The dungeon was silent save for the occasional dripping of water from the damp stone ceiling. The air reeked of sweat, blood, and iron, a thick, suffocating scent that clung to Leo's skin like a second layer. His body throbbed with pain, the echoes of Apollo Familia's sadistic torment leaving him battered and broken, but not defeated. His arms were still strung out, chained to the cold stone wall, muscles stiff and aching from the prolonged abuse.
Yet, despite the torment, Leo's head hung low, not in submission, but in smoldering rage. His golden eyes burned like embers in the darkness, simmering with defiance. He wasn't beaten. He wouldn't break.
The door creaked open, the sound of footsteps echoing through the chamber. Slow, deliberate. Familiar.
Apollo.
The god of the sun sauntered in with his ever-present smirk, radiating arrogance. The dim torchlight illuminated his golden locks, his robes pristine and elegant—a stark contrast to the bloodied wreck that was Leo. Behind him, Hyakinthos and a few other elite members of the familia stood, their postures smug as they watched their god approach his prisoner.
Leo didn't look up at first. He could hear the god's measured breathing, feel the anticipation in the air. Apollo loved dragging things out, basking in his perceived victories.
Then, that smug voice slithered into the darkness.
"You know, I've thought long and hard about what to do with you." Apollo's tone was sickeningly sweet, as if he were discussing a work of art rather than a battered adventurer chained to his dungeon. "Killing you would be so... mundane. Spectacles should be enjoyed, after all, and you've been quite the centerpiece for our little show."
Leo clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms.
Apollo continued, circling Leo like a predator toying with its prey. "But I've come to a decision. You see, you're too strong. Even now, after everything, you're still standing, still glaring at me like you think you have a chance. I admire that. Truly." He chuckled, voice dripping with mockery.
Leo finally lifted his head, eyes burning with seething hatred. "You're right," he rasped, his throat raw from dehydration and blood loss. "I do have a chance. Because when I get out of these chains, I'm going to tear your fucking head off."
Apollo's smirk twitched.
Hyakinthos immediately stepped forward, rage in his eyes, but Apollo lifted a hand to stop him. Instead, he tilted his head, pretending to be deep in thought. "Mm… No. I don't think you will. In fact, I've decided you won't be here for the War Game at all."
The room tensed.
Leo's breathing slowed. His jaw clenched. "...What?"
Apollo grinned, his golden eyes gleaming with something malicious. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
Magic rippled through the air. The chains holding Leo rattled as a strange force coiled around him like invisible tendrils.
Then he felt it.
A pull. A sinking sensation deep in his gut, like something was ripping him from reality itself. His vision blurred, the torches flickering like dying embers. A storm of power swirled around him, unnatural and divine.
His mind screamed—Apollo was using his godly power.
The realization ignited a fire in Leo's chest, and the world around him slowed.
Deep within his subconscious, the presence that had been lingering, watching, waiting—the Nemean Lion—stirred.
You are my cub. My pride. And I will not watch you be sent away without a fight.
A rush of energy surged through Leo's body. His chains groaned as his muscles flexed, his rage intensifying into something primal, something ancient. The air around him crackled.
Then, suddenly—he was no longer alone.
A translucent, ethereal figure loomed over him. A massive lion, its fur a deep, dark gold, its eyes blood-red with fury. It was a phantom, a spirit of something long past—the Nemean Lion itself, standing over Leo like a guardian.
The chains rattled violently as Leo's own eyes shifted, glowing the same crimson as the beast beside him.
The pressure in the room changed. The air thickened with something suffocating—raw, unchecked fury.
Apollo took a step back.
The phantom lion growled, its deep rumble shaking the very walls of the dungeon. Its mouth parted, revealing razor-sharp fangs as it spoke—not just through the beast, but through Leo as well.
"You cannot run from me, Sun God."
Apollo's smirk faltered.
"You may send him away, but I swear to you now—no matter how far you send my cub, he will return. And when he does… you will know true terror."
Leo bared his teeth, his own voice now a guttural snarl that barely sounded human. "I'm going to fucking kill you."
The moment shattered.
With a final snap of Apollo's fingers—Leo vanished.
The chains fell slack, the pressure in the room lifting instantly. The ethereal lion disappeared into wisps of gold, leaving behind only stunned silence.
Hyakinthos released a slow breath, his hand unconsciously gripping the hilt of his sword. "…What the hell was that?"
