A stare down between Galivinth and Seth locks the two teens into an inevitable exchange that’s possibly a third breath away. And there to lay witness to the tension thicken into the air between them is Mitchel, who’s watching with keen eyes and silent as a mouse. Galivinth, trying to calculate what he’s up against by recalling his previous physical confrontation with Seth, finds himself torn between taking the initiative or being the reactionary combat seeking openings for counter blows. He grows anxious, unsure what’s wiser. It gets to a point where his left brow twitches nervously within its scowl, and he takes a hesitant step forward. One that’s meant to be him committing to rushing the other down, but a decision his body stutters and withdraws its intent. It is within that very moment of indecisiveness that Seth steals the honor of making the first move by closing in at an alarming swiftness. The soles of the apparent practicing boxer’s formal boots screeches from the friction against the marble floor as he strides forward with a sway to the left and then strides again while lunging with a javelin-like punch toward Galivinth’s face. The latter, eyes widening at the surprising speed, just barely raises his forearms in an X-formation to block the attack.
“Nnnngh!?” Galivinth grunts as the power behind that impact sends him sliding back six feet. Even with that new distance between them, the moment he lowers his arms, Seth is already within attacking range again and sending a flurry of flicking left jabs that his eyes barely manage to keep track of. Weaving to the right, swaying his entire body to the left, derailing a punch by pushing his right forearm against Seth’s left, and leaning back with a fairly deep arch in his spine to evade a punch that goes flying above his face. The pressure of Seth’s offense definitely seems as oppressive as before to Galivinth, who feels like there’s no gap large enough between those punches to take advantage of.
“Back to this old song and dance, huh? You’ve got some good movement, but it seems all you can really do is just stand there and HOPE I don’t pop you one good time!” Seth taunts without letting up much at all. It’s all it really takes to make Galivinth far more daring in this moment. Ready to display that this isn’t going to be a repeat of before, he prepares to make a retaliation. Swaying out of the way of the next incoming punch, Galivinth thrusts out a tiger-palm strike for Seth’s face with a great deal of momentum. T H O K!
“Aaugh!” However, it not only misses its target, who’s hunching over to a side, but it’s an exchange that instead leads to a fist meeting his cheek and propelling him back hard enough for his back to slam against a wall behind him. It seems Seth has been backing him up down the hall this whole time. Even so, there’s no time to think about the moment. The half cryonean teen just barely manages to look up in time and quickly hop out of the way of a lunging straight punch. One that easily punctures through the sturdy wall with a hole inducing ′krrrnch’. It startles the entire classroom of students on the other side, but it’s nothing that Seth pays any mind to. He retracts his fist and closes in again to resume his onslaught. During, Galivinth has his confidence shaken, resulting in the output of his Soul Essence to falter by twenty percent. He’s put back into the defensive position of blocking and dodging again. He manages to avoid the next three punches, but a faint left jab into a snappy right hook to the jaw lands on its mark, dwindling his output by another ten percent as he stumbles back a few steps. That difference changes the tone of the fight drastically. What were once attacks he could easily see coming, are now like bullets he has no hope of reacting to.
“I can’t… I can’t keep up anymore!” An intrusive thought pushes into Galivinth’s mind as he resorts to just shielding his face as best as he can from the flurry of blows. Unfortunately, there’s more than enough cracks in his dwindling reflexes for Seth to exploit and slip in solid hits. Liver-shot, an uppercut jab to the pectoral, and a straight that connects with Galivinth’s mouth and sends him flopping into sitting on the floor with a cut on his lip.
“Is that all?” Seth questions, standing four feet away with his arms lifting to fold across his chest. As he stares down at the male sitting on the ground, he notices something unusual when Galivinth looks at him with a solemn frown. A thin trail of sky-blue liquid trickling down the teen’s chin from his bottom lip.
“Huh? Is that… blood?” He questions with an arch of his brow.
