On the Amarin-9 ice plate, an infantry escort moves a captured Choir-Locus toward a bunker under the ice.

The alien command organism distorts comms, pressures human nervous systems, and is being carried like a living resonance weapon.

Thin air, unstable ice bridges, storm white-out, and Nithran contact turn the march into a slow collapse of control. The Choir-Locus grows louder with every impact, every skid of the grav-sled, every step closer to enemy territory.

This is "The Choir-Locus-March" by Sascha Schmidt