The attack sent the first ship tumbling to the sea with a loud, frothy splash, and suddenly every attacker's magical attacks came right for him.
Riding a nearly euphoric sensation of the raw power of High Sorcery, Tarrin opened himself up to it more and more, drawing in the power faster than the Weave could supply it, surpassing what he could usually hold without injury. His rage, his fury caused him to completely ignore the usual dangers of wielding that kind of power, and quickly his clothes and fur began to smolder as he drew in so much that his body could not contain it. But he was beyond pain, beyond caring. There was only those who had killed Miranda, and the overwhelming desire, the need, to make them pay for their crimes. There could be no vengeance too merciless, too brutal. They would suffer a million times more than what they had done to Miranda. Tarrin swatted his arm to the side negligently, weaving together a spell made up almost purely of Divine power, with only token flows from the other spheres to grant the weave the power of High Sorcery. The area around the galleon shimmered in a scillinting sphere, and all the magical attacks of the Zakkites struck that barrier, and were absorbed. He turned his attention to the next ship, weaving together a nightmarish weave of Fire, Divine energy, and Earth, infusing it with such power that it almost completely drained him to create it, then he snapped the weave down and manifested it. A black ball, crackling with electricity, appeared in his cupped palm, and he turned and hurled it at the next closest Zakkite ship in a sidearm motion. The ball expanded as it soared at the ship's middle until it was the size of a wagon, causing the Zakkites aboard to turn and flee from it in terror. But there would be no escape.
The ball hit the ship almost perfectly amidships, and in that touch it doomed the black vessel. Wood sheared and snapped as it was sucked into the unimaginable void created by the weave, drawn into that black oblivion with such force that the air itself howled into it with hurricane force winds. It picked up hapless Zakkites and anything not nailed down, sucking it into its effect, sending them into an abyss from which there would be no escape. The ship compressed and crumpled around the black sphere, crushing and crunching to the sound of howling wind, ripping wood, and the screams of the doomed, until the last shards of the bow, the stern, and the masts were drawn into its black depths. After the last pennon on the mast disappeared, the ball shrank steadily, until it too simply winked out of existence.
The lull of sound was from the awed, stunned disbelief of the four remaining Zakkite vessels, and it gave Tarrin a chance to recharge. The energy roared into him, but it did not come fast enough. The Weave couldn't support the demands he made on it. Eyes blazing with incandescent white light, he reached out his paws to the sky and forced the Weave to obey, drawing in energy of all seven flows, then sending them out from him in every direction. They spiralled together as they radiated out from him in every direction, intertwining with each other in groups of seven, until they made contact with other strands. When they did that, Tarrin pulled on them, causing each intertwined finger of flows to suddenly flare with bright white light, then fade into invisibility. Along with the light came a shimmering bell-like sound that vibrated the very air, causing wind to blow away from him with enough force to tatter the fog bank that had been resting to their port. The light faded to nothing, as did the sound. The intertwined flows were gone.
Leaving new strands in their stead.
Standing in the center of a web of saturated strands, Tarrin immediately drew in more power than he could hold, so much that the air around him wavered and the deck beneath his feet began to blacken. There was no pain in his fury, a fury unlike anything he had ever experienced, a fury that did not care if he survived so long as he took those responsible for Miranda with him. He generated a weave of pure Air, not high Sorcery, but a weave of such titanic immensity that its physical manifestation was nearly as large as the ships it was created to attack. It manifested as an invisible wall of pure air, and Tarrin made a pushing motion with one arm-
– -And there was a thunderous BOOM, as the Zakkite ship directly astern simply shattered against the force of a wall of air, as large as it was, striking it at supersonic speed. There was no piece of it larger than a teacup, and the finely pulverized debris sprayed the water aft of the galleon in a spreading fan pattern that turned the waters gray. The shockwave caused by the attack had kicked up a wave ten feet high, that went racing to the southwest at a speed that defied imagination.
The other ships finally reacted. The remaining three began to turn, to flee from this monster who could destroy entire ships with single spells, but they would not get far. Still holding the air Weave, Tarrin sent it against the next nearest ship. He slashed both arms down in a smashing motion, and the flat surface of the weave slammed into the top of the next nearest ship. It didn't strike at supersonic speed, but it struck with enough force to shatter the masts and crush the ship underneath it. An ear-splitting series of explosions of ripping wood heralded the death of the vessel, smashed into fragments that were slammed into the ocean with enough force to send up a splash hundreds of spans into the air.
The toll of his actions slowly began to catch up to him. Even in his rage, he began to feel the bone-weariness that working with such power was causing, an exhaustion that would kill him if he didn't stop. But he would not stop. Not until they all paid for what they did to Miranda. But even in they purity of his rage, he understood that he had to do it fast. Already, he could feel the burns, the injuries he had done to himself. He understood that he was walking a razor's edge between being Consumed and dying from burning up all his own energies. But there was no fear in it. He would welcome either, so long as they came after he destroyed the Zakkites.
There could be time for one more weave. The remaining two ships were fleeing from the galleon, close to each other. Tarrin reached out in his rage and drew in the power to weave, saturating himself with the power, the majesty, the might of High Sorcery. His fur was all completely burned away, and his skin was smoldering as the power burned him alive from the inside out, but he did not stop. Weaving together a weave composed primarily of Water, he raised both hands and released it. Two massive walls of water rose up from the sea on both sides of the Zakkite vessels, who immediately tried to climb out from that valley of death. The walls of water shimmered and pulsated, undulating like the surface of water blown by the wind in a pond, then their surfaces snapped taut, as if some giant had pulled the corners of a sheet laid over them.
When they did that, Tarrin slapped his hands together, which made the two mountains of water smash into one another with a thunderous noise, grinding the last two ships into small shards of waste. The debris showered the sea all around them as the two mounds of water turned into a singular column of power that sprayed out as if a god had thrown a small island into the sea, spraying water, wood, and the mangled bits of the dead all over the water's surface for longspans in every direction.
The last windrows of the sound faded away, and Tarrin sagged to his knees on the deck. Charred paws came to rest on Miranda, where he had laid her so gently, and in that touch he could sense everything about her. His awareness heightened by his touch on High Sorcery, still saturated with its power, he could assense her in a way that he had never been able to do before. Her body was dead, but the soul within had not yet been released, as it awaited Dakkii, the goddess of Death, to come to claim her. With a clarity that seemed unnatural, he understood the significance of that simple fact. Sorcery could not resurrect the dead, but Miranda was not truly dead. Not yet. But Dakkii was coming-in his state of expanded awareness, he could feel her approach, knew that there wasn't much time.