“Huh?” Taken aback by the inquiry, Galivinth raises his right hand to dab his fingers against his lips and then present them in front of his eyes. Along with seeing blue liquid on his skin, he tastes not iron, but a bitter sweetness on his tongue.
“Yeah… Yeah, I guess it is.” He finally answers while rising up to his feet. With the sudden halt in their exchange, the half-cryonean has a moment to think on the moment. He recalls Mister Saijeme informing him that doubt can hinder his flow of soul essence, realizing he’s been allowing Seth to pick at him mentally. And with that realization, newfound determination finds his core and his aura output increases back to 200% in an instant.
“Where did you say you were from again?” Seth asks with a grin while taking up his boxing stance again.
“Born and raised in this very town.” Galivinth answers as he too takes up his stance again.
“There’s nothing on your record about you being a P.I. or experiment. Forgot to share with the principal and doctor’s office?” Seth half jokingly asks.
“No. There’s simply nothing TO share.” Galivinth responds firmly. Another silent stare down creeps into the moment. Mitchel carefully peeks around the corner to spectate the fight further. Just when the two adversaries step forward with the intent to close off the distance, the sound of a door slamming open nearby can be heard just before a female teacher steps out.
“WHAT IS GOING ON OUT HERE!?--” She exclaims, and exactly upon that last word, a devastating earthquake violently shakes the entire building and easily knocks everyone and everything not nailed down over. Screams erupt all throughout the school building all the while.
[ About 20 Minutes Earlier… / Back with Righteous Lad]
It’s not long at all before the arrival of the afternoon is upon the residents of Illinois by the time Tyson Luthur, the Samaritan known as Righteous Lad, arrives at the Silver League headquarters. He enters through one of the many doors at the entrance just as a few of his peers in costume are exiting through that very same one. Naturally, there’s a hesitation between himself and them to avoid bumping.
“Oh, hey, Metal Bite, Trickshot, and Erricive! You guys heading out on duty?” Tyson asks, beaming with a friendly as he attempts to make small talk while also stepping aside to let them pass through first. However, rather instantly, the three give him varying scowls of disdain.
“Tch!” Metal Bite merely blows air between his teeth while passing by.
“Thankfully… No thanks to YOU, Righteous Screw-Up.” Erricive comments with venom behind his words as he follows behind Metal Bite. It’s then that smile on Tyson’s face flatlines and a soft expression of worry overtakes his features instead.
“Huh? Did… Did I do something? I’m sure we can talk it out, man.” The powerhouse in his trademark attire of dark charcoal-gray and green offers kindly. Despite his sincerity and inoffensive choice of words, they seem to irk Trickshot, the third in line, to turn him with passive-aggressive body language and tone.
“You wanna talk about it? Because I sure as hell do. First of all, my brother, WHAT were you even thinking? Why’d you bring them all here?” Trickshot questions, facing Righteous Lad while his two peers stop to wait.
“Them? Who do you think I brought here and why is it an issue?” Tyson questions with a minor furrow of his brows.
“Man, are you serious!? Who else, man!? Those damn Mountain Gods!”
“The Gods? But I didn’t bring them here…”
“Didn’t you? Because word is starting to spread that YOU’RE the reason they’re all here, metaphorically stepping all over my imported Scotty Pippin’s… Spilling drinks all over my Guu’cci slacks.” Trickshot explains, painting an almost obscure yet understandable picture of his grievance.
“Those are some REALLY expensive pants…” Tyson comments, briefly looking off to the side as he lifts his right hand to press his fingers against his chin.
“You DAMN RIGHT they are. All white, too.” Trickshot adds.
“That sounds terrible for sure, and I’d never purposely try to mess up what you got going on, but what exactly does that have to do with them? They said they’re just here as tourists.”