Apollo didn't answer immediately. He was staring at the empty space where Leo had been, his golden eyes flickering with something that hadn't been there before.
Fear.
He turned away sharply, smoothing his expression as he composed himself. "It doesn't matter," he said, his voice steady once more. "He's gone."
Hyakinthos hesitated before nodding, though his fingers twitched against his weapon.
But elsewhere in Orario—far above the chaos—a single pair of silver eyes widened in alarm.
Freya, seated atop her tower, had seen everything.
One moment, Leo's soul had burned bright like an unrelenting flame. Then, in an instant—it was gone.
Vanished.
Her breath caught in her throat, her grip tightening around the armrest of her chair. "...Impossible."
She immediately turned her gaze towards Bell, the twin brother of the one who had just disappeared.
And what she saw—made her heart skip a beat.
His soul.
It was flashing. Pulsing. Shifting.
Bright, ethereal white one second—dark, ink-black the next.
Freya inhaled sharply.
Something inside Bell was changing.
And for the first time in centuries, the Goddess of Beauty felt a rare emotion stir in her chest.
Not excitement.
Not intrigue.
Dread.
A heavy silence filled the Hestia Familia's temporary hideout. The candlelight flickered, casting elongated shadows across the faces of those gathered. Tension hung in the air like an oppressive weight, the kind that made it hard to breathe, hard to think. The past few days had been relentless—training, strategizing, planning for a war game that no one truly believed they could win.
But tonight felt different.
At the center of it all, Bell Cranel sat stiffly, his crimson eyes shadowed beneath furrowed brows. He hadn't spoken since they had gathered, hadn't so much as looked at anyone. His hands remained clenched in his lap, nails digging into his palms, his knuckles white from the pressure.
It had been three days since Apollo had humiliated Leo before all of Orario. Three days since Bell had stood among the crowd, forced to watch his twin brother—broken, beaten, bloodied—displayed like some fallen beast to be mocked. Three days since the world saw their weakness.
And he hadn't gotten over it.
"Alright," Hestia spoke, her voice steady despite the worry in her eyes. She cast a glance at Bell, hesitating before continuing. "We know what we're up against. The Apollo Familia has numbers, experience, and a damn fortress of a home base. This isn't going to be a fair fight, but we have to win."
Mikoto nodded sharply. "If we don't, then not only do we lose our freedom, but Leo…" She trailed off, her expression tightening.
Leo.
The name alone made Bell's jaw clench.
"Then let's make sure we win," Welf said, crossing his arms. "Numbers don't mean shit if they can't use 'em properly. If we hit fast, hard, and in the right places, we can cut through their forces before they can react."
Lili adjusted her gloves, her expression colder than usual. "And let's not forget, Apollo's not expecting us to be much of a threat. He thinks this is already won." Her voice dropped, her eyes hardening. "I want to make him regret that."
A small murmur of agreement passed through the group, but Bell said nothing.
Hestia's gaze flickered toward him, worry etched into her features. "Bell… you've been awfully quiet."
For the first time in what felt like forever, Bell finally moved. Slowly, deliberately, he exhaled through his nose, loosening his grip before placing his hands flat against the table. When he lifted his head, his crimson eyes glowed with something unfamiliar.
Something cold.
"The Apollo Familia has more numbers, more experience, and more resources than us." His voice was steady, low, lacking its usual warmth. "But that doesn't matter. Because I am going to kill every last one of them before they lay a hand on Leo again."
The room fell dead silent.
Even Welf, who had spent more time around Bell than most, looked momentarily taken aback.
Lili blinked, studying him carefully. "…Bell?"
"We don't need a perfect plan," Bell continued, his tone unwavering. "We don't need to worry about fairness, honor, or anything else. What we need is to break them. To show them that this war game isn't a formality—it's the last mistake they'll ever make."
He leaned forward, the candlelight making his eyes gleam like smoldering embers. "This isn't about victory anymore. This is about making sure that when Apollo loses, he remembers why he should have never messed with my family."
Hestia's breath hitched.
She had never seen Bell like this before.
Mikoto swallowed, her hand tightening around the hilt of her blade. Welf, though momentarily stunned, smirked after a second. "Damn, Bell. I like this side of you."
