The whispers grew louder, as if the ancient trees themselves recognized that something terrible was about to be unleashed within their domain.
And in the distance, Major Carrow's mecha units continued their methodical search, unaware that they were about to stumble into a conflict that would make their planetary war experience seem tame by comparison.
Three forces converging: Earth's military might, the Nue'roka's desire for vengeance, and the Berserk Lord's protective fury.
Lamorg raised his hand, signaling his warriors to halt.
Through the dense foliage ahead, something moved—something that made sounds utterly foreign to this world.
Mechanical grinding, hydraulic hissing, and the heavy thuds of footsteps that shook the ground with each impact.
"What in the ancestors' names is that?" one of his warriors whispered, hand moving instinctively to his blade.
