The lower sewers of Elysium City looked like the intestines of a dying cosmic beast.
The darkness here was not merely the absence of light—it was a viscous entity clinging to the skin, enveloping us in the stench of methane, rotting waste, and stagnant water flowing slowly like diseased black blood.
We walked in silence, broken only by the sound of wading through water that reached mid-calf, and our uneven breathing.
Alpha Team… the elite who, just hours ago, stood at the pinnacle of the intelligence hierarchy, had now turned into a group of terrified rats dragging the weight of their failure and wounds through the depths of the city.
Eva Blackwood walked ahead of me, limping badly, leaning her shoulder against the slimy concrete wall.
She bit her lips until they bled to stop herself from groaning.
Damian followed her, holding his broken arm dangling like a dead branch, his handsome face covered in mud and despair.
