CHAPTER 60: THE MARSH DWELLERS’ WRATH

The lead marsh spirit’s arm rose in a fluid, impossible motion, reeds and water dripping as it extended skyward. Time seemed to slow for Apollo as he watched that inhuman limb hang suspended for one terrible heartbeat.

Then the world exploded into chaos.

The circle of creatures surged forward as one, a wave of twisted limbs and glowing eyes crashing toward their tiny island. Water rose with them, slamming against the patch of earth with enough force to make it tremble beneath Apollo’s feet. Mud turned to slick soup, sending him staggering as he fought to keep his balance.

"Hold your ground!" Lyra shouted, her voice nearly lost in the roar of water and the eerie, layered chorus emanating from dozens of marsh spirit throats.

Thorin was the first to move, his stocky frame suddenly animated with berserker fury. The dwarf charged forward with a bellow that seemed to shake the very air, his axe carving a gleaming arc through the morning mist. It connected with the nearest spirit, tearing through reeds and something beneath that crunched like brittle bone.

"Come on then!" he roared, already swinging for his next target. "I’ve killed prettier things than you before breakfast!"

Renna moved with practiced precision, her spear a constant blur of motion. She didn’t waste energy on battle cries, saving her breath for the work of keeping the creatures at bay. The spear’s tip flashed in and out, puncturing reed-covered forms that recoiled from the cold iron.

Apollo drew his sword, its familiar weight offering little comfort against the tide of ancient marsh dwellers. The gold in his veins stirred, responding to the danger, but he forced it down. ’Not yet,’ he thought desperately. ’Not if there’s another way.’

A creature lunged at him, limbs elongating impossibly as it crossed the distance. Apollo sidestepped, bringing his blade down in a clean arc that severed the thing’s arm at what might have been an elbow.

But instead of blood, only brackish water and mud spilled from the wound. Before his eyes, the severed limb began to reform, reeds and water knitting together in a grotesque parody of healing.

"They don’t die properly!" Nik shouted, his voice high with panic as he slashed at a spirit that had gotten too close. He and Lyra had instinctively moved back-to-back, creating a defensive position that let them cover each other’s blind spots.

"Keep cutting!" Lyra called back, her knife finding the glowing eyes of one creature. It shrieked, a sound like wind through hollow reeds, and fell back momentarily. "The eyes! Go for the eyes!"

Apollo tried to process this information, but three more spirits surged toward him at once. He spun, blade flashing, cutting through reed-flesh that parted too easily and reformed too quickly. Water lapped at his ankles, then his calves, their island shrinking as the marsh itself seemed to rise around them.

Across the diminishing circle of mud, Cale moved with unexpected grace for his size. His sword cut through a spirit with brutal efficiency, the creature falling apart into separate components of reed and mud.

But even as it dissolved, another lashed out from behind, its scythe-like limb wrapping around Cale’s leg. The quiet man grunted in pain as barbs dug into his flesh, the spirit already pulling him toward the deeper water.

Apollo lunged toward him, but another creature blocked his path, its mouth-like opening spreading wide to reveal rows of what looked like sharpened driftwood.

He cut at it desperately, trying to clear a path to Cale, who was now being dragged inch by inch toward the marsh despite his attempts to anchor himself with his sword.

Near the center of their rapidly shrinking island, Nik cried out. Apollo turned to see the young man caught in the grip of a particularly massive spirit, its elongated arms wrapped around his torso, dragging him backward toward the water. Nik’s knife flashed uselessly against the creature’s reed-covered form, each cut simply passing through without causing lasting damage.

"Help!" Nik gasped, eyes wide with terror as the water reached his waist. "It’s pulling me under!"

Something snapped inside Apollo at the sight. The carefully maintained control, the desperate suppression of his true nature, all of it crumbled in an instant of pure, protective rage.

’No more hiding,’ he thought as the gold in his veins surged upward, no longer content to remain dormant. ’Not at the cost of their lives.’

The power flooded through him, molten and familiar, racing along pathways that had been cold for too long. It burst from his skin in waves of brilliant golden light, illuminating the gloomy marsh like a second sun.