Lili, however, frowned. "Bell, I understand how you feel, but we can't let our emotions—"
"I'm done letting people take things from us, Lili," Bell interrupted, his voice sharper than she had ever heard it. "I wasn't strong enough to protect Leo. I wasn't there." He exhaled, eyes narrowing. "But I am here now. And I'll be damned if I let them take anything else from us."
Lili hesitated, then nodded slowly.
"Then let's win," Ryuu said finally, her voice quiet but firm. "We have no other choice."
Bell nodded. "No mercy. No hesitation."
The others exchanged glances before silently agreeing.
The Hestia Familia had just lost everything. Their home, their peace, their safety.
They had nothing left to lose.
And that made them the most dangerous kind of enemy.
The first thing Leo felt was cold.
Not the kind that brushed against your skin like morning dew — this was a deep, biting chill, gnawing at his bones and seeping into his very core. The taste of salt lingered heavily on his cracked lips. His entire body screamed in agony — muscles torn, skin raw, bruises blooming like grotesque flowers across his frame. Every inhale was pain. Every exhale was heatless rage.
He lay sprawled across black sand — strange, coarse, unlike anything in Orario. The faint crashing of waves echoed nearby, a relentless heartbeat of a distant ocean. The sky above him was overcast, painted in the bruised purples and dying grays of twilight.
Leo pushed himself up slowly, his hands sinking into the cold sand, stained with smears of his blood. The scent of salt, iron, and damp earth filled his senses.
Gone.
The chains that bound him? Gone.
The oppressive walls of Apollo's dungeon? Gone.
Orario?
His family?
Bell?
Gone.
Reality crept in like a knife sliding between ribs.
He was alone.
Truly, impossibly alone.
A flicker of gold shimmered beside him — translucent, ethereal — the faint form of the Nemian Lion looming like a guardian spirit. Silent at first, its burning eyes studied Leo with an ancient, knowing calm.
But Leo... Leo trembled.
Not from fear.
From wrath.
His breathing grew ragged, his teeth gritting hard enough to crack. Every memory of Apollo's twisted grin. The laughter of his guards. The feeling of humiliation as his broken body was dragged through Orario like a trophy. The haunted looks from Bell... from Hestia... from everyone he cared for.
It all surged.
The veins along Leo's arms and neck bulged, thick and pulsing with raw power as his muscles tightened involuntarily — skin pulling tight over sinew like cords about to snap. His heartbeat roared in his ears like war drums.
Something inside him — ancient, wild, furious — rose.
The Nemian Lion didn't stop him.
No... it joined him.
The shimmer around Leo thickened. His shadow stretched unnaturally, melding with the Lion's. Their fury merged — a monstrous fusion of mortal wrath and beastial rage. Cracks spiderwebbed beneath him as the black sand vibrated violently, trembling under the sheer weight of his unleashed aura.
Then —
"APOLLOOOOOOOOO!"
Leo's roar shattered the stillness of the wasteland — an earth-rending sound that echoed across the empty expanse like the bellows of a god-slaying beast. The ground quaked beneath him. Loose stones lifted and hovered before shattering into dust. The waves themselves recoiled as if fearing what he was becoming.
But this wasn't magic.
This wasn't a spell.
This was him.
Pure, unrelenting will given shape.
The sky didn't darken — Leo did. His golden-red eyes pulsed with an otherworldly glow, veins like molten cracks across his arms. The Nemian Lion's silhouette towered over him, a beastly specter crowned in rage and pride.
And just like that — the fury burned itself into resolve.
Leo's breathing slowed.
His body, once trembling, grew still — not calm... but collected.
A hardened look settled over his battered face — grim, sharp, merciless.
He whispered beneath his breath, venomous and promising.
"I'm coming back... I swear it."
The Nemian Lion let out a low rumble of approval beside him, a sound like distant thunder rolling over dead lands.
Survive.
That was all that mattered now.
Survive. Endure. Return.
And when he did...
Apollo would beg for death.
There was no peace here.
No mercy.
No reprieve.
This cursed land didn't offer the luxury of rest or reflection. Every step Leo Cranel took was dogged by danger, every breath felt like it could be his last. The very earth beneath his boots was hostile — cracked and dry in some places, soft and marsh-like in others, stained with the remnants of old blood and forgotten battles. The air itself was wrong — thick, heavy, almost metallic in taste like old copper left to rust.
But the worst part wasn't the land.
