To Imagine Coldplay- Gasp!

To 8Ball3- Oooh, pressure :O I'll do my best! You need to write this, that headcanon is gold! XD WE LOVE A STUBBORN CAT ARCHETYPE!


They waited for the sounds of renewed combat. Though he was permanently grinning, Tarquin did seem to frown at the boarded up windows. "Right about now!" He repeated, snapping his finger bones again. "Now! Now! Nnnnooooowww!" He snapped again and again and again. "Now, now, now, now, NOW! WHAT IS GOING ON?"

"Maybe try your other hand." Hazel suggested. He raised his other hand and tried to snap, forgetting about his absent thumb. Hazel snorted, a small smirk curling her lips. "Communication issues?" Tarquin hissed at her.

"What have you done?"

"Me? Nothing yet." Hazel drew her spatha. "That's about to change."

Aristophanes struck first. It seemed very true to his nature to make the fight all about him. With an outraged mewl and no apparent provocation, he launched himself at Tarquin's face, fastening his claws to the skull's eye sockets, deepening the cracks, and kicking his feet against Tarquin's rotten teeth, knocking in a couple more. They fell down his throat, rattling and bouncing off his ribcage and landing with small thumps on the carpet.

The king staggered under the surprise assault, screaming in Latin, his words garbled due to the cat feet in his mouth.

The Battle of the Bookshop had begun.

Hazel lunged at Tarquin. Meg figured Hazel had dibs on the big baddie after what had happened to Frank, so she turned on the zombies. Her double blades stabbed and hacked, pushing the undead towards the non-fiction section. Apollo drew an arrow, spying a ghoul on the balcony, but his hands trembled too badly to shoot. He couldn't get to his feet. His eyesight was dim and brimmed with hues of red. On top of all that, he realised he had drawn the only remaining arrow in his original quiver.

HOLDEST THOU ON, APOLLO! The Arrow of Dodona yelled in his mind. YIELDETH THYSELF NOT TO THE UNDEAD KING!

"Are you giving me a pep talk?" The very thought of it made him giggle. "Whew, I'm tired." He collapsed on his butt. Meg jumped over him, slashing a zombie who had been close enough to eat his face. "Thank you." He mumbled, but she had already moved on. Ghouls were closing in on her.

Hazel stabbed at Tarquin. The king flung Aristophanes off his cracking face with a howl. The cat yowled as he flew across the room, managing to catch the edge of a bookshelf and scramble to the top. He glared down at Apollo- I meant to do that.

Purple gas filled the breaks in Tarquin's skull, almost lilac, splashing in gobbets over his armour, the floor, his skeletal hands. He roared, outraged, and aimed a swipe at Hazel.

THOU HAST DONE WELL, APOLLO! The arrow continued in his head. THOU HAST ONLY ONE JOB NOW: LIVE!

"That's a really hard job." Apollo grumbled, swaying. "I hate my job."

THOU HAST ONLY TO WAIT! HOLD ON!

"Wait for what? Hold on to what? I'm… I guess I'm holding onto you."

YES! YES, DOEST THOU THAT! STAYEST THOU WITH ME, APOLLO! DAREST THOU NOT DIE UPON ME, MAN! Apollo blinked at the arrow.

"You… you actually care if I die?"

"Apollo!" Meg yelled, cutting down a ghoul. "If you're not going to help, you could at least crawl somewhere safer?" He wanted to oblige, really and truly. But he couldn't move his legs.

"Oh, look," he said to no-one in particular, "my ankles are turning grey. Oh, so are my hands."

NO! The arrow cried. HOLD ON!

"For what?"

CONCENTRATE UPON MY VOICE! LET US SING A SONG! THOU LIKEST SONGS, DOST THOU NOT?

"Sweet Caroline!" Apollo warbled. The arrow tried to protest. "BAHM! BAHM! BAHM!" He giggled weakly. The arrow relented and began to sing with him, lagging behind somewhat as he had to translate everything into Shakespearean language. Apollo realised this was how he would die- sitting on the floor of a bookshop, slowly turning into a zombie while holding a talking arrow that only he could hear and singing Neil Diamond's greatest hit. Even the Fates could not have foreseen all the wonders the universe had in store for them.

At last, his voice dried up. His vision tunnelled. The sounds of combat seemed to reach his ears from the ends of long metal tubes.

Meg slashed through the last of Tarquin's minions. Hazel stabbed Tarquin in the chest. The king howled with pain, ripping the sword hilt from her grip. He collapsed against the information desk, clutching the blade with skeletal hands. Apollo distantly saw he was missing a couple more fingers. His face was spider-webbed with cracks, light and deep, glowing and leaking lilac vapour.

"I have lived for millennia." He snarled. "You could not kill me with a thousand tons of stone, Hazel Levesque. Your wretched cousins only set me back-"

"They broke your face."

"-and you seek to kill me with a sword? You are pathetic!" Hazel looked ready to fly at him, wrench his skull off with her bare hands and stomp him into pieces. Her rage was so palpable, Apollo could smell it like an approaching storm.

Wait… that was an approaching storm! Louisa? No, he could smell more than just a storm- pine needles, morning dew on wildflowers, the breath of hunting dogs.

A large silver wolf licked his face. Lupa? No, wrong colour. A hallucination? Again, no. A whole pack of them had trotted into the store and were now sniffing the bookshelves and piles of zombie dust.

Behind them, in the doorway, stood a girl who looked about twelve. Her eyes were silver-yellow, auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was dressed for the hunt in a shimmering grey frock and leggings, a white bow in her hand. Her face was beautiful, serene and as cold as the winter moon.

She nocked a silver arrow and met Hazel's eyes, asking permission to finish her kill. Hazel nodded, stepping aside. The young girl aimed at Tarquin.

"Foul undead thing." She scolded, voice hard and bright with power. "When a good woman puts you down, you had best stay down." Her arrow lodged in the centre of Tarquin's forehead, into the expanding cracks. The king stiffened, tendrils of lilac gas sputtering and dissipating. From the arrow's point of entry, a ripple of fire the colour of Christmas tinsel spread across his skull and down his body, leaving behind his gold crown, the silver arrow and Hazel's sword, all dropping to the floor.

Apollo grinned at the newcomer.

"That's my sister." He said proudly. Then he keeled over sideways. The world turned fluffy, bleached of all colour. Nothing hurt anymore.

He was dimly aware of Diana's face hovering over him, Meg and Hazel peering over the goddess's shoulder.

"He's almost gone." Diana said. Correction- he was gone. His mind slipped into a pool of cold slimy darkness. And he welcomed it.


He dead