THUD-BOOM! THUD-BOOM! THUD-BOOM!
Hoofbeats heavier than falling meteors shook the gray bedrock of Scrap-Heap Star.
Out from the jagged mouth of the central crater galloped a thirty-foot-tall Rank 7 Armored Bone-Warhorse. Its ribs were forged from blackened star-bronze, its four hooves trailed dark-red soul fire, and sitting in the iron saddle on its back was a titanic figure in cracked golden-scale general’s armor.
He held a forty-foot rusted halberd in his right gauntlet, and a tattered blood-red cape billowed behind his broad shoulders.
However, from the iron collar of his breastplate upward... there was nothing at all!
Only a swirl of angry purple-black Nascent Soul mist floated above his neck-guard, while his left armored hand patted frantically around his own empty shoulders as if checking whether his head had magically grown back over the last five minutes.
“STOP SWEEPING!”
General Chu Wuhen’s booming voice echoed straight out of his chest armor like a war drum. He reined in his giant bone-warhorse a hundred yards in front of Station #8, pointing his forty-foot rusted halberd—slightly crookedly, since he had no eyes—at a stack of oil drums ten feet to the left of Pei Xuan.
