(Apollo)
The throne room breathed with him—not lungs, but a cathedral that knew how to inhale.
Hellfire pulsed in the veins of the black stone—a slow, molten heartbeat answering his. Columns rose like ribs, etched with runes that faintly glowed in the gloom, around the vast chamber. The throne itself—carved from obsidian and bone—sat on its dais, a jagged crown wrapped in shadows more creature than absence. High above, unseen arches disappeared into darkness, resembling the vaulted ceiling of a fallen basilica. When he exhaled, the shadows leaned in. On his inhale, they pulled back. The entire room seemed tethered to his lungs. Apollo lounged there. One elbow rested on the armrest, long fingers crooked against his mouth, as if in bored contemplation. Any demon glancing up would see th
