Apollo's pupils dilated until his irises were mere rings of gold around a void of black terror. He looked as though he had been struck physically, though Rex hadn't moved an inch.
Rex watched with predatory satisfaction as the specific piece of the puzzle dropped into place. It was a masterpiece of psychological demolition.
He had waited for this exact moment, the moment where the past stops being a refuge and starts becoming a prison. Every conversation Apollo had cherished, every moment of vulnerability they had shared, was being retroactively weaponized, twisted into an instrument of torment.
"Talyra," Apollo whispered.
The name was a broken thing, barely audible over the low hum of the domain's power. "Aisella... Nerith... Mireya... They—"
"All mine." Rex cut him off, the words landing with the wet thud of a guillotine blade. "For a while now."
