Chapter 11: Shadows of the Plague

The thick and damp air embraced the team as they materialized in the year 1347. Muffled ringing of church bells sounded down the cobblestone streets of a medieval European town where fear and dread hung like a mist. People shuffled along in rags, faces covered with exhaustion and dread.

Eli readjusted his cloak, which Samara had fitted to the epoch. "Keep your wits about you. The Syndicate's agents will be hiding in plain sight."

Samara swept her temporal tracker over the surroundings. "The ripple is strongest at the edge of town. They've more than likely slipped into the local apothecary or the healer's guild to affect the plague's progress.

Graves pulled his hood low. "If they're messing with this timeline, we need to find out how and shut it down fast. These people have enough problems without Syndicate interference."

Anna's absence was like a ghost among them, but her voice echoed in Eli's mind: "Don't let my sacrifice weigh you down. Use it to fuel the fight."

A Town on the Brink

The town was in chaos. Black flags marked homes where the plague had claimed lives, and carts laden with the dead rumbled down narrow streets. The team moved cautiously, avoiding undue attention as they made their way toward the outskirts.

Samara's tracker began to chirp softly. "We're close. The interference is strongest just ahead."

They approached a small, secluded cottage overgrown with herbs and vines. A small, crookedly hanging wooden sign above the door showed a serpent coiled around a staff-a symbol of healing.

Eli gestured for silence as they approached. "This is it."

Unmasking the Operatives

Inside the cottage, a man in elaborate robes was preparing a series of vials filled with a strange, glowing liquid. His movements were precise, almost mechanical, while he whispered incantations in an unfamiliar tongue.

"Alchemy," Samara whispered, her eyes narrowing. "But that's not just any potion. That glow—it's infused with temporal energy."

Graves cocked his weapon, concealed beneath his cloak. "He's one of them. What's the plan?"

Eli gave a 'hold' signal. "We need to know what he's doing first."

Suddenly, the man stopped dead, head snapping toward them. His voice was cold and unnatural as he pronounced, "You shouldn't be here.

The operatives moved quickly. The alchemist flung one of the glowing vials against the wall, where it shattered, releasing its noxious cloud. As villagers nearby began screaming and collapsing, one thing became clear-the Syndicate had engineered a more potent, weaponized strain of the plague.

The Battle for History

Eli lunged forward, tackling the alchemist before he could toss another vial. The two fought and struggled, knocking over shelves of herbs and equipment. Graves covered him, firing on a second operative who emerged from a hidden doorway.

Samara frantically worked to neutralize the glowing liquid that had spilled across the floor. "This isn't just the plague-it's laced with temporal destabilizers! If this spreads, it could shatter the timeline completely."

"Then stop it!" Eli shouted, pinning the alchemist against the wall.

The alchemist smirked, blood trickling from his lips. "You're too late. The plague will spread faster than you can contain it. And when it does, the Syndicate will rise from the ashes of your precious history."

Eli's fist connected with his jaw, silencing him. "Not if we stop you first."

The Cure

Samara labored feverishly, mixing herbs and applying the portable stabilizer to neutralize the remaining vials. "We need to prepare an antidote and introduce it to the water supply. It's the only way to counteract this strain."

Graves stood guard at the door, peering out at the darkening streets. "Company's coming."

A mob of villagers armed with torches and crude weapons stumbled towards the cottage, their minds enslaved by the Syndicate's operatives.

"They think we're the enemy," Graves said grimly. "We can't fight them without causing more damage to the timeline."

Eli grabbed a handful of the antidote vials. "We don't need to fight. Just buy us time to cure the water supply."

A Race Against Time

Samara and Graves created a diversion to draw the angry mob away from the cottage as Eli ran to the central well of the town, dodging his way through narrow alleys, trying to avoid clusters of plague victims.

As he reached the well, two more Syndicate operatives appeared, drawing weapons. Eli showed no hesitation, taking them down with swift brutal efficiency.

With the area clear, he dropped the antidote into the well, watching as the glowing liquid mixed with the water.

"Please let this work," he muttered.

A Fragile Victory

The antidote would soon take its toll. The villagers coughed and collapsed, starting to stabilize; it was easier to breathe as the symptoms of the plague faded.

Samara and Graves rejoined Eli at the well. "The mob's dispersed," Graves relayed. "Looks like they're starting to recover."

Samara looked at the temporal field. "The ripple's gone. The timeline is stable. for the moment."

Eli wiped his brow, finally betraying his fatigue. "One crisis down. Two more to go."

Foreshadowing the Next Threat

As the team prepared to jump to their next destination, Samara saw something ominous on her tracker.

"The ripple's gone here, but another's appeared—stronger than before," she said.

Eli's jaw tightened. "Where?"

Samara's face paled. "It's not in the past or the future. It's in our present."

Eli exchanged a grim look with Graves. "Then that's where we're heading next."

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