The gates to St. Augustine's Cathedral creaked open under Nate's hand. The air inside was cool and heavy, thick with incense and forgotten prayers. Rows of pews sat in solemn silence, and stained-glass saints glared down in judgment. It was a cathedral with a soul—and it had a secret.
Mallory walked beside him, flashlight clipped to her belt, dressed in black. "The catacombs are behind the sacristy. The map in your dad's cipher matches the original French colonial plans."
Nate nodded, eyes scanning the vaulted ceiling. "If he hid a fragment of ARCHIVE here, it had to mean something."
She tilted her head. "Religious symbolism? Redemption? Guilt?"
"Paranoia," Nate replied. "He liked places that could bury secrets in plain sight."
Behind the altar, an ancient iron door stood, half-concealed behind drapery. Mallory unlatched it and pushed. It groaned, dust coughing into the air.
Beyond lay stone stairs—spiraling, descending.
The catacombs were older than Nate expected. Not just from New Orleans' founding—older. The architecture bore Spanish and Haitian influence. Bones were stacked in walls, skulls facing outward in grim decorum. Candles flickered from sconces that hadn't been lit in decades.
Mallory scanned the scanner. "We're close. Power signature's erratic—like it's sleeping."
"Dad left these things with safeguards. Physical and psychological."
"Meaning what?"
"Booby traps and guilt trips."
They stopped before a stone wall engraved with a Cross family crest. Nate brushed dust from the center, revealing a symbol beneath: a gear fused with a fleur-de-lis.
"That's not in our records," he muttered.
Mallory crouched. "Look—hollow seams. This panel opens. Maybe a biometric lock."
He pressed his hand to the crest. It clicked.
The stone split in two.
Behind it: a chamber lit in eerie blue light. At its center sat a crystal pod, humming softly. Inside was a shard—metallic, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Mallory's breath caught. "That's... definitely a fragment."
Nate approached, slow. The pod recognized him, pulsed brighter.
Suddenly, a sound—like footsteps. Boots scraping stone.
Nate spun. Mallory drew a pistol.
From the dark emerged two men—dressed in Hollow Tech black. No insignias.
"We were followed," she hissed.
"Clearly."
The lead man stepped forward, hands raised. "Mr. Cross. We're not here to fight. Just to negotiate."
Nate raised an eyebrow. "You broke into a church crypt to negotiate?"
"You've located a piece of ARCHIVE. Hollow Tech wants a partnership."
"You mean a buyout."
The second man moved subtly, reaching for something.
Mallory fired.
The shot clipped the stone, sparking shards. The second man dove.
Chaos.
Nate tackled the lead man. Fists flew. Blood spattered the skull-lined walls. Mallory covered them, driving the second attacker back down the stairs with controlled bursts.
It was brutal. Fast.
When it ended, one attacker lay unconscious. The other fled.
Nate stood, panting, bruised.
"They knew," he said. "They're tracking the fragments."
Mallory wiped her brow. "Then we need to move faster."
Nate turned to the pod.
He placed his hand on the surface.
The pod opened.
Light swallowed the chamber.
Then darkness.
And visions.
He saw the city on fire.
Dante in a throne of wires.
Mallory bleeding on cathedral steps.
And himself—cold, armored, godlike—standing alone atop a tower, watching it all burn.
Then, silence.
He woke on the floor. Mallory shaking him.
"Nate!"
He gasped. Eyes wild.
"What... what was that?"
She checked his pulse. "Feedback loop. The fragment synced with you. You're linked now. Like a key."
He sat up, blinking. "It showed me the future. Or a future. One I have to stop."
She nodded. "Then we better start now."
Outside, the bells of St. Augustine tolled midnight.
The war had begun.