The heavy iron blast doors of the interior concourse finished grinding into the ceiling with a resounding screech of poorly oiled hydraulics, and three hundred mercenaries poured into the docking bay with their weapons raised.
They were a rugged, chaotic assembly of veterans wearing scavenged power armor and carrying heavily modified pulse rifles, but they immediately froze in their tracks as their targeting lasers swept over the unbroken phalanx of the Frost Legion.
At the center of the mercenary line stood a towering, cybernetically enhanced man wearing a heavy cloak sewn from the reinforced sails of solar-skiffs. His left arm was entirely replaced by a polished chronium siege-cannon, and his glowing crimson optics whirred softly as he evaluated the frost-covered army standing comfortably on his landing deck.
