Nobody spoke for nearly a full minute.
The underground city stretched beyond anything Atlas had imagined when they first descended through the ruined watchtower. Even through binoculars, Marcus could not see its far edge. Streets disappeared into darkness before reappearing beneath hundreds of flickering braziers. Crumbling towers leaned against one another like exhausted giants, while broad plazas had become work yards crowded with chained prisoners. Ancient statues stood with broken faces, their shoulders draped in thick strands of pale fungal growth, silently watching over a civilization that had died long before the kingdoms above ever existed.
The rhythmic pounding never stopped.
It echoed through every district of the city.
Metal striking something impossibly hard.
Again.
Again.
Again.
