Chapter 18

     The fog began to lift as we moved farther inland, away from the rotting streets and the slurping darkness that had followed us for so long. The city was shrinking behind us, a memory distorted by distance and the strange twists of fate that had drawn us through its labyrinth. Tony and I said little as we wended our way along a narrow dirt path, a forgotten road that cut through the land like an old scar. The air here was different—cooler, quieter, with a subtle hum that vibrated just beneath the surface, like the low chanting of monks in some distant temple.

     I hadn’t expected this, hadn’t imagined we’d leave the city at all. Achilles’ influence stretched far, but I had always thought of him as a creature of the urban sprawl, his power rooted in the grime and chaos of the streets. Yet here we were, following a path that twisted through overgrown fields and tangled woods, the sound of the city fading behind us.

     Tony was leading the way, though he hadn’t said where we were going. His pace was quick, determined, as though he was being pulled by some unseen force. I followed in silence, my mind turning over the events of the last few days, the cryptic words of the figures in the alley still lingering in the back of my mind. The image of them slurping in the dark, feeding off the city’s decay, haunted me. But now, as we moved farther from the city’s center, I felt something shift.

     The path dipped suddenly, and we found ourselves walking alongside a narrow stream, its water dark and sluggish, winding its way through the landscape like a living thing. There was something unnatural about the way the stream moved, as if it were tilting, leaning toward something just out of sight. The banks were uneven, the earth churned and muddy, and the air smelled of wet soil and old iron.

     “Where are we going?” I asked finally, my voice cutting through the stillness.

     Tony didn’t look back. “Somewhere Achilles doesn’t want you to be.”

     The answer wasn’t satisfying, but I knew better than to press him. Tony had his own reasons for keeping things vague, for holding his cards close. But I could feel that we were getting closer to something—something Achilles had tried to keep hidden.

     As we walked, the landscape around us began to change. The trees, once thick and knotted, thinned out, replaced by strange, twisted forms that seemed neither natural nor manmade. There were markers along the path—small stone pillars, some engraved with symbols I didn’t recognize, others draped in faded cloth that fluttered in the breeze. The stream tilted again, the water bending toward the markers like it was drawn to them.

     “Indian,” Tony muttered, more to himself than to me.

     “What?” I asked, my eyes scanning the strange symbols on the stones.

     He glanced at me, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. “These markers. They’re old. Older than the city. They come from different places—some are Indian, some Buddhist, some... well, British. Colonial relics. They were left here a long time ago, back when the city was first being carved out of the land.”

     I frowned, trying to piece together what he was telling me. “Why would Achilles care about this?”

     Tony’s gaze darkened. “Because this isn’t just history. It’s power. The city was built on something—something people tried to forget. Achilles has been trying to dig it up, to control it. But it’s older than him. Older than all of us.”

     I felt a chill run down my spine. The idea that Achilles was after something more than control of the city—that he was tapping into something ancient, something buried beneath the surface—unnerved me. And yet, it made a kind of twisted sense. Achilles wasn’t just playing a game of manipulation and power. He was trying to rewrite the rules of the city, to bend its very foundation to his will.

     As we continued along the path, the stream widened, and the ground beneath us became softer, muddier. I could hear the squelch of our boots sinking into the wet earth, and the smell of damp decay grew stronger. Ahead, a flicker of light caught my eye—a lantern, hanging from a low branch, its glass cracked and fogged with age. It swung gently in the breeze, casting an eerie glow over the water.

     “British knight’s entitled lantern,” Tony muttered, half under his breath. “Left here by one of the old explorers, someone who thought they could tame the wilds.”

     I stared at the lantern, its weak light barely cutting through the gloom. There was something unsettling about it, something that felt out of place in this strange landscape. But Tony didn’t slow down. He moved past it without a second glance, and I followed, the lantern’s glow fading behind us.

     The path twisted again, the stream now cutting sharply to the right, and suddenly the ground beneath us shifted. The mud gave way to something harder, slicker, like stone covered in moss. I stumbled, catching myself just as Tony stopped in his tracks.

     “What is it?” I asked, my heart pounding in my chest.

     He didn’t answer right away, just stared at something ahead of us. Slowly, I followed his gaze.

     At the edge of the stream, half-buried in the mud, was a weathered military emblem, a metal badge that gleamed faintly in the dim light. Next to it, protruding from the muck, was a single tooth—yellowed and chipped, but unmistakably human.

     Tony crouched down, his fingers brushing against the emblem. “Unhoped wet military,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

     I frowned. “What is this place?”

     Tony looked up at me, his expression unreadable. “This is where they tried to stop it,” he said. “A long time ago. The military, the explorers, all of them. They came here thinking they could control it, that they could carve out a piece of it for themselves. But they were wrong.”

     “And the tooth?” I asked, my voice low.

     Tony’s lips curled into a grim smile. “Someone didn’t make it out. But that’s not the real mystery.”

     He stood up, his eyes scanning the horizon. “The real mystery is what they were trying to keep buried.”

     Before I could respond, there was a sharp crack, a sound that split the air like lightning. I spun around, my heart racing, but there was nothing—just the shifting fog and the steady drip of water from the stream.

     Tony grabbed my arm, pulling me forward. “We need to move. Now.”

     We started running, our boots sinking into the mud, the fog closing in around us. I didn’t know what was behind us, but I could feel it—a presence, a weight that pressed against my skin, heavy and suffocating.

     “Where are we going?” I shouted, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

     Tony didn’t answer. He just kept moving, his grip on my arm tight, his eyes fixed on the path ahead.

     And then, just as suddenly as it had started, the fog parted, and we burst out onto solid ground. The stream had disappeared, and the markers were gone. We were standing on the edge of a wide, open field, the grass wet and gleaming in the dim light.

     Tony released my arm, his chest heaving. “We’re close,” he said, his voice hoarse.

     “Close to what?” I asked, still trying to catch my breath.

     He looked at me, his expression grim. “The thing Achilles has been looking for. The thing he’ll stop at nothing to control.”

     I stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. Whatever Achilles was after, it wasn’t just power over the city. It was something older, something buried in the land itself.

     And we were about to find it.