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Pale Grey ships appear from the depths of space. Swift, skeletal phantoms shoot forth to plummet to the surface. Their bright plumes of re-entry are seen only for a moment before communications are cut and scanners are jammed. Flames of Emerald begins raining from above.
The defenses reel from the shock of orbital bombardment. Officials yell vainly into their comms for orders as citizens flee in panic for shelter. the inevitable and cannot escape. Death has come and will not be denied.
As quickly as they come, the skeletal figures are gone. Only sorrow and destruction remain.