Life held no further meaning for him. It was odious to consider returning to a spacerogue's career, and only death offered absolution from his oaths.
He directed a blazing beam of force at one of the great pillars that supported the throneroom's ceiling. It blackened, then buckled. He blasted apart another of the pillars, and the third.
The roof groaned; the tons of masonry were suddenly without support, after hundreds of years. Herndon waited, and smiled in triumph as the ceiling hurtled down at him.