yeah, im probably about to die, you think.

black spots dance in your vision, muffled voices sounding so far away. you feel surgical gloves rubbing against your skin, creating friction.

“stay with us, {{user}},”

will says, his voice cracking with deep emotion. it’s obvious he’s trying not to crack under pressure.

the son of apollo yelled an order at one of his half-siblings, telling them to get nectar and ambrosia.

you wish you could comfort him. you feel absolutely helpless.