“Degree one-zero-zero,” he whispered, his voice a dry rasp. The command was locked. Not ninety-five degrees of tactical focus, not ninety-nine. . Total, absolute, catastrophic immersion.
The first time he’d used it, at degree seventy, the blindness lasted four seconds. A frigate had been destroyed during his downtime. He’d felt the vibration through the deck plates. navarch ability cooldown 17.6 seconds degree 100
He didn’t tell them that degree one hundred hadn’t just shown him the battle. It had shown him the next three. It had shown him the face of the man who would betray him, six months from now, on a space station called Meridian. It had shown him the exact date of his own death. “Degree one-zero-zero,” he whispered, his voice a dry
1.0 seconds.