Land to air threats manifest as burdens, rocketing through the air with extreme prejudice. They fiend after the source of the threat, aiming to thwart him as well as to compleat him. To themselves they were an inevitable, looming destiny. Though to him they were little more than fancy parasites. Pests to be exterminated.

’Almost,’ he muses, chiding himself as he feels their threat approaching. Though they are too far, they are too slow to properly threaten him now. Perhaps if they had noticed him prior to accumulating this much energy. The harnessed energy forming twixt them retains the shape of a sphere, in which it continues to build in mass without its size increasing more than a beach ball.

The force it exudes is gravitational, albeit quaquaversal. Akin to the waters below, its prowess ebbs and flows, pushing and pulling simultaneously. The Ashiq remains unaffected by the act as he remains the source of it, his hair and loose fabrics floating skyward in his suspension among the heavens.

Nearly halfway through their ascent, his eyes finally pry themselves open gradually to reveal the scintillation that matching the orb of annihilation he accumulated before himself. He pears as the countless swarm that spirals up from the island in thick black tendrils, as if the smaller organisms were all cells of one singular body. They worked in perfect unison as they storm the heavens.

Finally, his arms stop at the point where his arms are splayed with his hands their farthest point apart. As he keeps them outstretches yet brings his open fists together, the sphere before him visibly compacts gradually as he continues packing it with universal prowess. The ball inevitably shrinks to the size of a medicine ball as its glow becomes ever more blind. The coalescing, opposing, gaudy energies flash preternaturally mimicking the heavens themselves as the butts of his palms finally connected.

The sphere ejects from the Ashiq, and as it cleaves the sky it ignites it. The freshwater sources found about the island rapidly dry up, leaving fissures of dehydration in the earthen crust from the sudden change in moisture and temperature alike. Clouds twist and rag in its wake, screaming in protest as they all but evaporate in a fine mist. The Ra’sastra mutes the world with awe, annihilating the sensation of soundwaves with the destruction of the air in which they’d travel upon.

”Viva voce,” he says with a sultry lilt as he commits the act.

The rising masses of compleation do not flee, though they are swept into the multidirectional currents of his impression as it descends upon them. Between variables such as speed and trajectory the bulk of them would be dragged into the blast radius as he’d intended. Though their physical masses failed to touch the sphere prior to its own intended fruition. When the sphere meets the ground level elevation of the island, the destruction completes.

The entirety of the island is made devoid of life, excruciatingly so that all life is erased whether organic in nature. The destructive force cripples the existence, in which the flames that followed in its wake demolish the remnants. The entirety of the island previously known as Hyborae is all but deleted from existence, leaving behind a barren, accursed wasteland.