[ Those eyes narrow at her, and Persephone smiles. It's not a nice smile, not the smile of the goddess of spring or the beloved wife. It's the smile of the goddess of curses, a smile that promises suffering. The Erinyes are coming, and if he gets away from here, they will find him and tear him into pieces -- and Persephone is fully prepared to do as much herself, even if it kills her. It's personal.

There's a laugh to match her smile, cruel and cold, and it makes the long-dead warriors stand a little straighter. ] I hardly have any of them on speed dial. Your 'brothers' are ready to throw you under their heels and crush you for what you've done to them. Pride is a powerful thing.

[ Corpses shuffle in further, taking places in front of the exhibits. Perhaps their bodies will help preserve a few things, in case this place is blown to bits. ]