After passing through the canyon, a wave of cool, damp air greeted them.
Not far ahead, a massive waterfall thundered down the sheer cliff face, its cascade crashing into a pool below and sending plumes of mist into the air.
Martin lifted his mask, gazing at the strange rock formations ahead. The cliff resembled two twisted paddle wheels set side by side, both black as ink. Their upper halves curved inward, forming a narrow crevice through which the waterfall surged.
"How do we proceed?" Satan asked.
"There—around that way." Martin pointed to a path on the left.
Only then did the others notice a small, hidden valley tucked beside the waterfall's pool. Cloaked in shadow and the same dark stone as the surrounding cliffs, it blended in perfectly with the terrain.
"Keep moving!"
Satan waved the order forward.
The team advanced once more, with two new scouts leading the way.
The hidden valley was short—less than fifty meters long.
When they emerged on the other side, everyone stopped in stunned silence.
Before them stood a small earthen city, yellowish-brown and weathered, built atop a plateau. All around the ground lay crisscrossed with deep, uneven fissures.
It was clear now why this city had vanished without a trace.
Nama had guessed correctly—this place had suffered a powerful earthquake. The resulting ruptures had isolated the city completely.
Even if anyone had survived, they would've been trapped, unable to escape through the maze of jagged crevices spread across the plain.
In Martin's memory, it had taken the Nightfall Lion King nearly five days of painstaking climbing and leaping to make its way into this city and back again.
Fortunately, Martin's group didn't need to go to such trouble.
Satan surveyed the landscape, then signaled with a wave.
Two large, dark green metal cases were carried to the edge of the first crevice—about two meters wide. With a sharp clanking, the soldiers activated the cases, and from each sprang four heavy steel spikes, which were driven firmly into the ground.
Once secured, the soldiers pulled levers at the rear of each case.
Eight steel cables shot forward, spanning nearly sixty meters, embedding themselves into the far city wall. Each tip deployed barbed anchors, securing the cables tightly into place.
Next came two more crates—this time filled with modular metal plates.
Each plate had grooved wheels along its edges, designed to slide perfectly along the tensioned cables.
Originally, these devices were designed for Antarctic researchers to cross crevasses. With a few modifications, they were perfectly suited for the terrain here.
One by one, the soldiers locked the plates onto the lower pair of cables. Once a plate was set, it was pushed forward and followed by another, gradually forming a continuous path.
Within minutes, two suspended bridges had been completed.
"We'll send two men across first to reinforce the far side before we move out," Satan instructed.
"Agreed," Martin nodded.
Half an hour later, the whole team stood at the edge of the city.
The walls weren't tall—only about five meters high—and made from a yellowish sandstone, some kind of regional material.
Satan picked up a rock and struck the wall with full force. The stone barely left a shallow dent.
"Quartz sandstone, most likely. Extremely durable," he muttered.
Martin, however, was examining the twin round towers flanking the entrance. These towers were built from a lighter brown stone, their outer walls ringed with sharp, black rock spines—resembling the jagged cliffs by the waterfall.
As they ventured into the city, the team passed many crumbling ruins—elegant structures worn down by centuries of earthquakes and wind-blown sand.
Despite their weathered state, traces of the city's former splendor remained.
Some buildings were made from sandstone, others from reddish clay bricks. The exterior walls bore faded relief carvings with a distinct Sudanese style.
At the city's center had once stood a bustling marketplace. Rows of buildings lined either side, with façades resembling storefronts.
On the west side of the market square stood a mosque. Its dome had collapsed, but the massive square prayer hall remained intact.
The mosque was flanked by two winding streets—one led back toward the market, while the other curved off toward the residential district.
Martin's eyes locked on the mosque.
He led his team toward its main entrance.
"Split into two groups," he instructed. "One team will search the rest of the ruins. The other follows me into the mosque."
Meanwhile, Diddy had dropped to his knees, muttering prayers under his breath.
Though not particularly devout, like many West Africans, he was at least nominally Muslim.
Islam had taken deep root across North and West Africa over centuries. Though Christianity had reached the continent earlier, internal strife and fragmentation had weakened its influence, giving Islam a clear path to spread.
From the 7th century onward, the Arab Empire was in its prime. North Africa became predominantly Arab and Islamic—at one point, even Spain fell under Moorish rule for 700 years.
Islam swept across the continent via trade routes like the Sahara caravan trails, blending with local cultures and settling deeply in West Africa.
Later, in East Africa, it arrived through Arab and Persian seafarers around the 8th century.
From the 7th to the 15th century, while Christian Europe was embroiled in religious wars and internal divisions, it had little capacity to spread its faith further into Africa.
By then, Islam had already become unshakable.
Even during the colonial period, European missionaries struggled to make inroads. Their efforts were often tied to conquest and racial prejudice, making local populations wary.
As one South African bishop once said:"When the missionaries first came, they had the Bible and we had the land. They told us to close our eyes and pray. When we opened them, they had the land—and we had the Bible."
So Diddy, like many, was a Muslim—but not a strict one. He also believed in the old tribal faiths. His attitude toward Islam was more cultural than doctrinal.
Which was why, upon seeing the mosque, he bowed his head in respect.
Not out of devout belief—but because it was simply what one did.