"Move."
Tarvitz's voice carried through the shriek of the sandstorm, reaching the Communications Channel clear and calm.
"Cross this area and head for the designated rally point. Commander Eidolon and the main force should be converging there as well."
The order was brief and clear.
Lucius shrugged indifferently at his words.
He turned his head and exchanged a brief glance with the silent, dark-gray figure stationed nearby—Chelast of the Word Bearers.
"Then let's go," Lucius replied with his usual, almost arrogant ease.
The hundred Space Marines immediately became an efficient war machine.
With Tarvitz, Lucius, and Chelast at the spearhead, they swiftly changed formation into a wedge suited to rapid movement and countering ambushes. Treading over dark-red grit that seemed soaked in old blood, they advanced toward the deeper gloom at the edge of their vision, where dust mingled with the unknown.
The column moved swiftly and silently, with only the crunch of heavy boots on gravel, the low hum of Power Armour joint hydraulics, and the endless wailing of the wind mingling together.
Tarvitz pushed his senses to their limits, his Visor constantly cycling through scanning modes as he analyzed the terrain, atmospheric composition, and residual energy.
This wasteland was too flat, too open. Apart from low, twisted shrubs of some unknown species and abruptly rising mounds of weathered rock, it lacked any prominent landmarks or natural cover.
The texture of the soil beneath their feet was unsettling as well. It looked firm, yet felt strangely insubstantial underfoot, as though hollows—or something else—lay buried beneath it.
His intuition, the almost instinctive sense for danger of a veteran of countless battles, was sounding a shrill warning.
This place was perfect for an ambush. The open terrain offered clear fields of fire, while the lack of cover left the exposed column