"Sergeant, report!" Hawthorne's voice crackled through the communication systems.
He wants confirmation. Confirmation of murder.
"Target eliminated, sir. Installation Seven has been completely destroyed. No structure remains intact within the blast zone."
Arthur Fate is dead. Has to be dead. Nothing survives that level of destruction. I've clearly seen his body there when the explosion occurred; he clearly didn't have time to teleport out.
The sergeant's hands trembled as he processed thermal imaging from surviving satellites. The desert floor around the base had become a glass crater, sand fused into crystalline formations by temperatures that exceeded volcanic eruptions.
Absolute obliteration.
"Confirmed elimination?" Hawthorne pressed.
How do you confirm the death of something that no longer exists in atomic form?
"Sir, nothing within a kilometre radius survived. The blast zone resembles surface bombardment from orbit."