“Well, they’re doing a lot more than that! But we’ll continue this another time. I got places to go and brands to flex. Go read up on a newspaper or watch the news. It ain’t too hard to figure it out.” Trickshot advises before turning and proceeding on his way with the other two. It looks as if Righteous Lad is going to say something, but he ultimately decides against it and just enters the building to get on with his day. Unfortunately, it’s upon stepping inside that he enters the field of vision of someone else who has a bone to pick with him.
“Well, well, well!... Look who it is, everyone! It’s the Hero of Legends! The Olympian Gods’ golden boy!” An introduction given with the intent of drawing attention for sure.
“Golden Boy? I’m not even–” Tyson tries to correct the other male Samaritan.
“You can’t deny it !!!” The male angrily exclaims, emphasizing by pointing an accusing finger at Righteous Lad. A crowd gradually begins to grow behind the male. From angry, he transcends into giving a toothy grin while lowering his arm.
“Heheh. No. Heard it straight from the horses’ mouths. They’re here because of YOU. They all mention you by name.”
“I didn’t tell them to come here, Crimson Rider…” Tyson utters in his own defense.
“Does it matter? They’re here now… Here AND making our jobs difficult. Do you know how hard it is to compete with a bunch of Gods who practically do anything with a snap of their fingers? How IMPOSSIBLE it is to stop just one of them?’ Crimson Rider questions. A moment of silence between them interjects into their conversation. Righteous Lad struggling to see what the other is getting at.
“...Of course you don’t. You never really have to struggle subduing high level threats, do you? To fear an overwhelming force that can end your life in a blink of an eye…” The male adds. Murmuring suddenly begins accumulating as more Samaritans gather around.
“That’s why I can’t stand when you Superpowered dolts get so much recognition. You NEVER have to consider anyone else.”
“Hey! Don’t make this about Powers vs None-Powers, I didn’t bring them here!” A Samaritan shouts from the crowd.
“Ah, who cares who brought them here!? There’s still too many of you types around in this country now!” A different Samaritan shouts a retort. From those simple outbursts, the chatter in the hall grows overtime in both volume and aggression. As things just seem to escalate, Tyson looks around with a weary expression and wonders if this’ll truly be the fuel that creates an even bigger divide between samaritans. He’s just about to speak up and try to calm the crowd, but a sudden vibration from his cellphone in his pocket snags his priority. He retrieves it from his leather jacket and answers the call, turning his back to the arguing mass of bodies while using the point finger of his free hand to block off his eardrum.
“Hello?” Tyson initiates.
“Righteous Lad, I need back up immediately. My cover is practically blown and there’s not a lot of time to explain. Neon Nectar production, warehouse by the South Side Chicago docks, thugs with insanely expensive weaponry.” The voice on the other line responds.
“The Crow? What’s–... Uhh… I’m coming, just be careful until I can find it.” Righteous Lad advises.
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“I sent you the address and exact building via text. The faster, the better, please.” With their short talk done, Tyson tucks his phone away into his jacket again and exits the building through the doors in front of him. However, he spares just a few thoughtful seconds to look back and watch as his peers argue without end. Though there have been legitimate issues of resentment, prejudice, and jealousy between those with and without power - he can’t help but feel he’s responsible for the sorry sight he’s watching. He sighs and proceeds to take his leave, ascending into the air once outside, and begins making his way toward the South Side of Chicago. Barely ten seconds of his flight, he suddenly hears a large ’BOOOM!’ behind him.
“What was that!?” Tyson stops in his tracks and turns in place, eyes darting around to search for the cause before eventually spotting gray smoke flowing from the front of the Silver League HQ building. Was there an attack? Who’d be so daring as to charge into a building full of vigilantes? He lends his focus to his superb hearing. Capable of picking up on voices and sounds up to five miles away, he listens for a moment with glaring eyes. Unfortunately, there’s no outside attack on the headquarters. What he instead picks up on is petty violence from those inside getting into a scuffle. He’s considering heading back, but he feels The Crow more than very likely needs his help and attention far more than Samaritans losing their cool. So, he continues on his way.
