Sir Alex settled back on his throne of bone and scale, those star-filled eyes fixed on the western horizon. Whatever lay in that direction, it would either prove useful or it would be destroyed. Those were the only outcomes he permitted.
The journey continued.
Empty Dross tribes fell behind them, and ahead lay more of the same. Sir Alex watched with idle cruelty as his forces encountered the remnants of tribes that had tried to flee the Primal Surge. Bodies lay where they had fallen, men and women and children who had simply been too slow to escape the stampede of beasts days ago.
His Warriors showed no respect for the dead.
Commands rang out across the formation, and Velociraptors were directed to move over corpses rather than around them. Bones cracked beneath clawed feet. Flesh that had begun to decay was ground into the soil. What had once been people became stains upon the earth, indistinguishable from the dirt they had spent their worthless lives farming.
