The once bustling flotilla had now come to a complete halt. In its core, a hole had formed. Bright and hot as the ships' oxygen reserves burned out, then quiet and dark a moment later, leaving behind only a graveyard of bloated and burnt corpses and ship scraps.
Of the millions of people affected, only a handful had been lucky enough to survive the impact, and among them, only a fraction had the knowledge to survive the two or three seconds it would take for the cultivators to locate and rescue them. When the sphere of breathable atmosphere and healing essence was formed, for most of them, it was too late.
As the thousands of rescuers tried to help, ten times the number of cultivators had appeared, forming a protective net around the affected area. To lead them, the commander who, just a minute earlier, was engaged in a conversation with the Armada's scientific team.