It was what lived here.
The beasts of this place were nothing like the monsters of the Dungeon. Those creatures, for all their horror, followed certain rules — bound by instinct, predictable patterns, or dungeon law.
But these? These things were ancient. Unrestrained. Natural.
Survivors.
Predators in their purest, most terrifying form.
And Leo... Leo was injured, bleeding, alone.
Perfect prey.
The first attack had come without warning.
A twisted mass of sinew and bone — low to the ground like a panther but with too many limbs, jagged tusks jutting from its warped maw. No sound accompanied its charge. No hiss. No snarl. Just the sickening crunch of earth beneath its talons as it lunged.
Leo barely sidestepped — pain screaming through his ribs as his body protested every movement — but survival didn't care about pain.
His arm snapped out.
Fist met flesh.
Bone crunched.
The beast let out an unnatural screech as Leo drove his knee up into its throat, shattering cartilage and sending it sprawling to the dirt in a heap of spasming limbs.
But there was no time to catch his breath.
Not here.
The second fight came minutes later — this time a hulking creature resembling a malformed bear, its fur patchy and scarred from battles long past. Its eyes were dead. Lifeless. It charged with terrifying speed, its maw splitting unnaturally wide.
Leo didn't dodge.
He couldn't.
Instead, he met it head-on — shoulder lowered like a battering ram as their bodies collided with bone-jarring force. His feet skidded against the dirt, ribs flaring with agony as the impact nearly toppled him.
But he stayed standing.
Because falling here meant death.
With a roar of effort, Leo drove his elbow — sharp and brutal — into the creature's temple. Once. Twice. Over and over until skull gave way beneath relentless strikes, until the monster twitched once more... then stilled forever.
Blood matted his hair.
His skin stung with dozens of cuts.
But he pressed on.
There was no room for finesse. No room for clever tactics or fancy techniques.
Only survival.
Only instinct.
And so the battles kept coming.
A swarm of insect-like predators — wings sharp as blades — fell upon him from the dark canopy above, forcing Leo to swing wildly, grabbing whatever stone or branch he could find to crush their brittle bodies mid-flight.
A serpent-like beast, easily twice his size, slithered from a gnarled pool of blackened water — its scales glistening like wet stone as it snapped at his legs. Leo wrestled it — hands grappling its slimy body — before driving his boot against its skull until it burst beneath raw force.
Every encounter blurred into the next.
Blood. Sweat. Roaring muscles burning with effort.
His knuckles were torn raw, caked in layers of old and fresh blood alike. Breathing became shallow — every inhale scraping against bruised ribs, every exhale fogging in the cursed air.
But still... he fought.
Because that's all he could do.
And watching silently, ever present — the Nemian Lion's ethereal shroud walked beside him, golden mane flickering faintly with each pulse of Leo's defiance.
There was no judgment in the beast's eyes.
Only a quiet, ancient patience.
Fight. Survive. Endure.
Not as a wild animal.
But as something stronger.
As something more.
Even as the line between man and beast blurred, Leo's mind refused to snap completely. The Lion's presence grounded him — a distant but powerful tether reminding him of who he was beneath the rage, beneath the violence.
He wasn't fighting for dominance.
He wasn't fighting for conquest.
He was fighting for them.
For Bell.
For Hestia.
For his family waiting somewhere beyond this hellish wilderness.
Bruised, bloodied, but unbroken — Leo pressed deeper into the wild unknown, leaving the shattered bodies of ancient predators in his wake.
A lone warrior.
A lone survivor.
A predator among monsters.
There were moments in life where everything stopped.
Not in the way a heart might skip a beat from surprise — not in the way time might feel slow during battle.
No... this was different.
This was hollow.
Leo Cranel stood amidst the corpses of monsters whose bodies still twitched in the throes of death, their blood mixing into the dirt beneath his boots like grotesque paint strokes across a ruined canvas. His hands, coated in crimson — his own and theirs — hung loosely at his sides, fingers curled with the aftershock of violence.
The adrenaline was leaving him now.
And that's when it started to settle in.
That sickening, bone-deep feeling... twisting like a dagger in his stomach.
This wasn't a nightmare.
This wasn't some cruel, fleeting dream.
He was here.
Wherever here even was.
Far away.
Far from Bell.
Far from Hestia.
Far from all of them.
And the terrifying part?
