A figure had dropped down from the top of a four-story building and landed in the street directly in front of me, a few feet away.
Thud.
A second figure landed beside it.
The fog cleared—both stood up to their full, grotesque heights.
Screeeeeeech.
The birds went dead silent.
I froze mid-step.
Oh.
My.
God.
Two Titans—with wings—stood framed by the Roman Colosseum in the background, its ancient facade towering high above the crumbling modern street.
The scene was haunting like an oil on canvas by the artist Alexandre Cabanel.
Fog thickened, swirling between us in an eerie haze.Since when did Titans have fucking wings?
Ten feet separated us.
“Holy …fuck,” Nyx hissed as she reared back on my neck.
I could feel Carl Gauss’s ghostly presence—we’d be meeting soon.
The Titans tilted their heads down, zeroing in on me, an amalgamation of hollowed corpse-like features, bulging black veins, and sharp talons.
Fluffy Jr. whimpered.
I slowly took a step back.
Each Titan had a twenty-foot wingspan.
The leathery appendages were a patchwork of mismatched puckered flesh that appeared to be sewn together—the seams where skin connected were swollen, oozing with infection.
Mary Shelley herself couldn’t have dreamed them up.
“I’m going to be sick,” Nyx hissed.
The Titans smiled in sync, too-wide mouths crowdedwith razor-sharp teeth, black blood pooling in their unblinking eyes.
Fluffy Jr. crouched in front of me, growling protectively, teeth bared as he tensed.
They both lunged for me.
I couldn’t move.
Ghastly black talons approached, air whistling as they swiped for me and—
Poppoppopopopopopopopopopopopopopop.
Hot liquid splattered across my face.
