(Apollo)
“Make it bleed, Majesty.”
The title rolled through the cavern like a prayer answered by Devilfire.
He could. He did. He dragged out the process, spreading the agony thin and wide, savouring every strained gasp and choked cry. He stretched seconds into eternities, pulled nerve and memory apart until even time seemed unsure how to move forward. The soul’s ember flickered in his grasp—a tiny, sickly light—but it did not stir anything in him beyond the faintest curl of satisfaction. It was like drinking lukewarm wine—enough to warm his throat, nowhere near enough to touch his core.
This used to be the best high he could get. There had been a time when this alone had steadied him. When the breaking of souls had filled every hollow place inside his chest with righteous heat.
He st
