It filled the crawl space like a psychic flare, vibrating through the metal, freezing every soldier behind her in paralyzed horror. Her right arm jerked. Her body was equally captivating—slim, toned, and lithe, her movements graceful but purposeful. She blinked once—twice—but the passage before her blurred, the walls seeming to bend and pulse as if alive. The vessel itself was massive, a gleaming titan of steel and obsidian, its halls dimly lit by harsh overhead lights that barely cut through the shadows of its industrial corridors. At 24 years old, Sofia was a young woman by the standards of the Imperium, but her experiences had already sculpted her into something much more. Everything was wet with slime, very slippery subtance that exploded from nowhere. His massive frame loomed over Sofia and Cratt, his expression grim.
