Michael didn't turn back, he knew Gabriel would understand eventually. He had to move quickly, time was not on his side. The trek to Chicago was not an easy one, but he had done it before, when he followed the guards to Tevatron. He hoped Mr. Jenkins was still alive, that he could make it in time to help.

Something nagged him about the situation back in Warrenville. The bandits were dealt with, at least temporarily. He had made certain that the town's people would be able to defend themselves by revealing the secret of Tevatron to them. So what did he overlook? Shaking his head, Michael returned his attention back to the pathway before him. It wasn't good to dwell on things that couldn't be changed.

As he walked, Michael couldn't help but think about the events that had led him to this point. His life had taken a turn for the worse, but at the same time, he had discovered a world he never knew existed. A world where anything was possible, where the laws of physics and reality itself could be bent and twisted.

But with this newfound power came responsibility. He couldn't let it fall into the wrong hands, he had to protect it at all costs. And that meant finding others like him, others who could help him fight against those who would seek to exploit it.

As he walked, Michael felt a sense of purpose he had never felt before. He knew what he had to do, and he would do it, no matter the cost.

Michael trudged through the dense forest, the trees towering over him like ancient guardians of nature. The sound of the leaves rustling in the gentle breeze provided a soothing background noise as he made his way eastward. He could see the faint outline of the suburbs of Chicago in the distance, the sprawling city calling out to him.

As he walked, the forest gradually gave way to small towns and villages, their quaint architecture and coziness a stark contrast to the bustling streets of the city. Occasionally groups of people would cross his path, a reminder that the world would go on, no matter the setback.

Michael's mind wandered as he walked, reflecting on the events of the past few days. He still couldn't believe the power he had discovered, the ability to manipulate reality itself. But with great power came great responsibility, and he knew he had to use it wisely.

As he approached the outskirts of Chicago, the suburbs gradually gave way to medieval sprawl of the city. Modern cities were not meant to function without a significant degree of verticality, yet Chicago still stood, defying Michael's worst expectations. He felt a sense of relief wash over him as he stepped onto the familiar pavement, his heart beating with renewed energy and determination.

He made his way through the crowded streets, navigating the maze of alleys and side streets with ease, his mind focused on his goal. He had to find his neighbor, to repay the debt he owed and to seek his help in reaching the next obelisk.

As he turned the corner onto his street, Michael felt a sense of apprehension wash over him. The buildings were still standing, but the air was thick with the scent of smoke and faint sounds of distant violence. He quickened his pace, his heart pounding with fear and anticipation.

Finally, he arrived at his neighbor's house, the door slightly ajar. He pushed it open, his senses on high alert, and stepped inside. The scene inside was chaotic, as if a tornado had ripped through the house.

Furniture was overturned, glass shattered on the floor, and possessions strewn about. Michael's heart sank as he realized what had happened. His neighbor's house had been looted and vandalized.

He took a deep breath, trying to quell the rising anger within him. He couldn't let his emotions cloud his judgment. He had to find his neighbor and make sure he was safe.

He made his way through the house, calling out his neighbor's name. There was no answer, and after searching through the entire building he found no proof of the old man ever returning. That was something at least.

Michael stepped outside, scanning the street for any sign of his neighbor. He saw nothing but turned over carts and abandoned buildings, the once-thriving neighborhood now a ghost town.

As Michael made his way towards his own house, he couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that had settled over him. He dreaded what he might find when he finally reached his home.

As he approached his front door, he saw that it had been kicked in, the wood splintered and the ancient lock broken. He pushed the door open slowly, ready for anything. The sight that greeted him was worse than he had feared.

His house had been ransacked. The living room was a mess, with furniture overturned and drawers pulled out. The kitchen was in no better state, with pots and pans scattered all over the floor and all of the cupboards standing open, their contents gone.

Michael's heart sank as he realized that his worst fears had come true. He had lost everything, including his most precious possessions.

He made his way through the house, checking each room for any signs of life or safety. As he passed the back porch, a memory flashed through his mind. He had a hiding spot beneath the porch, where he kept what he once hoped would be of use in his new life.

With a renewed sense of hope, he made his way to the back porch and lifted the wooden panel that concealed his hiding spot. But as he looked inside, he saw that everything was gone.

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His heart sank even further as he realized that the looters had found his hiding spot and taken everything he had left. He sank down to the ground, feeling defeated. He had known this was likely to happen, but knowing didn't make dealing with the situation any different.

Michael sighed, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. He knew he couldn't stay here, he had to keep moving. He had to find Mr. Jenkins and make it to the next obelisk.

With renewed determination, Michael set off, his mind focused on the task ahead. He navigated through the city streets, his senses sharp, ready for any danger that may lurk around the corner.

As he made his way through the city, Michael couldn't help but notice the devastation that surrounded him. The buildings were crumbling, the streets were empty, and the once-vibrant city was slowly being turned to a wasteland.

