(Apollo)
Slowly—very slowly—Apollo’s awareness crawled back into place.
He felt the weight of his horns. The drag of his wings. The rough scorch of stone under his knees. The lingering taste of ash and blood and fear on his tongue. Every breath scraped like he’d inhaled ground glass, every exhale came out laced with smoke and a frustration that tasted too much like fear.
He tried again. “Shift.” His body refused.
Pain crackled through his bones as he forced his magic inward, trying to peel skin from scale, shape from monstrosity. He clawed his way toward his humanoid form with sheer, stubborn will.
Not for dignity. Not for vanity. For control.
He would not be trapped in the war-form. Not again.
A snarl ripped from his chest as something inside his spine cracked, sliding back into pl
