The air didn't just move; it shattered.
Apollo didn't run; he detonated. One moment he was a figure of radiant stillness twenty meters away, and the next, he was a streak of white gold lightning tearing through the space between them.
He crossed the distance faster than any mortal eye could track, his movement bypassing the concept of velocity entirely.
Xerollion, the man beneath the mask, the predator who had dominated this duel with terrifying precision, felt something he hadn't experienced since his first day of combat: the sickening lurch of being surprised.
For approximately one and a half seconds, his mind had been divided, pulled between the immediate threat of Apollo and the incomprehensible reality of the Goddess's presence.
That hesitation was a death sentence. For the first time all day, his reaction was half a beat behind his instinct.
His defensive posture formed, but it was a ghost of a shield, already crumbling before it could solidify.
The punch got through.
