Slowly, Apollo regained his senses, feeling like he'd been thrown around in a cosmic-sized dishwasher.
This time, they didn't swallow his sanity whole and mercifully left him with time to assess his surroundings.
These surroundings were profoundly confudling, all around him an agitating buzzing wrapped around his ears. However, it didn't overwhelm him entirely to the point of breaking his nervous system, even so, it still caused some irritation.
And so he made use of what little time he may have had of his potentially temporary sanity.
Above him, instead of the endless skyliners he was used to waking up to in the citadel, a blitzkreig of wiring and exposed cabling layered the roof of the building, or wherever he was being held.
His eyes spared the electrician's worst nightmare to look out from the cracked "cradle" he was lying in. Crates were stacked everywhere, they seemed to be full of either food, supplies, or a fresh pair of underwear-
And Apollo desperately needed the last one...
He tried to sit up, but his body filed a formal complaint; it seemed that he was still recovering from his skill "Zero".
This put Apollo into a frenzy of questions, but the most prominent and significant was raw with anguish.
"How on Earth am I supposed to use something that practically kills me every time I use it?!" It really was confusing. What was he meant to do if using the one skill that was his 'Super Power' was an actual damned death sentence?
It was a design flaw. Zero stars. If the universe had a customer service desk, Apollo would have set the whole building on fire. Using Zero felt like trying to win a race by cutting off his own legs; it was stupidly impossible!
Apollo stared at the ceiling, his eyes betraying that he was deep in thought, his pupils tracing the path of a spark as it traveled down a frayed copper wire which was scarily close to his face, it seemed to lead to a busted generator that was the source of the strangely rhythmic humming situated in a corner, as if it wasn't to be touched or it might collapse on short notice, the kind employers scowl after.
While examining the generator's shifting gears, which seemed to run on "hopes and dreams", a shadow shifted just within Apollo's periphery. This caused him to dart his eyes, unease drifting through his mind as he tensed, his body stiffening.
Who knew what was hiding in the shadows, for all Apollo could think of, it could be a rat greedily munching on the sheltered food stores... Or a greedy beast ready to munch him whole-
'Not good!'
He thought of moving, maybe dashing through the exit door.
The one situated perfectly on the other side of the room-
It was also, to his misfortune, perfectly guarded by the stark figure that painted the eerie darkness; it really was a comedic scene; Apollo ought to have laughed, if only he weren't the human trapped in a lion's cage.
'Oh great! I guess I'll just have to pretend like I'm not here..'
'Pretend I'm not here.. Yeah..'
'Wait a damn minute'
'Oh yeah!' He made a substantial effort to silently face-palm, but ended up straining his already broken arm, causing him to wince in an unsightly fashion. 'I have a skill that lets me turn into nothing!'
A rare smile of desperation cracked his aching features, 'Only that it might lead to me- Um- Like permanently turning into nothing.'
Then again.. Would you rather be eaten alive by being ripped to tiny shreds by an unknown threat, or just some-what subtly fade from existence? I mean, come on, isn't it obvious?
Apollo focused. He didn't need a manual, mostly because he didn't get one, but he leaned into that cold hunger in his chest. He willed the world to look past him, to treat him like the dust on the floor or the smell of the grease on the generator.
[ User wishes to activate Skill: Zero ]
[ Activation Success! Congratulations, User "Prince of Nothing", you are now partially nothing! ]
The numbness didn't creep up on him like last time; it was softer. Since using his skill diminished his physical body, it seemed he could get up now without feeling like jelly.
'Perfect,' Apollo thought, as looking down at his translucent frame, feeling a manic sort of confidence taking over. 'I'm a shadow. I'm a whisper. I'm the world's most invisible man-shaped disaster.'
As much of a disaster as a boy from the bin next door could be... Like a disaster for a hygiene specialist.
He got up, feeling the sharp edges of the crate as his hand leveraged it as support. He paused, a little confused by the sensation, but decided to continue, thinking nothing of it. His legs swung over the cage as he triumphantly stretched; this time, the pain snarled at him, a dilute sort of hunger clawing at him to be noticed. Apollo didn't pay it much attention this time as he aimed lazily for the door.
One step at a time.
Knocking over a rotten crate stood between him and his freedom, he cast a cheeky glance at the shadow. It was too dark to single out any features, so he couldn't tell if it was mindlessly standing there,
Or staring right at him. It shifted again, more subtly this time, but Apollo clocked it.
A tiny bit of unease bit him-
Staring at him? Why on Earth would it be staring at him? He was invisible, was he not?
Dread filled him as he quickened his polite stroll to a brisk pace, not caring for anything he accidentally displaced along the way.
Was he not at arm's length from the door as he reached out? What was there to worry about?
