"Too bad, he might have a chance to live if he did," Apollo said, leaning back in his chair. "But okay, sure, you tell him to keep running, next time you talk to him. Tell him he'll die running."
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Much's hiss was incredulous. Maybe Marcie had the right idea, grab a fork and get ready to stab.
"Just passing on a prophecy," Apollo said. "If he keeps running, he'll die. Pretty simple."
"Oh fuck prophecies," Much whispered, with a hefty dose of feeling (most of it nausea.)