[ Meanwhile… ]
“I think I heard something over here.” One of the gun wielding thugs inside the warehouse The Crow has been observing so far, comments as he and a few other guards approach where the teen Samaritan is hiding. It’s quite an unfortunately tight spot he’s got himself into. With nowhere to sneak off to covertly from behind a pyramid stack of crates obscuring the corner he’s crouching in, the powerless youth prepares to make full use of the element of surprise. He uses one hand to retrieve his steel batons from the rectangle pouches on his thighs, and his other to retrieve a handful of smoke pallets from his utility belt. Once those footsteps are far too close for his liking, The Crow rises with a spin to suddenly kick the stack of boxes into toppling over atop of a guard. The commotion draws attention, but it’s also a simultaneous decent enough distraction to avert the eyes of the others nearby - thus him immediately tossing the handful of pallets goes unnoticed.
“Hey, what the– AACK!?” The Samaritan lunges forward to swing one of his batons across the face of a different guard as smoke begins accumulating and shrouding the area. As he beats down the several others near him, more begin rushing over, though are mindful to keep some distance from the thick charcoal fog.
“I-I can’t see what’s happening…” One of the men comments while squinting.
“Doesn’t matter, shoot whatever moves. We can risk being found out.” Another asserts.
“But–...”
“SHOOT!” With that demanding command, a little over half a dozen men fire their high tech refiles into the smoke. A plasma shot just barely whiffs past The Crows’ head, while another hits an unintended target that results in a blood curdling cry of pain and the sound of blood spilling as the target’s body is blown in half before hitting the floor with a meaty thud. Quick to move, the teen makes a mad dash forward in a moment of panic, just before another underling meets an unfortunate end by getting his head blown off and brains splattered all over the floor. Though once the Samaritan emerges from the smoke, the shots begin following him. A dozen fly by and over his head, hitting just anything but the youth in black. Though one shot manages to sear right through his flowing cape and leave a large hole behind. The Crow gathers his baton sticks within one hand, freeing his other so that he can reach for his belt and retrieve a grappling hook-gun from its flank and shoot it upward with haste. Just as it latches onto a beam above, he pulls the trigger to begin recoiling the wire to take him up. However, things wouldn’t be that simple.
A stray shot manages to split the wire, resulting in the teen propelling forward for an inevitable descent. Luckily, he winds up on a collision course with a thug, of whom he lands upon boots-to-torso within a crouch. The Samaritan front flips off the guy and gracefully lands upright to seamlessly return to sprinting down the large warehouse. Just as he’s nearing the exit, a rocket launcher suddenly goes off and an explosion erupts upon the ground, close enough to send The Crow involuntarily propelling off to the side and crashing into another pile of crates.
“TCH!!” The Samaritan grits his teeth as he pushes himself up onto all fours, shaking his head as he tries to get his bearings.
“Careful, that stuff’s explosive!” One of the guards warns.
“Nah, that’s what makes it a perfect target. Let’s make sure that little punk doesn’t leave here in one piece!” Another asserts, grinning as takes aim for the explosive cargo obscuring the view of the Samaritan. Just as he pulls that trigger, a sudden heavy force comes crashing down through the roof. The plasma gun makes a direct hit, but it does nothing to phase its mark.
“Sorry to cut in…” The newcomer begins to speak, delaying his thought only to first rise from bent knees and stand tall at his height of 5′11.
“But things didn’t sound very righteous down here. You’re not doing anything I wouldn’t do, are you?” The young man teasingly asks with a smug-ish grin.
“It’s Righteous Lad!” One of the thugs exclaims.
“Thank…. GOD!” The Crow groans from behind the creates, briefly drawing eyes toward his general direction.
“Whatever, I bet all this new tech could easily take him out! Let loose on this pretty boy!” A voice shouts from the further back before a barrage of gunfire begins flying at him. Lasers dispurst upon impact of his body and bullets bounce right off of him. Tyson casually begins levitating and slowly floating toward the men. As if merely picking weeds from a garden, the Samaritan in dark charcoal gray and green snags guns out of the thugs, snapping them in half with barely any effort one by one.