He was surely imagining things-
'Wait'
His chest tightened, and he felt like he couldn't breathe. The room's musty smell closed in on Apollo, the littered scenery infinitely more intense.
His eyes widened in shock-
'I- I can feel?' A cold, sharp panic settled in his mind, much stronger than the unfounded dread that was already present. If he were truly absent from reality, there shouldn't be a heart to hammer or any lungs to burn. He looked down at his hand, the edges were flickering, turning a violent, a bruised violet-
A visible violet.
Fwish-
A sudden arrow arced, close enough to give his skin a little peck as it landed past his blurring vision and sharply impaled a crate labelled "Explosives" set beside the door. Apollo froze in fear.
His heart did a tap-dance against his ribs. He wasn't sure what was worse: the fact that he could blow up any moment, or that whatever beast was trying to kill him was right next to him, close enough in fact to-
"Going somewhere? Prince?"
For two heartbeats, Apollo couldn't move. The vibration from the embedded shaft travelled through the floor into his bare feet. He could feel it.
Apollo stood, still weakly frozen, his hand hovering inches from the door handle, inches away from freedom, the 'Love kiss' from the arrow welling up dark, black blood. The arrow in the crate was still vibrating, a low thrum that resonated in his chest. That shouldn't be possible. He was supposed to be a ghost. Ghosts like him shouldn't feel vibrations.
"You know," the voice drawled from the shadows, sounding remarkably unimpressed. "Most people would try to hide behind the crates. They don't usually just stand in the middle of the room and turn a slightly lighter shade of pink."
He cautiously turned left, to his surprise, and, in utter dismay, he found a bow aimed right at his brain.
Raising his hands as a form of surrendering, Apollo cleared his throat, prepping his voice box in case he had to bargain for his life-
Last time he tried to barter, for reference, he ended up on the streets... So he didn't have much hope for now.
Thin strands of light slipped past his translucent fingers as he assembled his excuses for the archer, who showed no signs of lowering her aim. Instead she looked at him with eyebrows raised- waiting for an answer.
Deciding to take the lead, he spoke first.
"I wasn't leaving," Apollo croaked, his voice cracking midway through. He winced.
Great.
Bartering for my life with the voice of a prepubescent bird.
"I was just... auditing the door. Checking the structural integrity. You really should look into the rust on these hinges.."
"Auditing the door?" The figure repeated, a hint of amusement flavouring her melodic voice. The bow didn't waver as the archer took a step forward into the light, her silver-white braid catching light. Her bone-white bow stuck right at Apollo's brain with an obsidian arrow knocked tightly on it.
She tilted her head toward the crate labelled "Explosives", her eyes following Apollo's flickering figure as he struggled to maintain his skill-
"Since you're here, would you care to audit our explosive collection, first hand?" This time, she had a case of venom lacing her voice, as if a colder undertone replaced her initial layer of amusement.
Apollo nervously chuckled, not sure if the archer was joking or not. A slight drop of sweat formed on his left brow that threatened to fall if left unattended.
"Uh-" He stammered, "Unfortunately, it seems I don't have that much experience with explosives-"
"There's always a first time for everything," She interjected, more joyful this time, a smile now hinting at her features, a cursed smile.
'Damn it!'
Her pleasure scared Apollo more than the bow itself; it seemed to wrap around him, holding him tightly in place like a twisted obsession that laughed right into his face.
'Bonkers, every person down here is utterly mad!'
Before the archer really did make Apollo test out the explosives, he strove to change the conversation- Before she might have to scrape his innards off of the walls of the already grubby place,
"Speaking of audits-" He paused, an apprehensive nature took over his already shaky voice, "I wish to speak to the manager of this place, I mean-" He risked moving his hand from above his head to gesture to himself, a sort of act to 'enhance' his speech, "The treatment I'm being given.. It's subpar to say the least."
For a second, Apollo panicked, thinking he had done the exact opposite of what he should have done. But the crazy archer lowered her bow, and without her stygian arrow dangerously threatening Apollo's life, he got a decent look at his hostage-taker.
A disappointed sigh escaped her lips, almost as if she was sad at losing the opportunity to blow him up. A single braid of silver hair escaped her hood -
She laughed, so suddenly Apollo straightened on the spot.
It was not warm, or full of delight-
It had a sharp blade that sliced at Apollo with no mercy.
Behind the door, through the obfuscated window of the door, he could discern an approaching figure, which would either be a curse or a mercy.
"Looks like Boss is here," She said. This time, her voice changed back to a more cheerful tone.
The door creaked open, not with a bang, but with the heavy drag of metal on concrete that screamed in Apollo's ears like a child on a plane.
Apollo held his breath, expecting a titan or a scarred veteran. Instead, a boy who couldn't have been a day over twelve strolled in like he owned the place. He was wearing an oversized hoodie at least 2-sizes too big, something your mother would say you could "Grow into", and kicking a pebble across the floor with a rhythmic clack, clack, clack that scraped past Apollo's brain. He didn't even look at Apollo. His attention was entirely fixed on a handheld gaming device, the light from the screen washing his face in a pale, ghostly blue.
