Time ticked away, second by second.
Queen Ayren stood on the high dais, gazing down at the ranks of fully armed elven guards in silence. The Tribunal's countdown had less than an hour left. For days, the elves of Summerset Isle had argued endlessly. Some, terrified by the Tribunal's might, urged negotiation.
But most rejected the idea. Elves were proud, and the High Elves in particular believed themselves heirs to divine authority, rightful rulers of the continent. Now mere mortals dared to issue commands to them?
Never surrender!
Elven pride would not allow it. They would rather perish with Summerset than bow to humans.
Better to die standing than live kneeling!
They would show mankind that elven pride and dignity could not be trampled. No matter how strong the foe, they would prove the depth of elven resolve.
For Queen Ayren, there was no longer any choice.
Soon, a beam of light fell before her. A towering figure emerged once again, heedless of the bristling spears of the elven guards, eyes fixed only on the queen.
"So, you have chosen."
"Yes."
Queen Ayren drew a deep breath, nodding firmly. Her gaze was hard, her voice sharp.
"The elves will never accept your humiliating terms! If you would destroy Summerset, then we shall devote all our strength to defending our ancestral land!"
Her voice rang with the authority and determination of a queen. At her words, the elves raised their weapons high, shouting defiantly. Their cries shook the isle, a roar of defiance to the enemy before them.
Yet…
"Oh."
The man barely reacted. Neither the elves' fury nor the queen's words seemed to matter. He merely nodded and vanished again. Seeing this, the queen clenched her fists, then raised her voice from the dais.
"Raise the barrier! Prepare for battle! We will not surrender! Here we shall prove the honor and dignity of the High Elves!"
Let the Tribunal witness the will of the Dominion!
But to Duanmu Huai, their will and pride meant nothing.
When he returned to the Voice of Truth, he gave a single command:
"Three salvos of macro-cannon, one lance strike, then main battery volley."
In less than five seconds, the fate of an entire race was sealed.
The first to notice was a sentry.
He glanced skyward absently, then froze. The night sky seemed to tremble, as though the stars themselves were falling.
Not stars—macro shells.
Hundreds of them tore through the atmosphere, streaking like a meteor storm toward Summerset Isle, gravity turning them into blazing bolts of annihilation.
"——————————!!!!"
In an instant, the heavens blazed. The elves' great magic barrier, their most desperate work, shattered like cobwebs before the 140-meter shells. Then the storm of fire fell.
Flames roared skyward. The island erupted like a chain of volcanoes. Rolling mushroom clouds consumed everything. Elven cities, fortresses—reduced to rubble. The elves themselves were shredded to nothing before they could scream.
The land buckled like waves, seas heaved, mountains leveled, forests burned, vineyards erased. Earth, forest, plains, cities, ports—nothing withstood the devastation.
Then suddenly, silence.
The survivors raised their heads in dazed disbelief. Around them lay only ruins, a world of ash and broken walls. Even sound seemed to have fled.
Then came the light.
Blazing lances of energy speared down, blanketing the isle. Firestorms swept across what remained—cities, forests, mountains all drowned in searing flame. The brilliance was so intense it lit the horizon like a false dawn.
"Your Majesty! Your Majesty!!"
A guardsman stumbled forward, his glass armor melted into his flesh. He screamed, reaching desperately for his queen—then collapsed, his body and armor reduced to bubbling sludge, bones crumbling in fire.
"Your Majesty, we must—leave—!"
A court mage raised both hands. His fingers charred black, sleeves aflame, scalp bare, he gritted his teeth to maintain a barrier.
"It's… too late."
Queen Ayren shook her head. She looked upward, unwilling to see her capital engulfed in fire.
She had known this would be grim. But the disparity was beyond imagination. Was this even within mortal power? Even gods, could they do this?
Without even showing themselves, in a single exchange, Summerset Isle was erased.
So this is the power we face…?
Her last sight was blinding light.
The plasma torrent crashed down, splitting the shattered isle apart. Land ripped open, seas surged in. Water boiled on scorched earth, rising in vast clouds of white steam.
When it ended, Summerset Isle—the elven holy land, their capital, their home—was gone. Shattered, drowned, its remains sunk into the sea. Tens of thousands of elves perished, their pride and will extinguished without even leaving a spark.
Duanmu Huai stood on the bridge, hands clasped behind his back. To him, their resistance, pain, and death meant nothing. He could feel their souls writhing—but that was not enough. The Tribunal's wrath was not so easily sated. Their souls would be cast into the Furnace of Stars, ground into energy to fuel the Inquisitors.
To him, their destruction was but a fleeting spark.
But it was not over.
"Order the Night Watch to prepare. Tonight, we finish this. The Dominion will be erased."
That night shook the world.
The flames of Summerset drew every gaze, but they were only the beginning. The Dominion's other provinces—Valenwood and Elsweyr—were also struck. Night Watch in black armor broke their defenses, slaughtered armies, and hung their lords' corpses from city gates, proclaiming the Dominion's end.
With their armies annihilated and leaders slain, chaos spread. In Valenwood, the Bosmer reclaimed power, restoring a pro-Empire government. In Elsweyr, Khajiit factions fought for dominance, building new regimes.
In a single night, the Dominion was no more. That night would be remembered as the Night of Annihilation. From then on, no race dared oppose the Tribunal. Their hidden name became synonymous with terror.
What would the continent's future be? Would the Empire seize this chance to heal itself? Duanmu Huai did not care. As he told the emperor, the Tribunal dealt only with external threats to mankind. Human politics were irrelevant. Even if the Empire fell and another power rose, it meant nothing to the Tribunal.
Thus, leaving only a few hundred Night Watch to oversee operations, Duanmu Huai led the rest back to Manaria.
(End of Chapter)