Two more shots. The dreadnought's engines turned to brittle, orange-brown dust. The ship drifted, helpless.
The Uber Protegit pulsed.
The Maw tried to flee. Kael smiled. He pointed his bow at its engine nacelles and whispered, "Rust."
For the first time since the beam touched him, Kael felt a cold that wasn’t from space. He wasn't just a pilot anymore. He was a Protegit .