Chapter 20

     The storm was coming, but the air remained unnervingly still, like the earth itself was holding its breath. Ava had disappeared into the thickening mist, her figure swallowed by the approaching Atlantic, but her presence still lingered, a shadow that stretched across the marshlands. I could feel her power growing, feeding off the decay and rot that had festered beneath the city for so long. She was moving closer to whatever lay at the heart of this dark tide, and nothing seemed capable of stopping her.

    Tony and I stood in silence, the heavy fog swirling around us like a living thing. I could feel the tension radiating off him—his hand still rested on the knife at his side, but I knew he wasn’t sure whether to use it on Achilles, Ava, or himself.

    “She’s going to do it,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible above the low hum of the wind. “She’s going to tear it all down.”

    There was a strange edge to his voice, something almost resigned. He had known Ava for a long time, that much was clear, but I couldn’t quite tell whether he feared her or admired her—or both.

    I glanced at him. “What exactly is she trying to do?”

    Tony didn’t answer right away, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon where the mist and water blurred into one. When he spoke, his voice was thick with something I couldn’t place. “She wants the city to rot,” he said. “She wants it to decay, to crumble into the sea. Achilles thought he could control it, thought he could use the city’s history to reshape its future, but Ava—she doesn’t want control. She just wants to watch it fall.”

    I shivered, the weight of his words settling in. Ava wasn’t here to save the city or stop Achilles. She was here to accelerate the destruction, to feed the rot that had been seeping through the streets, the buildings, the very foundation of the place.

    And the worst part was, she was enjoying it.

    Tony turned to me, his eyes hard. “She’s always been like this,” he said. “Always pushing things to the edge, seeing how far they can go before they collapse. The city’s been teetering for years, and now she’s going to give it the final push.”

    I swallowed, trying to make sense of the pieces falling into place. Ava had become something more than just a figure in Achilles’ web—she had become the catalyst for everything that was happening, the one who would relish the destruction, who would coo softly to the rotting city as it fell to its knees.

    “We have to stop her,” I said, my voice steady despite the growing dread in my chest. “We can’t just let her destroy everything.”

    Tony’s expression darkened. “You think we can stop her?” he asked, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “She’s been waiting for this moment longer than we’ve been alive. The rot—the decay—it’s what she wants. And if we try to stop her, she’ll only enjoy it more.”

    I could feel the weight of his resignation, the hopelessness that had settled into him after years of watching Ava thrive on the decay around her. She wasn’t just a part of the city’s history—she was the rot itself, an embodiment of the forces that had been corroding the city from within.

    But I couldn’t just stand by and let it happen. Achilles might have set things in motion, but Ava was the one who would finish it, the one who would relish every moment of destruction. And that was something I couldn’t allow.

    “We don’t have a choice,” I said, my voice firm. “If we don’t stop her, there won’t be anything left.”

    Tony looked at me, his expression unreadable, but after a moment, he nodded. “All right,” he said. “But don’t think it’s going to be easy. Ava’s not like Achilles. She doesn’t play by the same rules.”

    I nodded, though a part of me already knew that. Achilles had been manipulating everything from the shadows, but Ava—she was out in the open now, moving with purpose and confidence, as though nothing could stand in her way. She wasn’t hiding her intentions. She was embracing them.

    We started walking again, following the same path Ava had taken, the wet earth squelching beneath our boots. The Atlantic was closer now, the sound of the waves growing louder as the tide pushed inland, churning against the marshy landscape. I could feel the pull of the ocean, the same ancient force that Ava seemed to be drawing on, a force that was both natural and deeply unnatural.

    The fog thickened as we neared the water’s edge, and I could just make out Ava’s figure standing at the shoreline, her back to us. She was still, her arms outstretched as though welcoming the storm, her coat billowing in the wind like dark wings. I could hear her voice, faint but clear, cooing softly as if she were speaking to the Atlantic itself, calling it to rise and consume the land.

    Tony and I stopped a few paces away, watching as she performed whatever dark ritual she had begun. There was something almost mesmerizing about it, the way she moved, the way her voice seemed to merge with the wind and the waves. She was in control here, not Achilles, not the city. And that control was intoxicating.

    “She’s feeding off it,” Tony muttered, his voice tight. “She’s drawing power from the decay.”

    Ava’s voice grew louder, and I could hear the strange cadence of her words, a mixture of languages and sounds that seemed to echo back through time. There were elements of something ancient, something tied to the land, but also traces of other influences—colonial voices, Ashanti rhythms, a British knight’s entitled chant. It was all woven together, a tapestry of power and decay, and Ava was at the center of it.

    “She’s copying it,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the rising wind. “The history. The rot. She’s turning it into something new.”

    Tony’s jaw tightened. “She’s been doing it for years,” he said. “Taking pieces from the past, the things no one wants to remember, and twisting them into something she can use.”

    I felt a wave of nausea rise in my throat as I realized what he meant. Ava wasn’t just here to destroy. She was here to reclaim—to take the rotting pieces of the city’s history and twist them into something even darker, something that would give her the power to reshape the land in her image.

    And as she stood there, cooing softly to the Atlantic, I knew we were running out of time.

    “Ava!” Tony shouted, his voice cutting through the wind.

    She didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge us at all. Her hands remained outstretched, her voice rising in a strange, hypnotic melody that seemed to blend with the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. I could feel the power radiating off her, a raw, untamed force that was feeding off the decay around us.

    Tony took a step forward, his hand on the hilt of his knife. “Ava, stop!”

    For the first time, she paused, her head tilting slightly to the side as though considering his words. Slowly, she lowered her arms and turned to face us, her eyes gleaming with a cold, dark amusement.

    “Stop?” she echoed, her voice dripping with mockery. “Why would I stop, Tony? This is what I’ve been waiting for.”

    Her smile widened, and I felt a shiver run down my spine.

    “Let me relish it,” she whispered, her voice soft but deadly. “Let me finish what I started.”

    And then she turned back to the ocean, her hands rising once more as the storm gathered overhead.