“Impossible,” the God of the Underworld whispered.
And for one eternal second, the sun returned. Saint Seiya
The voice was a whisper of wind through cyllene trees. Marin. His teacher. Her ghost, or perhaps his own fraying sanity. He coughed, tasted copper. His legs had stopped listening three temples ago. “Impossible,” the God of the Underworld whispered
“...RYŪSEIKEN!”
Why do we fight? he thought. Not as a question. As a mantra. Saint Seiya
The blood did not feel like his own.