After a moment, the light dies and two things are made obvious.
One: The Gotengo now rests on the ground some 100s of yards away, out of power. The stress of so much energy flowing through and against, plus the strike and follow through, has exhausted the ship. Emergency vents attempt to cool down key systems as Evangeline attempts to reroute power and get the engines back up and running. Other than being completely spent, it does not seem externally damaged somehow.
Two: Where once stood Sakin is a spot filled with nothing. A circle of about 100ft of nothing but blackened rock and ash lay all about. No trace of his staff, the ruined apparatuses, nothing. And there, kneeling, clutching at his shoulder where once his arm was is Sakin. Burns cover half his face and his legs, his balding head cracked and charred, one eye milky. Blue red blood drips steadily from a dozen cuts and from the stump of his arm.
Never before has an Angel been so wounded. Never before one so maimed. Another first.
But he does yet live. Weaponless, one arm missing, the third oldest entity in creation looks upon the ruins of his plans, his desires, and rages. It is not a hot thing. It is not a scream of anger or desperation. No, it is a cold feeling that permeates every atom of the planet. A cold, killing intent that hits everyone at the same time and chills the soul.
Sakin staggers to his feet, clutches at his missing arm, and looks. He sees Grinthorn far away, with Efrideet, and knows his last ally has forsaken him. He looks and sees the three downed ships and feels the fighters, most at full strength, and knows this will be the final.
He also knows his control has slipped as the unconscious form of Genesis reappears nearby. His banishment of her having slipped in concentration. His eyes narrow.
Perhaps not all is lost.