"Boss." The venom vanished from Sif's voice like someone flipped a switch, and instead she chirped out. She straightened, shoulders relaxing, tone suddenly bright and girlish.
'What's with the switch-up, huh?'
The boy didn't look up from his game; flashes of intense light lit the kid's face as the rays easily phased through Apollo's flickering body.
"Is he dead yet?" he asked. His voice was flat, as if he were too bored to care for another human's life. It was the voice of someone who had already seen everything in life and found it all incredibly dull.
"Not yet," she replied, glancing at Apollo's flickering, violet-stained shoulder. "He's currently auditing the hinges. He thinks they're subpar."
The boy finally stopped kicking the pebble. He looked up from his screen, his eyes landing on Apollo with the same level of interest one might give a particularly stubborn stain on a rug.
Apollo glanced at the gaming device. "Nice rig. Is that the new Citadel bootleg with the thirty-minute battery life?" The boy's thumb froze for half a second, the first crack in the boredom Apollo had seen.
'Gotcha,' he thought.
"Subpar," the boy repeated, an edge of boredom dripping past his voice, leaking onto his young face. He sighed, a sound far too heavy for someone who didn't even look like they could reach the top shelf of the kitchen without an oversized ladder. "Everything is subpar. Wake me up when he does something interesting."
With that, he tried to swivel on one foot and leave.
Apollo's jaw practically reached the floor, racing with his dignity. He was being dismissed by a damned child. A child who looked like he'd be more at home arguing over a bedtime than commanding an underground gang of criminals!
"Wait, wait, wait!" Apollo blurted out, the violet flickering of his skin intensifying as his panic spiked. "That's it? Are you just going to walk away? I'm a prince! Well, the 'Prince of Nothing', but the title still carries some weight! Usually."
The boy stopped mid-swivel. He didn't turn back around, but his shoulders slumped with the weight of a thousand-year-old soul trapped in a body that probably still had baby teeth ready to fall out. He slowly looked over his shoulder, the light of his gaming device illuminating one dead, green eye, an eerily judgmental look fixed onto Apollo.
"A prince of nothing," the boy muttered. "So, you're the king of a trash heap. Congratulations. I'm the king of this dump. We should start a club for people with useless crowns."
He tilted his head, studying Apollo the way one studies expired food.
He finally turned fully, the oversized hoodie swallowing his frame as he took a step toward Apollo.
"You were in the sewers," the boy said, his voice flat and terrifyingly analytical for someone the size of a baby penguin.
He stopped at the edge of the carpet that had a muffled wording of 'Welcome Home', reaching into a deep pocket to pull out a half-eaten bar of something that looked like compressed oats. He tossed it at Apollo's chest. It hit him with a solid thud, making him wince.
"Eat that," the boy commanded. "You look like you're made of paper."
Apollo fumbled with the wrapper, his translucent fingers struggling with the plastic, the wrapper not sure if it was inside or outside Apollo.
"I'm not hungry, I'm... well, I'm dying. Or erasing. It's a whole thing on its own."
"You're starving," the archer chimed in, leaning against the wall and finally lowering her bow. "Both physically and in your soul,"
The puzzle pieces clicked, though they felt more like teeth snapping shut tightly on Apollo.
The boy nodded, his eyes back on his screen. "It's true, right now, your mana is at an all-time low."
Apollo stared at the bar in his hand, specifically at the label that claimed the bar increased mana absorption by "250%", then at the boy. The hospitality was thick enough to choke on, and he wasn't sure if it was on purpose or not.
They'd "saved" him from the sewers, they were explaining his own powers to him, and now they were feeding him?
He wasn't stupid. He'd lived in a bin for long enough; he knew that nobody gives you a free meal unless they're planning to use you to clean up the dishes.
"So," Apollo said, his voice regaining a bit of its snark despite the dread. "I get a meal, a crash course on mana management, and a fresh pair of socks? What's the catch? Do I have to join your little junior league team, or is there a dragon you need me to poke for you?"
The boy didn't look up. "We're going to the centre of the power surge. You're going to walk twenty paces ahead of us."
"Ah," Apollo whispered, taking a bite of the chalky protein bar, feeling the grains of the bar as they rolled over his tongue.
Stale.
"The scout.."
"Eat up, Prince," the boy said, swivelling back toward the exit. "We leave in ten minutes. And get him a toothbrush, Sif." Gesturing to the archer, "If he's going to be our front-man, I don't want the monsters smelling him before they see him."
'Finally!' Apollo thought, despite the looming threat of being used as a human tripwire. 'Someone with some hygiene standards!'