“C’mon guys, don’t you think you’re too old to be this petty? It’s time to give it up and try to find a new path in life. You’re all gonna have plenty of time behind bars to think on it, so try not to fall back into bad habits.” Righteous Lad calmly advises, still taking his time degrading their efforts.
“Think on THIS, you smug faggot!” Exclaims an underling just before another rocket goes flying.
“Huh? Hey!” Righteous Lad’s eyes go wide as he grabs the henchman near him by the shirt and tosses the individual out from harm’s way and tumbling into a wall, while the Samaritan himself takes the hit head on. A thunderous explosion goes and engulfs the floating young man.
“Be more careful… You could’ve killed one of these guys.” Righteous Lad states as he emerges from the smoke with not even a scratch on him. He flies toward the rocket launcher wielder, snatches the weapon away, and breaks it in half over his right knee.
BOOOOM!!
Suddenly a massive hole is blown into the front of the warehouse and several exoskeleton mechs come stomping their way inside, each one about 20 feet tall and operated by a henchman.
“What in the Goddamn seven seas is going on in here!?” One of the operators barks an inquiry.
“Huh. That’s… kind of new.” Righteous Lad comments upon turning to lay eyes on them.
“I still think Machineson has a more refined model, despite its few basic details.” He adds while tossing the broken pieces within his hands aside.
“Oh yeah? Don’t let the bare bones look fool ya, kid. These bad boys ain’t nothing to shake a fishing rod at.” The exoskeleton pilot warns with a grin. In the next instant, a mechanical arm raises to aim its massive cannon at Righteous Lad and fires off a beam of lime green energy, of which the leather-jacket-wearing tries to block. However, he gets pushed back by the tremendous force and is sent thrashing through the wall at the opposite end of the warehouse. He’s soaring and flipping involuntarily, but it’s nothing the young adult cannot quickly recover from before rushing back in.
“Huh… That admittedly caught me off guard, but I definitely hope that’s not all you’ve got.” Righteous Lad confidently taunts with his nose raised to the group.
“There’s always a tough guy… This time I’ll pour it on even more!” The thug fulfills his threat and blasts Righteous Lad with that energy beam again, this time at max power and without cutting it short. Bracing for it, Tyson is able to raise his left forearm defensively and refuses to give an inch. He even begins advancing forward, pushing against the intense onslaught as he closes off the distance between him and his attacker. As this display goes on, The Crow observes from behind those crates.
Soon enough, Righteous Lad moves within close proximity and lunges forward to grab the pilot with his right hand. How a camouflage shield shows itself upon stopping his attempt promptly.
“Huh?” Both of the Samaritans’ eyes widen at the display. Though the energy blast finally stops, the thug uses that very same mechanical arm to take a swing at Righteous Lad.
“Nice try. Not out of my face, punk!” Tink! Tyson uses his left forearm to block that attack. Though the mech is quite sturdy, it’s not even close to the resilience that the son of Apollo and Hel possesses, thus that metal arm winds up with a dent in it. Though small, it’s a detail that makes The Crow narrow his eyes thoughtfully.
“Huh. Yeah, that makes sense…” The Crow whispers under his breath. With an idea formulating within his mind, the teen retrieves different pallets from a pouch on his belt that are capable of giving off mini explosions upon rough impact.
“He said… GET OUT OF HIS FACE!” A second pilot approaches with another mech suit and fires that beam cannon right into Righteous Lad’s side, pushing him away and slamming against a wall. It’s then the Samaritan teen takes advantage of the moment and hustles to step up onto the crates and throw several of those new pallets into that cannon. Nearly instantly a roaring explosion goes off and renders the mech’s arm useless.
“GAAAUH! WHAT THE HELL!?”
“I knew it! Righteous Lad, the arms are vulnerable! There’s no shields on them!” The Crow shouts.
