I stand on the bridge of Dreadclaw. The only sound, the low rumble of engines and the rasp of my own breathing. Beyond the viewport, the Cenara floats like a bloated carcass, its silver hull gleaming in the void. A luxury freighter stuffed with wealth and arrogance. It disgusts me.
“Disruptors armed” Jex growls, his voice sharp and eager.
“Fire” I snap.
The shockwave slams into the Cenara, tearing through its shields scrambling its systems. Lights on the freighter flicker and die. I can feel the terror, taste it. That’s what they get for being soft.
“Lock the boarding clamps. Take the ship”
The Dreadclaw lurches as we pierce the freighter’s hull. My boots hit metal as I lead the charge. Plasma fire rips through the corridors, bodies crumpling in piles of blood, guts and smoke. My crew surges forward, rabid, I let them have their feast.
I move toward the bridge, methodical and relentless. A crewman stumbles into my path, trembling hands clutching a wrench. I don’t pause. One quick swipe of my blade, and his throat opens in a spray of red. He crumples, choking on blood.
The bridge doors slide open. Inside, the captain— an aging bureaucrat with trembling hands— stands frozen. His wide eyes meet mine, and I see it: Fear. It’s intoxicating.
“Please” he starts, but I fire before he can finish. The plasma bolt leaves a charred hole where his chest used to be. I step over his corpse and take the command seat. The ship is mine.
The carnage is already fading behind me as my crew hauls crates of wealth into our hold. Art, jewels, exotic goods—it’s meaningless. Trinkets for people who’ve never bled for anything. My prize is this ship and the power it represents.
“Captain” Jex’s voice cuts through my thoughts. His face is pale, his tone grim. “Imperials inbound. They’re already in range”
I look at him, then back to the viewport, where the stars stretch endlessly. The Empire hunts us like animals, but I’ve made peace with the truth: I am an animal.
“No retreat” I say, my voice low. “Turn the guns on them”
The crew hesitates, but I don’t. The Dreadclaw roars to life, its cannons spitting fire at the first Imperial ships to breach the horizon. Explosions blossom in the void, violent and beautiful.
If this is the end, I’ll make it a feast for the stars. I don’t die begging. I’ll die as I’ve lived, ripping the galaxy apart with bloody hands.