Beginning of the End or End of the Beginning?

The return to Puno is far quieter than the journey out. The laughter and easy conversation that had accompanied the expedition's first days have vanished, replaced by weary silence and wary glances over shoulders. The encounter on Nayra's island has left its mark on everyone.

Black Jack withdraws almost immediately upon reaching the hotel, locking himself away in his room. Before allowing himself even the thought of sleep, he drags the heavy bed across the floor and wedges it firmly against the door. Only then does exhaustion finally claim him.

The others choose differently. After everything they have witnessed, solitude feels less like comfort than vulnerability, and they gather together to discuss the mounting dangers surrounding Augustus Larkin's expedition.

Sleep eventually finds Black Jack, but peace does not.

His dreams carry him to a cramped, filthy room lit only by the flickering glow of a single oil lamp. In the corner crouches a gaunt man, feverishly painting with relentless determination. His brush never pauses, each frantic stroke driven by a purpose Black Jack cannot understand. Whatever takes shape upon the canvas remains just beyond comprehension, but one certainty settles over the dream:

It was never meant for human eyes.

The following morning, the party gathers in the courtyard of their hotel, where Larkin waits beside a line of pack mules ready for the final journey into the Andes.

One thing is immediately obvious.

He is alone.

Luis de Mendoza and the rest of the expedition staff are nowhere to be seen. When questioned, Larkin calmly explains that he has sent them ahead to establish a supply cache for the return trip. If the expedition succeeds, they will need men and pack animals prepared to transport whatever artifacts—or treasures—they recover.

The explanation does little to ease anyone's concerns. After a frank discussion, however, the investigators reluctantly decide to continue.

The Andes quickly prove every bit as unforgiving as their reputation suggests. Thin mountain air leaves Mel and Eustis struggling with altitude sickness, though the coca leaves and tea purchased in Lima blunt the worst of the symptoms and allow the expedition to press onward.

Their preparations prove timely.

As darkness falls on the first night, another of the flesh-warped creatures from Lake Titicaca emerges from the wilderness. Unlike the others, this one is gaunt and withered, its clothing hanging in rotten tatters as though it has wandered the mountains for years without feeding. Starvation has made it desperate.

The creature hurls itself into camp, but the expedition rallies quickly, bringing it down after a brief but violent struggle.

Peace lasts only moments.

Already stretched beyond his limits, Black Jack finally confronts Larkin. Seizing him by the shirt, he drags him into the firelight and tears open his collar, exposing the strange tattoo hidden beneath. Around the campfire, suspicion spreads as every eye fixes on the swirling mark.

Larkin appears genuinely bewildered. He insists the tattoo appeared years earlier after a night of heavy drinking and swears he has no memory of receiving it. Most remain unconvinced.

Mel does not.

Studying both the tattoo and the man wearing it, she reaches an unsettling conclusion. Whatever the mark is, Larkin is telling the truth.

He truly has no memory of how it came to be.

The following day, the expedition notices two distant figures moving purposefully through the forest. Rupert quietly takes the lead, following their trail with the practiced instincts of an experienced hunter. Broken branches, disturbed stones, and faint tracks reveal just enough for him to keep the strangers in sight without exposing the party.

The pursuit leads to a rocky overlook where the figures continue across a narrow valley below. With rifles and a clear shot, the investigators briefly debate ending the pursuit before it begins.

Eustis argues against it.

For all they know, the strangers are merely travelers, and there is too much uncertainty to justify bloodshed. Cooler heads prevail, and the party continues the pursuit.

Hours later, the trail opens onto a broad plateau.

At its center stands the pyramid.

Ancient and weathered, it rises above a forgotten valley surrounded by crumbling ruins. The two figures pass through the broken walls and disappear from sight.

Watching through binoculars, the investigators notice movement near the summit. A lone figure climbs toward a narrow fissure, bends over the opening, and disgorges a stream of thick white mucus and greasy fat across the ancient stone. Moments later, a second figure repeats the grotesque ritual before calmly descending into the ruins.

The expedition has not discovered an abandoned monument.

It has found an active one.

The steep descent into the valley forces the group to leave the pack mules behind before continuing on foot. Reaching the courtyard, Rupert, Eustis, Black Jack, and Alan scout the ruins while the others secure the perimeter. Their search uncovers two possible entrances beneath the pyramid: narrow chimney-like shafts descending into darkness and a massive charnel pit overflowing with rotting corpses. Whatever lies below has claimed countless victims.

Choosing caution, the party climbs the pyramid first to examine the strange fissure near its summit. Everyone peers inside.

Everyone except Black Jack.

The opening appears empty, coated only in the greasy residue left behind by the ritual.

Then Mel looks.

The world vanishes.

She watches the pyramid shudder before splitting apart, its ancient stones collapsing inward as enormous white tendrils burst skyward, slick with grease and writhing like living roots. Thick slime pours from them while monstrous maggots rain across the plateau. The mountain itself trembles beneath their impossible weight.

Then the vision ends.

The pyramid stands silent once more.

No one else saw what she witnessed.

But Mel knows, with chilling certainty, that it was not a nightmare.

It was the future.

Convinced the only way forward lies below, Eustis determines the charnel pit is the safest route into the structure. One by one the investigators descend into the darkness.

Jackson Elias follows after the others, pausing only briefly before beginning his careful descent. Mel lingers at the surface for a moment longer, taking one last look across the silent plateau before turning toward the entrance.

As she steps forward, Larkin catches her by the arm.

something about him changes.

His voice doesn't grow louder, only deeper, each word carrying an impossible weight that settles into Mel's mind. As he speaks, his pupils slowly widen until the color drains away entirely, leaving his eyes black as polished obsidian.

For a heartbeat, they are no longer Larkin's eyes.

They belong to something ancient.

Something watching through him.

"You've seen what lies below," he says quietly. "The ward is already broken. Why preserve a prison no one understands? Remove the rest. Let the world see what was hidden here."

His voice is calm, almost gentle, yet each word carries an unnatural weight that settles deep within her mind.

An ancient presence brushes against Mel's thoughts—cold, patient, and impossibly vast. It does not command or threaten. Instead, it searches, probing quietly for the smallest weakness, making Larkin's words feel less like persuasion and more like an undeniable truth.

Before it can take hold, the sharp metallic click of a revolver being cocked cuts through the silence.

Behind comes Jackson Elias's voice sharp and unwavering.

"Step away from her."