The afternoon sun blazed down on the combined camp at Beacon Delta-2, baking the salt quarry into a shimmering oven of bitter salt heat. With the assistance of the recovered Oakhaven cadets and their three restored beasts, the outer edge had been transformed into a tough tactical stronghold. Titus was anchored dead-center at the quarry’s narrow bottleneck, his fiery shell flanked by the three-ton Granite Bison and the armored Iron-Horn Rhinoceros. He formed an unbroken barrier of living stone and horn.
Inside the outer edge, Toby was feverishly welding heavy stygian channel pipes to the tractor sled. Meanwhile, Arthur cleaned and re-tuned his ARC-7 Mag-Carbine. Grimm sat at Arthur’s knee. His black glass bone-armor shone in the harsh light, his amber eyes scanning the cliff edges with steady vigilance.
Suddenly, Grimm’s ears pinned back against his skull. The hound rose to his paws, issuing a low, shaking sub-bass growl that rattled the loose gravel around Arthur’s boots.
Atop Titus’s shell, Vesper’s notched left ear snapped forward. Her golden slit pupils tightened into sharp needles, her tail-stump twitching once with cold hungry awareness.
“Ground-shaking alert!” Toby yelled, diving toward his monitor. “Heavy motorized units approaching from the north! Four armored half-tracks and at least thirty combatants! They aren’t trying to stealth-flank us, Arthur—they’re bringing heavy siege weapons!”
