The jungle was quiet in a way Achilles didn’t trust. Not peaceful. Not calm. Just waiting.After the experience he gained from the war against his uncle and Archelords. He'd be a fool to easily write the Sombra entity off.Bodies lay scattered across the clearing, some unconscious, some dead. Rainwater mixed with blood, turning the soil dark and slick. The Faithfuls moved fast and clean, securing weapons, checking pulses, and dragging the living away from sight. No wasted motion. No noise they didn’t need to make.Achilles stood at the center, breathing steady, eyes sharp. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, mud streaked across his face, but his posture stayed straight. He watched everything at once. The trees. The river path. His people. Nothing escaped him.The challenger from earlier knelt a few steps away, wrists bound behind his back, face bruised and swollen. The man still tried to smile, even with blood on his teeth.“You fight lik

The lift screeched to a halt below the mountain, jolting Achilles and the steel cage hard enough to rattle teeth. He stepped out first, weapon raised, scanning the dark. The air down here was colder, heavier. Old stone. Old blood. This was not part of the public fortress. This was something older, hidden long before El Serpiente took power.“Surface secured,” Brig. Rachael’s voice came through the comm: “But we’ve lost heat signatures underground. They sealed the upper access points.”Achilles set Gabrielle behind a rock outcrop and keyed his mic: “They didn’t seal everything. They’re drawing us in.”Margaret’s voice joined, steady but tight: “Babe, I’m back in partial systems. This underground network isn’t on any official map. It’s military grade. Whoever built this expected war.”Achilles already knew. He knelt and pressed his palm to the stone floor. Fresh vibration. Recent movement. Not fleeing. Organizing.“They want tunnel fighting,” he said: “Close quarters. No air support. No

Cartagena breathed differently at night.The city glittered along the coast, lights reflecting off the Caribbean like nothing beneath them was wrong. Music drifted from bars. Traffic rolled on. Lovers walked hand in hand. To the outside world, it was calm.To Achilles, it was a battlefield wearing a smile.He stood inside a dim operations room commandeered from a compromised municipal building, eyes fixed on a live city map. Red markers pulsed across districts where cartel influence was strongest. Blue markers showed civilian density. Yellow flagged political interference.Too many yellows.“They’re shielding him,” Achilles said quietly.Margaret nodded from the screen beside him, her face sharp with concentration. “Three council members, two senior police commanders, and one federal liaison are actively delaying warrants. Paperwork traps. Jurisdiction loops.”“Bought or threatened,” Rachael added: “Possibly both.”Achilles leaned back slightly, folding his arms: “He wouldn’t hide in

The city did not celebrate yet.Even after the broadcast ended, even after El Serpiente was restrained and dragged out of the studio, Cartagena remained tense, like a body holding its breath after narrowly avoiding death. Sirens echoed from distant streets. Helicopters cut across the night sky. People stood on balconies, phones in hand, whispering, pointing, afraid to believe it was truly over.Achilles stood in the studio corridor, Gabrielle wrapped in a protective vest beside him. He checked her face carefully, his hands gentle but precise, as if she were another fragile device that needed careful handling. She was shaken, but steady.“I’m okay,” she said softly before he could ask: “I really am.”He nodded once, accepting it. He knew better than to smother her strength. Still, he kept her close.Margaret’s voice came through the comms, sharp and urgent: “Don’t relax yet. We’re not done.”Achilles straightened: “Report.”“The explosives we neutralized were not the full network,” Mar

Night pressed down on the coast. The ocean below the cliffs was black and restless, with waves crashing against the rocks. The coastal mansion sat above it all, its lights glowing softly, its walls thick, quiet, and confident. From a distance, it looked peaceful. Expensive. Untouched.Achilles lay flat on the ridge across from it, binoculars steady in his hands.“Perimeter confirms it,” Rachael whispered through comms: “This place is built for war, not comfort.”Achilles already knew. He had seen the angles, the blind spots, the way the lights were placed to blind anyone coming in from the sea. He tracked movement behind tinted glass, counted guards by pattern, not sight. Every six minutes, two men crossed the west wing balcony. Every ten minutes, a drone swept the cliff edge.“This isn’t Serpiente’s style,” Margaret said quietly over the line: “Too clean and modern.”“He didn’t build it,” Achilles replied: “He inherited it.”The Faithfuls were spread out now, silent and unseen, each