“Why you little…” The other two mech suits use their gatling gun arms to fire a barrage of armor piercing rounds at the agile teen. Quick on his feet, The Crow runs away while making sure to occasionally dip behind machinery and crates inside the spacious warehouse. Within four seconds, Righteous Lad flies forward to yank one of the machine-gun arms off a mech. Upon grabbing the attention of all three pilots, Tyson positions himself to where all three are in front of his line of sight and drops to the ground.
KRNCH! KRNCH!
The absurdly powerful young man penetrates the asphalt with his bare hands and easily lifts the flooring to reveal soil underneath, and flips the mech suits over onto their backs before dropping the massive rectangle block of cement onto them to pin the trio in place. From there, Righteous Lad puts some hustle into his movement and begins prying guns out of the hands of the thugs, even from the batch of a dozen that enters through the hole in the building, and piles them up in a corner inside. Once he’s done collecting, he begins to render them unusable by melting them down with his solar-vision. During, The Crow makes use of the new advantage to start dishing out knockout-inducing beats with his batons, while using what tools he can to stop some from fleeing. It’s also the moment one of the exoskeleton pilots manages to slip free by using a unique feature of high-power jets built into the machine’s feet.
“I’m outta here!” As the single pilot escapes, the careless criminal winds up knocking over a few of his colleagues and sending several soaring into the ocean.
“Oh, man…” Righteous Lad does just barely manage to finish melting down the mountain of guns to address the next situation. He starts by saving those who were thrown into the ocean and returning them to safety inside the warehouse, then goes on to gather the rest outside to also bring them back in.
“Hey, do you still have that gas?” Tyson questions upon setting the last two of the remaining 28 men down on solid ground.
“Oh yeah.” With that reminder given, the teen runs to exit the building, turns while drifting along the ground and pulls out two tennis ball-sized black spheres. He throws them inside one after the other, allowing them to explode within the warehouse and release a massive cloud of gas that causes minor coughing and renders the underlings unconscious. Righteous Lad floats out just as they explode.
“I’m gonna go get that last guy. I won’t be too long, alright?” Tyson assures.
“The job here is done and the operation is shut down. No worries here. Go and do what you can. The authorities are on their way.” The teen encourages with a nod. The floating samaritan gives a nod of his own and takes off into the sky to give chase. Tyson heads toward the direction he recalls hearing the jets heading to, flying at 344mph to quickly cover ground at a reasonable rate and avoid accidentally passing the last thug. Sure enough, he does spot the perpetrator in the distance about ten seconds into his search.
“There you are…” The young man murmurs to himself and increases his speed 15 percent to close the gap at an even quicker rate. The two are flying over cities and crossing into state after state until they reach California. It’s there that Tyson creeps in closer without alerting the fleeing pilot. He extends a hand out as he inches near, ready to snag that mech suit by an ankle. However, the unexpected happens…
“YOU MISERABLE PEST!!!” A voice suddenly roars with a booming echo from above, one that even reaches the ears of the civilians down below. Before Tyson, or anyone else can fully register who’s expressing such anger, the Samaritan is struck at the speed of light by a formidable force, and as a result winds up with that final thug slipping away scot free. Though that pales in comparison to what devastation takes place right after. Tyson and his attacker plummet to the ground like a comet and within a flash, hitting the surface of a street with a country quaking
B O O O O O O O O O O M M M M ! ! ! !
An extreme heat of consuming fire spreads in a flash, sweeping across many, many miles and eviscerating the simple folk who barely get a moment to realize that a swift demise is taking them where they stand. Innocent, criminals, children, working men, mothers, joyful women, teenagers, dogs, cats, pets of any kind, and even all plant life are ravaged by fire that burns with 2/4 of the sun’s unfathomable blazing heat. That dome of flames can be seen by all who stand outside within the USA. Unbeknownst to them all - not only is Los Angeles in its entirety gone and reduced to a burning wasteland, but 3.8 million lives have been taken in a blink of an eye.
