It was by then, a few minutes after the murder of the hooded figure that they realized there was no danger. No immediate danger, at least. He stared up the long streak left on the steel beam. In front of him, the tinted glass of the side of the casino, and above him and the scar of metal, the floor window he had shot out of.

Tentacles hung out from outside, pointing down as if in rest. They were on fire and now, as the red heart came to a slow stop, they began to rot. Apollo approached the monstrosity, bleeding from his head, leaned over the side of the window. He thrust his blade hard through the heart of the monster.

The body decomposed into a mineralized, calcified gritty substance. Then it disintegrated, philosophers stone and all, sprinkling down at Dion who still hung by the edge.

"How long can you stay there?" Apollo leaned over to look at him, the blade was stained in his hand.

"As long as it takes you to pick me up." He said in a voice both quiet, and nervous. "Please, hurry."

He looked down below him, then up, for the feeling of anxiousness had struck him in the stomach. Apollo limped away, presumably to an elevator or staircase.

And Dion looked to the side, at last. To the city, for what filled him now was a much more shallow fear. The nightmare was over, for now. Or perhaps he had just awoken into a bigger dream, and a bigger terror and that this was only a small break from the actual panic.

♣

Aenea stood in the pool of the hooded woman's filth. Blood and bits of flesh floating like dead leaves. On her, the exasperation finally collapsing on her. Her breaths were deep and her eyes were closed and looked away. Neither pride nor courage nor fear could stop her from this moment, the moment of disgust and relief.

The fountain continue for a moment. The water splashed about, hitting her and coloring her bloody. Nuggets of flesh touched her palm, floating towards her. She pulled away and huddled outside of the fountain, outside where she knelt and breathed and cried in a ball.

Staring at a corpse was easy, at least now it was. But surviving death? Even she couldn't calm down from that, no matter how cold or calculated she was. She had never seen someone die.

She saw bits of bone float casually upon the water surface. It left her quiet.

She stood after a moment, with a covered mouth, to look at the back of the corpse.

Pain had finally caught up with her. Strange, of course, because she hadn't realized it until now, that her arms and thighs bled and ached. She felt relieved too that pain had decided to wait for her to be done with the damn thing. That it had stalled this long. The her suffering had courtesy at least.

She walked over to the figure, dragging one leg and nearly collapsing. Her hands trembled. Her face hardened and she looked down at the corpses head. The dagger rattled on the floor and she twitched, startled enough to back away. But upon further inspection, there was no doubt that the creature was dead. She called it a creature, of course, because that's all she knew of the figure. That it had on it a ruthless ambition to kill her, and to her that kind of motivation seemed inhuman.

She leaned in closer to the creature. Her hands, shaky. Her palms, sweaty, even below the thin sticky layer of water droplets.

She stripped the hood off the murderer. Her eyes froze for a moment, then narrowed. Even the mutilation of her head could not disguise her.

Jezebel.

Her mouth, slightly ajar, she stepped back and fell. Then she bit her tongue, for she felt a sigh or a cry or a bitter scream urge her.

Her sister had tried to kill her. Of all things, her sister.

Aenea looked closer down at Jezebel. She looked to the blade, which was onyx and embelished with gold at the hilt, and she looked at the other side, opposite the blade.

She was missing a hand. An arm, to be specific.

Aenea took off her cloak, her body exposed underneath. Jezebel wore a simple black shirt, something tight around her waist and gloves for her (single) hand. She wore some type of leggings, something mobile. Wrappings on her feet. That was about it, nothing else was on her person and Aenea wasn't interested in a full body inspection. She was too busy suppressing a vomit. When she was done, she looked up to where the shot that saved her life had come. Which, as she realized, was Dion. She hadn't planned on Jezebel getting shot, really, that was more of a miracle as she reflected. She wasn't even sure she was glad he had shot her.

She had killed her sister, or at least gotten her killed. It was luck, she guessed, that saved her. Not good or bad luck, but just luck. Luck, of which, she had never believed in before, and luck that she came to appreciate as the corpse fizzled underneath the clogging of the fountain drain.

She stared back up at the casino and to Dion.

He was only a speck on the side of the wall and in the darkness was little more than a deeper shadow among the blackened walls of the casino. A speck, lifted by Apollo, through the window and into the casino.

She took out her phone but realized it was drenched. Many realizations followed, like the realization that her arm had stopped bleeding and burning. That her thigh needed stitches. Her nose too, felt broken and each breath she took made a whistling noise.

In front of her, the statue of an angel and an urn, pouring bloody water above the corpse.

It was a familiar sight, this fountain. One she admired as she heard Dion and Apollo approach, with tired, dragging feet.

They came from the under-walk of the front of the casino, and beneath the now defunct glowing-crown.

"What happened?" Apollo asked. Only moments ago he was being lifted, but now Dion was the one latching onto him. "Did I miss anything?"

"No. Nothing, really."

"Really? You both looked fucked up."

"Have you seen yourself?," Aenea said.

"I don't know. I've been worse." He said. "I actually feel pretty good, like I've gotten the most sleep I've ever gotten."

It had only been an hour and he yawned. The deep breath made him keel over and hug his ribs. Apollo was hurt, certainly, though looked the best. Even with his limp and his bruises.

His small cuts were being healed too, burning to a close shut. She was not surprised, but still apprehensive.

"You guys really aren't human, are you?" She asked.

"What gave it away? The giant fucking explosion, the acrobatics?" Apollo asked. "Who cares what we are as long as the job gets done."

Apollo rested Dion along the side of the fountain. Both of them looked like they could barely stand, though Apollo was better by far. He limped over, dragging his legs through the molasses of bloody water which seemed even a struggle.

He didn't even hunch over or bend his knees. He rested himself by the rim of the fountain, facing inwards, facing the corpse laying on the floor. She was already half-way stripped, he didn't need to do much.

He lifted the corpses head. Aenea was finally able to take a good look at the damages, something that made her feel chills and a pushing feeling her throat and lightheadedness.

"You shot right through her throat, Dion. Cut right through her lower jaw, straight through her spine." The head turned like a screw and even Apollo, crude as he was, laid it down. The head faced this time. A full twist.

"Fuck." Apollo turned the head back and they all looked quietly.

"Jezebel, huh." Apollo ran his fingers across the flesh. It was bruised all across, he traced the tattoo that rode up her (only) arm and up to her back. The tattoo too, was beginning to disappear.

He picked up the onyx blade and flipped it on its side.

"She cut her own arm off." Apollo said. "Then she put it in our room."

"Yeah, she could phase through...things...that's probably how she got in."

"I'll take your word for it," Apollo said. "I don't know why. Don't know why she cut her arm though."

"Who knows anything?" Dion said, from a distance. He was sitting on the floor.

"No one does." Aenea's voice tapered off into melancholy.

"Well, I know why she did it." Apollo said. "She wanted the throne. The mark. Everything. She wanted to be the winner"

"Winner of what?" Aenea dried her tears. "Some stupid fucking leather chair on the high rise? A view of the city? Some demon...shit!"

"You really don't know what's going on, do you?" Apollo asked.

She gave a dull, almost annoyed sigh. She passed glances to the corpses every now and then, as if to remind herself what the real fight was about. As if to remind herself why this all even happened; her father.