A Shrine to an Unknown God

NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE

"NO," I beg, sobbing, choking on my tears, my words tumbling out of trembling lips. "Please... please. Just kill me. Spare them."

Ezra appears in the same manner Dahlia did, floating in mid-air before crashing to the ground, and is even dressed the same as her, in one of those cheap wool tunics. Unlike her, though, he doesn't seem ready to run, or to fight. He seems ready to give in. Like he already knew he was going to die the second he was spawned into existence. He curls into a ball, trembling, crying silently to himself.

Then he sees Dahlia's severed head laying inches from his face. His scream splits his face in two. "Oh, my God." He scrambles backwards, chipped-black fingernails clawing at the earth. "OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGod—"

"No," I repeat. "No, Ezra—run. Go. Now. Please—"

At the sound of my voice he zeroes in on me, beaming this oddly reassuring (but obviously forced) grin through his tears. He crawls to me. "Antigone!" Shoving my head into his chest, he violently hugs me.

"No—!" I cry.

"It's okay," he assures me, stroking my hair. "Shh, Antigone, it's okay. You're okay. We're gonna be okay."

I'm holding him in my arms, sobbing into his chest, as Apollo raises the sword and swings it. The rush of the blade whips my hair into my eyes. Blood splatters against me. Ezra's head drops into my lap.

I can't even bring myself to scream. All I can do is sob, open-mouthed, no sound coming out. My hands claw at the air, at all the nothingness.

I can't say the right prayer or make the right sacrifice or do the right thing. Nothing I do will have any real tangible outcome. It's all in the gods' hands. And the gods are a bunch of selfish bastards. No matter what I do, I can't stop Apollo from killing everyone I care about and then ending my life.

I have nothing left to lose.

So, tearing my hair from my scalp, I shout at him:

"You sick, cowardly, arrogant bastard! Trying to manipulate prophecy in your own favor, thinking you could get out of this with no blood on your hands and your head on your shoulders! I hope everything comes back to bite you in the ass tenfold!"

Marisol slams into existence in the same ugly tunic.

I throw myself in front of her, knocking Apollo back in his surprise. Even though he's a god, I'm taller than him, my muscles bigger. If he wasn't immortal, I could kick his scrawny little ass.

That's all he has against me. I can die and so can those I care about. He cannot. His immortality is a shield, a cowardly, cowardly shield.

"If you want to kill her," I threaten, exposing my neck for him, "you're going to have to kill me first."

He lifts his hands. I go flying backwards, landing so hard on my bum my teeth clatter against each other. Grimacing, I jump to my feet. Ready to do anything in my power to give Marisol another couple of seconds. Ready to turn Apollo's blood to wine, choke him out with a grapevine.

But I'm too late.

Apollo swings the sword.