Marchosias - Main Hall

But there was no response.

The skeletons began discussing something amongst themselves. It meant little to his naïve ears. He was more concerned about the phantom that lie limp before him. But before he could open his mouth to speak, they speak a final word.

All traces of life drained from his fiery eyes as he stared down at the man. Every little ounce of empathy left his body. Like a switch, it was near instant. It was so much easier to remember how it used to be than what he had become. He could not feel bad for this creature. It was not mother, no, it was nothing to him.

Killing it would mean nothing.

He lifts himself off the floor. Slowly, he places the heel of his foot against its head and with a swift application of pressure, he attempts to crush his skull underneath. Even if it took a few tries, he would end its life.

With dead eyes, he looks toward the skeletons. His fingers crack as they curl, waiting for them to come with an immortal patience.

Clackity, clackity, clackity.

ClackClackClack.

"Fffuuuccckkk.

This was death.

Crack.

Its skull pulverizes beneath his foot. He feels nothing. No matter how hard he tries.

Heat courses through his veins but his growing rage burned hotter than any flame. Every fiber left of his muscles tensed as they wicked away. He steps forward, his fingers reaching out as they fade to ash. With all his might, he tries to fight it. Yet his efforts prove futile and the last thing on his mind was the frustration of a premature end.

If this was death, could he say he had done enough?

No— he couldn't be finished. Not when there was still evil living in the men who wronged him. He was supposed to be greater than this— to prove himself worthy of his savior. Her name slips silent past his teeth but falls silent.

I'm sorry.

Yet his vision clears, hot air fills his lungs. He stares, wide-eyed at the woman before him. His fingers curl into his palm as he puts his hand down and steps back. Had he died, this was not what he expected of it. But here, a goddess stood, her name eludes his mind yet but she burned as beautiful as the sun herself.

Phobos looks down at his hand, opening and closing it, feeling the roughness of his palms. He looks back up at her. A smile curls from the corners of his mouth into a childish grin. In a weird way, he was happy— relieved even. Though she left as swift as she came, he would wave to her.

In spite of her words, he would take them to heart. Even he promised Diana and Rima he would get better, adding another onto that list was no burden. He saved her but it was not enough. Death or not, she had given him the chance to be better.

With adrenaline and a newfound resolve, he heads for the gateway. If there were others ahead, he couldn't waste any time. The djinn was waiting and he had more than his fair share of curiosity of what a dungeon might hold.