(Apollo)
Time bled.
Apollo didn’t know how long he stayed there—hulking over the shattered throne room floor, massive body hunched, wings heavy as stone, claws buried in molten rock. Long enough for the lava in the cracks to cool. Long enough for the ash to settle. Long enough for the screams to fade into echoes. Long enough that even Hell’s heartbeat seemed to thin, each pulse of the realm a distant, reluctant thud against his ribs.
Hell itself had gone quiet around him.
Even the torture chambers below—normally a constant chorus of sobs and howls—had dimmed to a distant murmur, like sound carried through thick water. Demons had fled the palace halls, giving the Devil’s rage as wide a berth as existence would allow. Corridors that usually crawled with lesser beasts now lay bare, torche
