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Artemis nods. Still looking suspicious but still willing to let the subject drop for the time being. “When he enters the building, we’re going to run to Apollo. Once we reach him, we will iris to the Throne Room. Understood?”
Chiron and I nodded.
“On three,” she whispers. Watching intently at her fallen brother. “One.”
Breathing, I hear the stone shift in the building.
“Two,” she whispered.
I hear the grumbling good climb the stars. Muttering something about Persephone and his lightning bolt.
“Three.”
The three of us sprint to Apollo. Ichor covers the area. As we move closer and closer, I see how grave of a wound it is. Even for a god.
Apollo pants against the cobbled street. The marble core of his chest is gapping and hollow. I stared down through him at the streets below.
A hole that no one should’ve ever been able to see. Marble spreads farther and farther away from his core. Warning of what’s imminently to come.
The marble edges slowly crumble away making the hole become only wider.
Tears stream down my face at the golden god looking ashen and pale, “I’m sorry. I should’ve listened to you. If I did, you wouldn’t have been hurt.”
Mortally wounded. To a god, I don’t know what’ll happen. If he'll make it.
But the wounds aren't what I’m most worried about.
God Killer is flowing through his veins.
Can it truly kill gods?
Immortals can't die. Please, let this be the case.
Gaia, please.
Even I could tell he was not long for this world. A sweat broke out over his forehead, his eyes wide and panting. “I don’t regret it, Pandy,” his voice echoed. Reverberating like he was shouting into a cave. “For you, I would step between you and my dad’s wrath any time.”
My hands shake as I lace my fingers through his stone-cold ones. Stiff enough that he couldn’t spread them apart any longer. “Please,” I beg. “Don’t leave me.”
Taking another sharp inhale, the sound is wheezy like reeds in the wind.
Too hollow.
“I would relive these last months over and over with you again in a heartbeat.” His stiff hand brushes the curls away from my face. “The only thing that I would’ve changed, would’ve been trying to get close to you sooner.”
“We’re going to Persephone’s Throne,” I buried my face in his shoulder.
He watches me with glassy eyes. His lips are cracked.
Artemis gripped my shoulder and with a pop we irised away.
Standing in front of the throne of death, I prepare for the next moments.
Mud.
I could become a mound of mud.
Painted and forgotten by everyone but the creepy satyr in the library.