“A-aachk… KUH!?” With gritting teeth and despite the stinging pain he feels on his back, Tyson tries to push himself from the ground, only for a foot to stomp his head back down and pin him there.
“Have you no shame, Boy? You come back to MY home and fill my family’s heads with your bitter resentment!? Do you not who I am? What my lineage is!?” The masculine voice scolds from above before the man applies more than enough pressure to crack the ground while sinking Tyson’s head further into it.
“I told her that your birth would be nothing more but a burden… She didn’t listen and I was far too kind in trying to simply turn my back, pretending it was but a false memory. That you didn’t exist. A fool I was.” The voice continues. Then Tyson suddenly no feels that foot pressing down against his head, but instead a pair of hands forces him to turn over before lifting his now tattered brand jacket, now looking down at the scowling face of his biological father, who’s eyes illuminate with yellowness and heat so intense, that embers practically flows from them. This was the wrath of the Greek Sun God - the son of Zeus - Apollo.
image [https://cdn-gcs.inkitt.com/story_images/big_825279c3f9b65b51066baa34e52375e2.png]
“ARE YOU HAPPY NOW, YOU INSUFFERABLE CANCER!? IS THE THEFT OF MY JOY TO YOUR SATISFACTION!?” The God barks as a radiant sunny glow of heat, that would melt any mortal alive by just being within a mile of it, emits from his entire body. Tyson stares with a mix of horror and confusion on his face. He of course is aware of drama forming from the secret of his father’s affair with his mother coming to the surface, but he just couldn’t believe that Apollo would come down from Olympus just to chew him out.
“That’s… that’s not what I wanted…” The young man murmurs.
“What was that!? SPEAK UP!!” Apollo demands.
“That’s not what I wanted!” Tyson repeats much louder. Even so, it’s an answer that enrages the God even more.
“LIAR!!!” He bellows at the top of his royal lungs as that radiant glow grows in size and begins taking form of dancing flames akin to that of the Sun’s. The ground cracks and splinters. Soon lava begins rising to the surface, continuous seeping out to that wide bowl-like crater they’re in with a body of steamy liquid.
“WHY ELSE WOULD YOU RETURN TO MY HOME AND SPEAK ILL OF ME!?”
“I’m not lying! Asclepius wanted me to do it, because he insisted he and everyone else had the right to know the truth!” Tyson responds.
“You put that garbage into his head! I know you did! You used my own family against me!” Apollo accuses.
“No! I told him it wasn’t going to do anything but cause problems! He came to me, I knew nothing of him! I didn’t even know he existed before!” Tyson insists. By now, the Greek God’s ankles are completely submerging underneath the boiling pool of fiery orange, yet there’s no discomfort or burning at all.
“Tch! Then so be it…” After blowing air through his teeth, Apollo casually tosses his son down into the lake of laval, resulting in a splash and the sound of manmade cloth burning to ashes.
“It’s not such a far fetched notion, but even so! You should have known better. No ingrate will benefit from the blessing of the sun after burning me…” Apollo announces. The 6’3 foot tall God treads over to the young man and simply presses his point and middle fingers against Tyson’s forehead. There’s no visible key of an action done, but it’s all Apollo does next before turning his back to Tyson and then ascending into the sky, leaving the Samaritan to sit in the illuminating pit of lava with his thoughts.
After a moment, Righteous Lad finally rises to his feet. Though his nanotech suit is tough, it’s on the verge of falling apart completely from both the damage fall and corrosive-like touch of the melting liquid. Instead of flying, he wads through the shin high lake and marches up out of the crater. Upon reaching the top and getting a visual of his surroundings, he stares dumbfounded at what he sees. It’s beyond an apocalyptic scenery. It’s a sight that looks as if it’s barren lands that resides in the loneliest pit of hell. Steam from the deathly heat and lava running the cracks in the ground.
This is the result of his decision…