Cold steel bit into Apollo's wrists. Heavy suppression cuffs pulsed with a dull blue glow, humming a low-frequency vibration that turned his blood to lead. Every breath felt like inhaling wet sand. Kneeling on the grated metal floor of the interrogation chamber, he could hear the distant, throbbing pulse of the Dreadnought's engines. Blood dripped from his split lip, pattering against the steel plates below. Stark white walls hemmed him in, illuminated by harsh, sterile strip lights that made the crimson on the floor look almost black. The air smelled of ozone, burnt plasma, and the distinctive, copper-tang of his own blood. There was no escape from this place, deep within the belly of the Imperial flagship. "Look at him," sneered one of the armored Celestial guards, tapping the butt of his shock-pike against the floor. "Just another stray dog from Animarium." Another guard laughed, a dry, grating sound that bounced off the cold metal walls. "They all look the same before we strip their lifeforce. Pale, pathetic, and clinging to whatever scrap of dignity they think they have left." Obsidian-like armor encased the guards, pulsing with faint orange runes that hummed with oppressive gravity tech. They stood like towering statues of death, completely secure in their total technological dominance. To them, Apollo was nothing more than an animal waiting for the slaughter. Apollo spat a mouthful of dark crimson onto the guard's polished boot. Rage simmered in his chest, hot and volatile, but the dampeners kept his vampiric instincts locked behind a wall of static. His fangs ached, desperate to rip through the guard's throat, yet his muscles remained heavy and unresponsive. He felt utterly hollow, a shell of a man stripped of his only defense. Deep within his coat, tucked into a concealed inner pocket, the ancient Greek artifact pulsed with a subtle, rhythmic heat. It felt like a miniature sun trapped in glass, vibrating against his ribs. The energy was different from his own dark hunger; it was clean, ancient, and terrifyingly vast. Every time his heart beat, the artifact seemed to echo the rhythm, a silent partner waiting for a signal he didn't know how to give. Mystical symbols carved into its golden surface seemed to press against his skin, warming him despite the freezing chill of the holding cell. He had stolen it during a desperate raid, thinking it was just a valuable relic to sell. Now, it felt like the only anchor keeping him tethered to reality. "Keep your mouth shut, trash," the first guard growled, raising his boot to plant it firmly in Apollo's chest. Impact sent Apollo sprawling backward, the metal floor scraping against his cheek. He gasped for air, his lungs burning under the oppressive weight of the room's gravity generators. He had always been a survivor, running from one shadow to the next, never staying long enough to let anyone get close. Cold metal pressed against his face as he lay there, listening to his own ragged breathing. He hated this weakness, hated the way his body failed him when he needed it most. He had spent his entire life running, convinced that if he let anyone in, they would only end up leaving him behind. Pushing people away was his shield. If he didn't care about anyone, no one could hurt him when they inevitably vanished. Memories of his childhood on Animarium flashed through his mind, a blur of red dust, screaming sirens, and the cold eyes of people who looked at him like he was a disease. He had spent his entire life expecting everyone to leave him, so he made sure to leave them first. It was a lonely existence, but loneliness was safe. But here, bound and powerless, there was nowhere left to run. "Get him up," the guard ordered, gesturing to his companion. "The commander wants him conscious for the extraction." Rough hands grabbed Apollo by the collar of his worn jacket, hauling him back to his knees. His head swam, spots of black dancing across his vision as he fought to keep his consciousness from slipping away. The dampening field was suffocating him, slowly draining the vital energy his vampiric side needed to survive. Sweat slicked his forehead, stinging his eyes as he stared at the metallic floor. He thought of the countless times he had abandoned companions, leaving before they could realize how broken he truly was. His fear of abandonment had built a fortress around his heart, but now that fortress was crumbling under the weight of imperial boots. He was tired of being the prey. "Is he even breathing?" the second guard asked, leaning in to peer at Apollo's pale face. "Barely," the first guard replied, laughing. "The dampener is calibrated for high-yield anomalies. A half-breed like him doesn't stand a chance against imperial tech." Suddenly, a loud pop echoed through the chamber. Red emergency sirens began to rotate in the ceiling, casting a bloody glare over the sterile room. The ship's