The dark passage was like a dead throat, slowly swallowing the party into the belly of the Sotha beacon.
Ferrus Manus trod over the uneven rock, each step sending a dull rumble through the ground. The sound spread deeper into the passage like a pebble dropped into a deep well, with no echo returning for a long time.
He held his Warhammer, his fingertips tracing every groove along its haft. Liquid metal flowed slowly around his knuckles, maintaining the perfect grip.
Ten Iron Hands warriors in Terminator Armour flanked him, every inch of their heavy plating reflecting the dim light as their power systems hummed low.
They remained silent. Only the mechanical sounds of their servitors and the airflow of their breathing systems echoed through the passage, faint and oppressive.
The material of the passage walls was strange, resembling neither natural rock nor poured concrete.
As the party advanced, the walls ceased to run straight. Instead, they curved slowly in a way that stirred instinctive unease, carrying the group ever deeper.
Ferrus Manus said nothing. His systems were recording every inch of the terrain, but the more data they gathered, the deeper his frown became.
By his calculations, the distance they had traveled already exceeded the physical depth a pyramid-shaped structure should possess, yet the passage still showed no sign of ending.
He could feel the thing that called itself the Overlord guiding them.
The sensation was indistinct, more like an invisible thread tied to the base of his spine, tightening slightly with every step.
Ferrus Manus did not reject the sensation, but neither did he like it.
He kept his Warhammer firmly in hand, ready for any danger that might arrive without warning.
After they rounded a corner, the space ahead abruptly opened up.
The passage emerged into a