The air in the lower intestines of the space leviathan was thick and entirely suffocating.
Sebastian stood thirty yards outside the ruined blast doors of Corbin's bunker. He was planted firmly in the center of the rocky uneven tunnel.
He waited. He didn't have to wait long.
CLANK. SCRAPE. CLANK.
The rhythmic grinding sound of metal on stone echoed down the corridor. It was the sound of an army that had violently discarded the concept of stealth in favor of absolute terrifying inevitability.
From the darkness emerged the vanguard of the Iron Disciples.
They were a horrifying sight. Ten zealots marched in perfect unfeeling unison. Their organic bodies were heavily mutilated. Left arms were replaced by massive crude iron maces bolted directly to the bone. Legs were swapped for heavy piston-driven steel struts that crushed the rock beneath them. They wore no armor over their chests and proudly displayed the jagged scars where they had forcefully carved away their own humanity.
