Apollo made a strangled noise, a sound that shouldn't have come from human vocal cords. It was something caught between a wet sob and a feral, animalistic growl.
His fist slammed down against the violet floor of the domain with such desperate force that the consecrated surface spider webbed beneath his knuckles, sending cracks racing outward like lightning through glass.
Blood seeped from between his fingers where the impact had split his skin.
"But the others," Rex continued, his voice carrying that infuriatingly thin, razor-edged grin.
He was enjoying this slow, methodical dissection of a hero's psyche. "Talyra. Aisella. Mireya. Nerith..."
"Those four aren't dead as you can see..."
"Death would have been a waste of resources, Apollo... They were always far more useful alive."
"What do you mean..." Apollo whispered.
