(Apollo)
The door shuddered behind him.
So did he.
Apollo stood in the corridor, chest heaving, fists clenched so tightly his claws had already broken skin. Blood slid down his palms in slow, hot lines, dripping off his fingertips onto the obsidian floor. Each drop hissed faintly as it hit the stone, swallowed instantly by the heat of Hell and leaving faint, smoking specks that vanished as if they’d never existed.
He stared straight ahead at nothing.
The torches along the hall flickered madly, reacting to the surge of power he’d barely contained. The very walls seemed to hum, veins of red light pulsing in time with his racing heart. Shadows crawled up the stone like wary creatures, then flattened themselves as far from him as they could, recognising a storm when they felt one.
He’d a
