Rex's eyebrow rose fractionally. For the first time since this performance began, the mask of detached amusement slipped, revealing something sharper: genuine curiosity.
That was new. Life affinity was a constant; it was predictable, nourishing, and harmonious.
It obeyed the laws of growth and preservation. Whatever Apollo was manifesting now defied every fundamental law of the magic Rex understood.
It wasn't the goddess's gift, nor was it the structured power of his own designation. When Rex activated his Divine Perception, scanning the anomaly with genuine, focused attention, the system stuttered.
The reading didn't return a clean category; it returned a corrupted error. This was not magic granted by a higher power; this was something manufactured from the raw, bleeding marrow of a human soul.
It was a power born directly from the deepest, most necrotic point of the suffering Rex had spent the last twenty minutes meticulously constructing.
