His vision blurred, his grip on the dash faltered, and the cockpit lost definition. Then all the death rushed back to him in its own shockwave. The physical force slammed him against the cockpit half-wall. He gasped air into his lungs as a crimson aura throbbed above his skin. The world spun around him, and it occurred to him if he wanted to he could control it—not the spinning, but the world.

Rubicon