nuclear warefare

He blinked once. And in that instant saw the city, instead of the bombs, in the air. They had displaced each other.
For another of those impossible instants the city stood, rebuilt and unrecognizable, taller than it had ever hoped or strived to be, taller than man had built it, erected at last in gouts of shattered concrete and sparkles of torn metal into a mural hung like a reversed avalanche, a million colours, a million oddities, a door where a window should be, a top for a bottom, a side for a back, and then the city rolled over and fell down dead.
—  Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451