primary engines groaned, a deep vibration that shook the deck plates beneath Apollo's knees. Overhead, the primary illumination hummed, stuttering for a fraction of a second as a power surge rattled the ship's grid. The blue lights on his suppression cuffs flickered, their steady hum dropping an octave. Static filled the air, a momentary lapse in the dampening field that sent a jolt of pure adrenaline straight to Apollo's heart. Now was his only chance. Reaching inward, he didn't call upon the dark, hungry leech of his vampiric curse. He knew that power would only wither under the suppression field's residual grip. Instead, he reached for the burning core of the artifact, grasping at the raw, celestial fire dormant within its ancient metal. A violent current of energy surged through his fingertips, bypassing the dampeners entirely. Pain tore through his nervous system, sharp and blinding, like molten gold injected straight into his veins. He gasped, his jaw locking so tight his teeth threatened to shatter under the pressure. Blue sparks danced across his knuckles, crackling with a high-pitched hiss that instantly drew the guards' attention. "What is that?" yelled the first guard, raising his shock-pike. "Get back! He's doing something!" Desperation fueled Apollo's focus, his mind locking onto the single image of a storm cloud tearing through a black sky. He didn't just want to escape; he wanted to destroy. He wanted to make them feel the terror he had carried his entire life. White-hot arcs of lightning erupted from his chest, shattering the suppression cuffs into a thousand molten fragments. Gold-tinted lightning branched across the ceiling, cracking the heavy metal beams and shattering the light fixtures into showers of glass. The raw, ancient power of the sky-gods surged through his veins, burning away the cold, parasitic hunger of his vampiric curse and replacing it with pure, blinding light. Raw, unadulterated power flooded his body, shaking him so violently he felt his bones rattle inside his flesh. He roared, a sound that was half-human, half-beast, as the blinding current exploded outward in all directions. Lightning struck the first guard dead-center, vaporizing his armor in a fraction of a second. Superheated metal melted into flesh before the man could even scream, leaving nothing but a pile of smoking ash where he had stood. The air grew instantly hot, suffocatingly dry, and smelling of ozone and scorched bone. Turning his glowing, electric-blue eyes toward the second guard, Apollo threw his hands forward. Another bolt, thicker than a tree trunk, blasted the remaining soldier through the heavy blast doors, leaving a scorched, gaping hole in the corridor beyond. The shockwave rattled the entire deck, sending loose tools and metal plating clattering to the floor. Silence descended upon the room, broken only by the crackle of lingering electricity and the heavy, ragged gasps of Apollo's breathing. Melted metal dripped from the ceiling, hissing as it hit the puddles of water on the floor. The dampening field was completely dead, fried by the sheer voltage of the celestial strike. He collapsed to his knees, his hands trembling violently as tiny blue sparks dissolved into his skin. His entire body felt alive, humming with a resonance he had never experienced before. This wasn't the dark, parasitic hunger that had plagued his entire life. It was something pure, ancient, and utterly devastating. For the first time, he realized his supposed curse was merely a fraction of his true lineage. He held the power of gods in his hands, a weapon capable of tearing the Celestial Empire apart. Resolve hardened within his chest, replacing his fear with a cold, calculated rage. He would not run anymore. Giving up was no longer an option. --- Heavy footsteps echoed down the scorched corridor, vibrating through the metal floorboards. Apollo pushed himself up, his muscles screaming in protest as the residual energy hummed beneath his skin. Smoke swirled around him, rising from the charred remains of the guards. Commander Xylos stepped through the ruined doorway, his tall, imposing figure framed by the emergency red lights of the hallway. A sickening grin twisted the commander's pale, angular face as he stared at the destruction. He didn't look angry; he looked ecstatic. "Fascinating," Xylos whispered, his voice dripping with sadistic pleasure. "Such a brilliant spark of the Olympians, alive and burning." Apollo braced himself, raising his fists as the blue sparks crackled weakly across his knuckles. He was exhausted, his energy reserves dangerously low after the sudden eruption. Commander Xylos, witnessing Apollo's lightning strike, lets out a guttural shriek of triumph, "Yes! The power surges! The ritual is ready!" – and a colossal energy beam erupts from the Dreadnought, directly into the heart of the Oracle Nexus.

Chapter 14: The First Awakening