Nobody was coming.
The wind howled through the cursed forest like a cruel mockery of laughter, rattling dead branches like bones clattering in unseen hands. The once distant noise of beasts and unnatural creatures hunting in the distance became almost soothing compared to the sheer, suffocating silence in Leo's heart.
He staggered forward a step — his boots dragging through torn-up earth — before the weight of everything collapsed on top of him all at once.
The rage that had driven him — the fury, the adrenaline, the instinct to fight — none of that mattered in this moment.
Because it couldn't fill the empty pit hollowing out inside his chest.
His vision blurred, not from injury, but from raw, undiluted emotion clawing its way to the surface. Leo's breath caught — shallow, uneven — as his throat tightened painfully.
His legs finally gave way beneath him.
And he fell to his knees.
At first, he clenched his jaw shut — shaking his head like a stubborn animal refusing to break.
But the silence... gods, the silence hurt.
Without even realizing it — without thought or plan — Leo threw his head back and screamed.
A raw, ugly, shattering sound that ripped from the very depths of his soul and tore through the night like a wounded animal mourning its pack.
It wasn't a name.
It wasn't even words.
Just pain.
Real.
Visceral.
Alone.
The very earth beneath him shivered.
Dust rose from the force of the cry — from the unconscious energy that cracked outward like a pulse from his battered form. The cursed land — even its monstrous denizens — grew momentarily still. Listening. Watching.
And for a brief moment... Leo didn't care.
He wanted them to come.
Let them all come.
Let this place throw everything it had at him.
At least it would hurt less than this hollow, suffocating ache clawing inside his chest.
But amidst the spiraling storm of grief and fury, another presence stirred.
Ancient.
Heavy.
Warm.
The shroud of the Nemian Lion — once a distant, haunting thing clinging to him like inherited strength — now materialized with clearer definition. Its golden mane glowed faintly beneath the moon's pale light, eyes ancient and deep settling onto Leo's trembling form.
For a long, agonizing moment, the beast said nothing.
It didn't need to.
Instead, it padded closer — the weight of its steps grounding rather than threatening. The Lion moved like the earth itself bent to its will.
Then, in a voice rough like grinding stone but soft in its weight, the Lion spoke.
"Good," it rumbled, with neither scorn nor pity. "Better to let it out than let it rot inside you, cub."
Leo's fists trembled against the dirt, muscles shaking beneath his torn skin and splattered blood.
"I—" his voice broke, raw and quiet now, so unlike the roar moments ago. "I don't know if I can do this..."
The Lion tilted its head, golden eyes narrowing with wisdom forged from battles long past.
"You can," it said simply. "Not because you are invincible... but because you endure. That is the mark of the strong. Rage gives you claws, boy... but wisdom guides where you strike."
Leo squeezed his eyes shut, biting back the bitter sting of tears.
A long silence stretched between them.
Then, shakily... he forced himself upright.
Not because he was ready.
Not because the pain was gone.
But because the alternative — giving up — wasn't in him.
Couldn't be.
"I need... to find shelter," Leo rasped out, voice rough with exhaustion.
The Lion let out a low, approving rumble.
"Then we move."
The hellish landscape stretched on beneath the dead sky — twisted trees clawing at the stars, distant growls haunting his every step — but fate, for once, offered him a sliver of reprieve.
A cabin.
Weathered.
Old.
Forgotten.
It sat crooked in the distance, almost swallowed whole by creeping vines and gnarled roots, but unmistakably there.
A relic of something long past.
Leo eyed it warily, instinct still sharp despite his weariness.
The Lion's deep voice echoed beside him.
"Caution, cub. Even ruins have teeth."
Leo gave a faint, tired nod.
"Yeah... wouldn't be my luck otherwise."
He approached slow, every step dragging from both caution and exhaustion. But as he stepped inside — past the groaning wood and dust-choked air — it became clear.
Empty.
Abandoned.
Left behind by whoever had once called it home.
Leo slid the door closed behind him, the sound dull and final in the quiet. The interior was barren — scattered furniture layered in dust, cobwebs dangling like forgotten memories.
But it was shelter.
It was something.
And that was enough.
Sagging down against the wooden door, Leo finally let his body give in — the weight of exhaustion sinking into his bones like lead.
The Nemian Lion settled nearby, its great form curling with both grace and vigilance.
