The air in Zone C grew heavy and still as they approached the serpent's lair. A flooded swamp covered in endless and sickly green fog.
The silence was unnatural. No chirping. No rustling. Just heavy quiet that felt like a held breath.
Squish. Squelch.
The ground became soft and dangerous. Black mud and tangled, thorny vines were grabbing at their ankles. Every member of the team was on high alert.
Their new artifacts gleamed dully in the gloom. Faces set in grim lines. The grief for Edgar had transformed into vengeful resolve.
Fuel that Dante had carefully manufactured.
This was not a hunt for vengeance. It was a hunt for the strength needed to claim the wish.
The wish that would be his. Not Edgar's. Never Edgar's.
They stopped at the edge of the swamp. Fog coiling around their boots. Rot and stagnant water mixed with something.
"This is it," Dante said. His voice low. "It's in there. Waiting."
He closed his eyes. Focusing his will. The air beside him grew cold.
