Chapter 12 – A Home of Rot and Rust
Axel's footsteps echoed in the hollow, damp silence of the condemned bathhouse. The air was thick with the stench of mold and mildew, a pervasive sourness that seemed to seep into the very walls, the tiles, the forgotten history of the place. The Bathhouse, long abandoned, stood like a monument to decay, its once-gleaming stone now cracked and crumbling beneath the weight of years of neglect. No one had dared come near it in ages—except for the rats, which scuttled in the darkened corners of the immense structure, and the occasional unfortunate soul who sought refuge for a night before disappearing without a trace.
The locals had warned him. They had called him mad, a fool. No one in their right mind would ever buy this place, not even for a fraction of what the owners were asking. But Axel wasn't in the business of listening to the fearful or the cautious. They had been wrong about him before, and they would be wrong again.
He hadn't even needed to haggle. The owners—if they could still be called that—had been desperate, desperate enough to let it go for a pittance. A few dozen silver coins, barely more than what Axel had earned from a handful of lesser contracts, had sealed the deal. The building itself had little value to anyone else, but to Axel, it was a treasure trove of potential.
"Madness," they had called it.
He didn't care.
The Bathhouse—so long abandoned, so deeply entwined with the rumors of disappearances, strange rituals, and cryptic gatherings—was now his.
As Axel walked through the entrance, he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of ownership, a deeper connection to the decaying structure than he'd expected. He had crossed into this forsaken place with the knowledge that this would become his home, his fortress, his sanctuary. The fire of his ambition, of his plans for vengeance, would burn here. This place would become his base of operations, his foundation in the city's underworld, and nothing—no amount of rot or ruin—could take that away.
The Bathhouse had been a palace once, he knew, built during the city's golden age. It had served as a place of luxury for the wealthy elite, a place for relaxation, indulgence, and whispered business deals. Now, however, its beauty had been ravaged by time, nature, and the darker elements of the city that had crawled into its very bones.
The ceiling, once adorned with intricate mosaics, had long since collapsed in several places, leaving jagged pieces of stone and shattered tile scattered on the floor. The pools, which had once glimmered with clear water, now lay empty and cracked, their edges lined with layers of grime. The stone walls bore the scars of fire damage—blackened streaks where the flames had come too close, leaving their mark on the otherwise pale marble. The air here was musty, thick with the smell of mold and old ash.
It was a place of rot, a place of rust.
And yet, it was perfect.
Axel moved through the building methodically, his eyes scanning every inch, mentally cataloging the damage. His plans were already forming, ideas beginning to take shape in his mind as he walked through the halls. The slum-dwellers had no idea what they were talking about. This building—this broken, decaying shell—could be remade. All it needed was vision. All it needed was the right fire.
He was interrupted by a soft voice. "You actually bought this place, didn't you?"
Axel turned to see Elyria, standing in the threshold of the main entrance, her sharp green eyes studying him with a mix of skepticism and amusement. Elyria had been with him since the beginning, one of the few people who had followed him willingly into the depths of the city's chaos. She was sharp, practical, and saw through the layers of nonsense that so often obscured the truth. She was also, perhaps, the only person Axel trusted in this city of shadows.
"I did," Axel replied, his lips curling into a half-smile. "I thought it was a good investment."
Elyria crossed her arms, her gaze sweeping over the ruined structure with disdain. "Good investment? This place is a death trap. You'll be buried under a pile of rubble before you can even start."
"It's a fixer-upper," Axel said, a glimmer of determination in his voice. "It's just going to take a little work."
Elyria raised an eyebrow. "A little work?" Her eyes narrowed as she moved past him, stepping gingerly over a pile of broken tiles. "This isn't just a fixer-upper, Axel. This place is falling apart. You'll need more than a little elbow grease. You'll need a miracle."
"Not a miracle," Axel said, his voice firm. "Just a vision."
Elyria looked at him for a moment longer, her expression unreadable, before nodding. "Fine. I'm not one to argue with your decisions. But don't say I didn't warn you when the roof collapses."
She stepped deeper into the bathhouse, the sound of her boots crunching over the debris the only noise in the otherwise oppressive silence. Axel followed her, his hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the place with an intensity that could not be ignored.
"This building was once a masterpiece," Elyria said, running her fingers along the cracked, soot-covered walls. "You can still see traces of it, if you look hard enough."
Axel's eyes lingered on the faded mosaics along the walls—scenes of lush gardens, flowing rivers, and scenes of opulence. Despite the damage, he could still see the grandeur that had once defined this place. It had once been a sanctuary for the rich and powerful, a symbol of the city's golden age. But that age had long since passed. The Bathhouse, much like the city itself, had fallen from grace.
"That's why it's perfect," Axel muttered, almost to himself.
Elyria shot him a questioning glance but said nothing as she continued to explore the space. Her boots echoed as she walked, her eyes scanning every corner, noting the damage, the potential. It was clear she wasn't sold on the idea yet.
"Come with me," Axel said after a moment. "I'll show you the pools."
Elyria gave him a sideways glance but followed anyway, stepping carefully over the uneven floor. The large pool rooms stretched out before them, their once-pristine tiles now chipped and stained. Some of the pools had been drained long ago, leaving only cracked stone behind. In the center of one of the pools, something caught Elyria's eye—a shape, half-hidden beneath a pile of debris.
"What is that?" she asked, voice low, as she stepped forward.
Axel didn't answer right away. He was already walking toward the pool, stepping lightly over the rubble. As he neared, the shape became clearer—a body, half-submerged in the grime and muck of the pool. Elyria's expression shifted from curiosity to disgust, but Axel didn't flinch.
"Doesn't surprise me," he said, kneeling beside the pool. "The city's got a way of dealing with people it wants to forget. Could be old, could be recent. Doesn't matter."
Elyria stood behind him, her arms still crossed. "You're not seriously thinking of cleaning this place up, are you?" she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. "It's a damn crime scene, Axel. And the smell—" She wrinkled her nose.
"Of course I am," Axel said, standing up and wiping his hands off. "This will be our base, Elyria. Our fire will burn from here. Not just a place to hide, but a place to build from."
Elyria looked at him for a long moment, then let out a sigh. "You're insane. You know that?"
Axel shrugged, a wry smile on his lips. "I've been called worse."
Elyria remained silent for a few beats, her eyes still scanning the room. Then she nodded, a reluctant understanding settling over her. "Fine. I'll help. But this place is going to take everything you've got. I hope you know that."
"I know," Axel replied, his voice steady. "But when it's done… this will be the heart of everything."
The next few days were a blur of activity. Axel had brought in a few trusted individuals—outcasts, rebels, mercenaries—and they set to work. The rot and ruin of the Bathhouse couldn't be ignored, but the bones of the building were strong enough to hold. The fire damage was extensive, but the stone could be salvaged. There was work to be done, and the workers Axel had gathered were willing to put in the hours.
Elyria had stayed on, though she spent much of her time organizing the rebuilding effort, directing the flow of resources, and making sure the place wouldn't fall apart before Axel's plans could take shape. She had grown skeptical, as expected, but Axel had noticed a certain quiet respect growing in her eyes. The Bathhouse might have been a crumbling ruin, but Axel was beginning to turn it into something else—something new.
The pools were drained completely, their broken stones replaced with fresh slabs of marble. The fire damage was stripped away, leaving behind the original foundations, which Axel planned to reinforce with steel. The roof would need to be rebuilt entirely, but that would come later. First, the walls would be restored. The foundation would be secured.
Bit by bit, piece by piece, Axel began to make the Bathhouse into his own