Blood on the Asphalt biker
The heavy tungsten blast doors sealed shut behind us with a resounding, metallic clank, cutting off the roar of the battlefield.
Inside the Thermal-Sync Hub, there was no silence. There was only a deep, bone-rattling vibration. We were standing in the epicenter of the six Prime Forges, and the sheer mechanical violence of drilling into the earth's mantle reverberated through the blackened durasteel floorplates.
"It's an oven in here," Dax grunted, wiping sweat from his forehead. He kept his Phase-Knife raised, moving point down the narrow, claustrophobic corridor.