The world seemed to stutter.
Apollo froze. His fist was already drawn back, coiled like a serpent ready to strike, suspended at the apex of its arc.
The divine energy crackling around his knuckles screamed in the sudden silence, a high-pitched whine that vibrated through the very atoms of the domain.
His chest heaved, each breath a ragged tear in the air, and the iron tight grip he held on Rex's ruined coat slackened by a fraction, not out of mercy, but out of sheer, stunned disbelief.
The red gold corona surrounding him pulsed once, violently, like a dying star, before holding steady in a low, ominous glow. Apollo's eyes, burning with a light that was no longer human, narrowed.
Suspicion flickered across his features, but it didn't last; it quickly soured into something far more primal and ugly. It was the look of a predator that had realized its prey wasn't just refusing to run; it was enjoying the hunt.
"What does that mean?" Apollo asked.
