Noah pulled back higher into the cloud cover, Storm banking with him, and they hung there in the thin, cold air while the massive ship continued its slow, deliberate descent toward the clearing below.
It came down in the wide flat stretch beyond the six abandoned dropships, engines venting heat in visible waves that distorted the air around the hull, and the moment it settled, its underside split open along multiple seams, ramps extending down into the scorched earth like something exhaling after holding its breath a long time.
They poured out in organized ranks.
One horns first, dozens of them, moving with a discipline Noah hadn't expected, not the chaotic scrambling of the pods he'd fought a hundred times over but something closer to actual formation. Two horns followed behind, fewer in number but clearly positioned as something like squad leads, directing smaller clusters of one horns toward the abandoned dropships with sharp, economical gestures.