He wondered how much of the world had been affected by the cataclysmic event that had caused the collapse of reality itself. Everything changed, and the Worm was behind it all. But how? He knew he had to find answers, to find out what had caused this to happen, and how he could reverse it. And seeking out these obelisks seemed like his only option.

He turned to leave when something caught his eye, a glint of light reflecting off window frames. He made his way over to investigate, his hand hovering over the short sword at his side, courtesy of Andrei.

As he reached the window, he saw a group of men gathered around a small fire, their faces obscured by the flickering flames. Michael felt a pang of sadness at the sigh, wishing he could have done something to help. But he made himself turn away, this would soon become a reality for a lot of people, and he needed to focus on finding out the root cause of all this.

He needed to get east, where the light had guided him in his dreams. But before he did so, he needed to check on one more thing. He made his ways through the streets of Chicago, making sure to stay out of people's way. Everyone walked in groups, armed as well as they could be. Protection has become the highest priority, apparently. The threat of being robbed or assaulted too high.

As he approaching what was once guard headquarters, he was met with a familiar sigh. The two story stone building was in ruin. With windows torn out of the frame and door chopped apart. Making sure no one was paying attention, Michael slipped inside the building.

It was dark, the only illumination provided by the sun streaming through the broken in windows. Despite that Michael could tell that the place was a mess. Tables were overturned and cabinets torn open, emptied of everything within them. Chairs were broken and parchment lay all over the floor.

Exploring the ground floor, nothing struck out to Michael as signs of struggle. It was likely the guards evacuated long before the crowd came for them, leaving behind only what was of no importance.

Climbing the stone stairs, Michael found himself within a large open space. Almost two dozen beds lay spread around the walls of the room, cabinets likely intended as personal storage standing beside each. Mattresses were thrown all over the floor, many even torn open. Beds were pushed aside, looters likely searching for any hiding space beneath them. All of the cabinets had received the same treatment as the ones downstairs, whatever contents they once held taken or strewn on the ground.

The guards must have repurposed the place to serve as a makeshift barracks after they were separated from whatever the once police stations have turned into. Michael strongly doubted he would find anything of value up here.

Returning downstairs he collected all of the parchment strewn on the ground, setting it down on the only table that survived the destruction that took place. He went through paper after paper, most of them records of day to day operations. Things such as patrol routes, observations of how people interacted with the guard, ledgers of their current supplies. There was a map of the whole of the city as well as a more detailed map showing only the current precinct. He rolled those up and pocketed them, reminded himself to pick up a backpack at some point.

Continuing his search, Michael made sure that none of records mentioned anything of Tevatron or of the obelisks. It was possible the looters have taken all such information with them already, but he found that unlikely. Nothing around him suggested anyone took the effort of going through the paperwork. If the records contained any information of the strange powers the guards acquired they must have been removed by them before they abandoned the place.

Relief and frustration mixed within him. He had hoped to find some information that would reveal what the empowered guards planned to do now. At the same time he was glad more dangerous elements of the city were left in dark as well. After seeing what Andrei was capable of, he had no doubts about their ability to survive, assuming they could remain hidden. Should any of the bigger gangs find them, the secret of obelisks was at a risk.

When he was done, he made sure to return the room to the state of chaos and disrepair he found it in. It wouldn't do to have someone think that he had been rifling through the documents here. Peeking out at the streets of the city lit only by the last remains of day's sun, he waited until no one was watching to step out of the building.

He made his way east through the inner city of Chicago. The further he walked the more wooden houses and hovels transformed into two story stone buildings, a better result than what his own humble home turned into. Still, it was a far cry from the tall housing apartments of modern Chicago, leaving people with considerably less housing.

Tents and lean-tos were build in the alleyways and streets, serving as makeshift places to sleep. They provided protection against elements but left their residents vulnerable in the face of other people.

Smoke rose from chimneys and campfires built in the tent cities, reminding Michael of the fast approaching winter. That would be the population's death sentence, that is if they somehow survived until then. He wondered what these people ate. The original food turned into its medieval variants had to have been eaten or perished long ago.

His question was answered when he started witnessing people holding skewers over the fire, various small animals dripping fat into the heat, anything from rats to squirrels. Some people resorted to both dogs and cats, and at one point he even saw a man skinning a raccoon. Under normal circumstance he would have been disgusted by what he saw, but if he didn't find the next obelisk soon, he might have to resort to the same.

The sun set as he trudged eastward, leaving him walking in the darkness illuminated only by the occasional campfires. He did his best to avoid wandering too close to any of the tent camps, afraid of people's reaction.

Not long after he has reached the invisible border between West Town and Central Chicago. Despite the name, Central Chicago was located on the shores of lake Michigan. More importantly, what was supposed to be an invisible border between city parts, signified only by a placard reading street names, was turned into an actual border zone.

Stretched from one side of the wide street to the next was a makeshift palisade wall made out of hacked apart carts and furniture. Armed men stood between the gaps in the wall, a reminder of the price paid for attempting to scale it.

That slightly complicated getting to the coast.