As Achilles evolved in the Styx's source, Adam bolted out of the mountain like a dark meteor.
Beneath him, a fiery orange glowed from the cracked obsidian that replaced the somber soil. Gone were the dark myrtle groves and twisted cypress. Even if they were somewhat unsettling, they at least brought a wind of life to the fields of mourning. But here?
Nothing survived amidst the roiling river of fire sneaking toward the horizon or the toxic fumes that swirled out of it. Yet, the sulfuric stench was nothing to him—to anyone facing the appalling sight unfurling as far as the eye could see.
Garduck, perched between his fingers, sweated and cursed under his breath. "Damn it! Did we return to Muspelheim, or what's wrong with this river?"
Adam answered with a chuckle. "I only know it's the Phlegeton." He pointed through the fumes obscuring the horizon in a gray haze.
