In the heart of that swirling hellscape of gold and violet light, Apollo heard it.
The sound pierced through the ringing in his ears and the wet rasp of his own labored breathing. For a fraction of a second, a heartbeat so brief it would have been invisible to any observer, he allowed his focus to slip.
He glanced sideways.
Through a haze of sweat and blood, he saw him.
Rex.
Standing at the precipice of the circle, his face contorted in what looked like raw, unadulterated terror, his hand raised as if to ward off the inevitable.
A strange, painful tightness constricted Apollo's chest. It wasn't just physical pain; it was a surge of something dangerously close to admiration.
'Of course,' Apollo thought, his mind fragmenting under the strain of the duel, 'of course Rex would try to intervene.'
'Of course he would rush into the furnace.'
'He has stepped into every goddamn crisis this city has endured for the past year without blinking.'