"Rest, cub," it said gently, voice almost lulling in its rhythm. "You have survived the first day. I will guard your dreams."
Leo's eyes fluttered closed — not from peace, but from pure, unrelenting exhaustion.
And as sleep took him — heavy and dreamless — the last thing he felt was not loneliness.
But the quiet, steady presence of the ancient beast beside him.
Not family.
Not quite.
But... maybe something close enough.
The battlefield had fallen silent.
The tattered banner of Apollo Familia lay in ruins beneath the feet of the victorious.
Atop the crumbling fortress, Bell Cranel stood — his chest rising and falling like a beast barely leashed. His once innocent ruby-red eyes now burned with cold fury, like simmering embers refusing to die out.
Blood — theirs and his — stained his hands.
Beside him stood Welf Crozzo and Mikoto Yamato, both bearing injuries but standing tall.
Further back, descending from the shadows, Ryuu Lyon — ally of the Hestia Familia for this war game — watched in silence, her emerald eyes briefly flickering to Bell's trembling fist. She had seen many warriors before.
But never had she seen Bell Cranel like this.
A young boy pushed beyond his limits — because of him.
Because of Leo.
And yet... as the announcement of Hestia Familia's victory echoed across the battlefield...
A slow clap broke the tense air.
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
All eyes rose toward the divine stands.
Apollo.
Seated languidly like a serpent coiled around its prey, his golden hair tousled, but his smile... wider than ever.
"Marvelous, truly marvelous." His voice dripped honeyed venom. "Such a stunning display of brutality. Perhaps there is more of Leo in you than I realized, Little Rabbit."
Bell's body locked.
Hestia's heart... stopped.
"...What... did you say?"
Her voice was fragile — a single thread in a storm.
Apollo's smile stretched unnaturally wide. There was no fury in his gaze — only satisfaction.
Sadistic.
Chilling.
"You fought so hard to win it all back..." His voice was like silk wrapping around a dagger.
"But tell me, Hestia..." He leaned forward, elbows on knees. "...what use is victory... when you've already lost something irreplaceable?"
Gasps rippled through the gods.
A suffocating tension gripped the colosseum.
Mikoto turned sharply. Welf's eyes widened. Bell... felt like ice water poured over his heart.
"...Leo..." Hestia whispered — like her very soul fractured.
Apollo's laughter, soft and lilting, cut through them all.
"Yes... dear Leo. Strong, wild Leo. You see... I couldn't kill him here. No, that would have been boring."
He licked his lips.
"So I sent him somewhere far... far away. Where neither gods nor heroes can reach him. Perhaps he's already dead... or perhaps he's still crawling through some desolate wasteland, clutching his pathetic hope like a fool."
The crowd broke into horrified murmurs.
But Hestia... her tiny fists clenched at her side.
Her body trembled — not from fear.
But fury.
"No..." she whispered, shaking her head. "Leo is alive."
Apollo paused — curious.
"I've seen it before... that boy doesn't die easily," Hestia whispered with a quiver of desperate faith. "Not in the dungeon... not now."
Her blue eyes glistened — but burned.
"Leo will come back."
A weighty silence.
Until — a smooth, sultry voice chimed in from the divine stands.
"Then let him decide," Freya spoke, voice like velvet over steel.
All eyes snapped to the Goddess of Beauty, her silver eyes calm — yet gleaming with something dangerous.
"When Leo returns... let him decide Apollo's fate."
Gasps.
Even the gods were stunned.
Miach, quietly contemplative, gave a small nod, his hands folded behind his back.
"A fitting judgment for the one most wronged," he murmured.
Takemikazuchi, arms crossed, snorted quietly.
"And if anyone can survive the impossible... it's that stubborn brat."
Apollo's smile twitched — just slightly.
But before he could speak—
Ganesha's booming voice cut through the air, righteous and commanding.
"Apollo... War Games may lack rules... but this — this is beyond even divine arrogance. It borders on evil."
Ganesha's presence was suffocating.
"I will have you detained until Leo returns. Then — we shall see if your grin survives the storm you've invited."
Cheers erupted from the mortal spectators — and even some gods nodded in grim approval.
Apollo reclined back, unbothered on the surface — but the twitch in his jaw betrayed his irritation.
Still...
His golden eyes flicked down toward Bell.
And for the briefest second...
He smiled — like a man waiting for the fire to consume them all.