The fires in Grim Hollow sputtered low now, dying into smoldering lines across the cracked dirt. The sky above was a washed-out grey, smeared with smoke trails that still drifted like ghosts. The outpost looked as if a titan had seized it by the edges and shaken it until everything inside rattled loose.
The aftermath always revealed the truth of a battlefield.
The dead stayed still.
The living pretended they were fine.
And the broken—stood somewhere in between.
Atheon—HoursEarlier
Captain Atheon wiped blood from the edge of his gauntlet with a motion so clean it bordered on ritualistic. His elite squad—eight men and women trained to operate where most units died—stood behind him, breathing hard but unbowed.
The trap had sprung the moment they entered the canyon pass. A shroud breakage spot, where crawlers had leaked out from their dark dimension.
Ink sigils hidden beneath dust.
Covenant infiltrators lying dead-still in false burial pits.