The light burned through the mist, through the reeds, through the very substance of the spirits themselves.

The creature holding Nik recoiled with a shriek, its arms unwinding as it retreated from the searing brilliance. Nik fell forward, splashing into the shallow water before scrambling back toward the center of the island, his expression a mixture of relief and shock as he stared at Apollo.

"Finally, sunshine!" the relic’s voice cut through the momentary lull, gleeful and mocking. "I was starting to think you’d forgotten what you are."

Apollo ignored it, focusing instead on directing the golden energy outward in controlled bursts. Each pulse drove the marsh spirits back, their glowing eyes dimming in the face of his radiance. The gold flowed through his hands, down his blade, transforming the ordinary steel into something that hummed with power.

The others had frozen momentarily, weapons still raised but movements halted as they stared at Apollo’s transformation.

Then Lyra, ever practical, seized the advantage. She drove her knife into the eye of a spirit that had paused, transfixed by the golden light. Renna followed her lead, her spear finding vulnerable points in the momentarily distracted creatures.

Thorin roared with renewed vigor, his axe smashing through a spirit with enough force to scatter its components across the water’s surface. "Whatever you’re doing," he shouted to Apollo, "keep doing it!"

The marsh spirits hesitated, their fluid movements becoming erratic as they faced an enemy they hadn’t encountered in centuries.

Apollo felt the gold respond to his will, flowing more freely now that he’d stopped fighting it. He raised his hands, calling forth more of the power that had once been as natural to him as breathing.

Golden light gathered between his palms, condensing into a sphere of pure energy that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. With a gesture that felt like remembering rather than learning, he sent it outward, directing it into the water surrounding their island.

The effect was immediate and devastating. The water began to boil, steam rising in great clouds as the divine energy transferred its heat. Spirits caught in the affected area writhed and dissolved, their reed-bodies unable to maintain cohesion in the suddenly hostile environment.

The leader of the marsh spirits, the first to have risen, the one who had recognized what Apollo was, raised its elongated arms in what might have been surrender or preparation for a final attack. Its many-layered voice rose above the hissing steam and the cries of its followers.

"The sun returns," it intoned, glowing eyes fixed on Apollo. "But too late, too diminished. The marsh remembers. The marsh waits."

With a shriek that seemed to pierce Apollo’s very bones, the leader dissolved, reeds and mud and glowing light separating and sinking beneath the dark water. The remaining spirits followed, retreating from the golden radiance that had proven stronger than their ancient darkness.

One by one, the blue-green lights winked out beneath the water’s surface. The unnatural fog began to lift, revealing a marsh that stretched endlessly in all directions, its secrets once more hidden beneath an innocent-seeming surface.

Silence fell, heavier than before, pregnant with implications. The water around their island stilled, though their patch of earth was now half its original size, more mud than solid ground. Apollo felt the gold retreating beneath his skin, the brief surge of power leaving him trembling with exhaustion.

"You made new friends, sun-boy," the relic chuckled from his pack, its voice carrying clearly in the sudden quiet. "Shame they hate you even more than the rest of us."

Apollo turned slowly to face his companions, unsure what he would find in their expressions. They stood bloodied and panting, clothes torn and soaked, weapons still clutched in white-knuckled grips. No one spoke. No one moved.

The marsh had marked them, he realized with grim certainty. But so had he, with a revelation that could never be taken back. Whatever trust Nik’s words had tentatively rebuilt the night before had been shattered by the golden light that no mortal should possess.

He opened his mouth to speak, though what he could possibly say, he didn’t know. The silence stretched between them, as vast and treacherous as the marsh itself.

Lyra was the first to break the silence. "What in the seven hells was that?" Her voice trembled,not with fear, Apollo realized, but with barely contained fury. The knife in her hand caught the strengthening sunlight, its edge still dripping with whatever passed for blood among the marsh spirits.

Apollo felt hollowed out, drained in a way that went beyond physical exhaustion. The gold in his veins had retreated to a dull ache, leaving him light-headed and unsteady. He swayed slightly, planting his feet wider to maintain balance on the shrinking island.