The most recent arrow after Apollo's bare escape had not been unexpected, but had been virtually impossible to prepare for, a pile of flaming debris blocking Moros' way, a cloud of stinging smoke making it near impossible to see. The tip of the arrow found flesh, sinking into the right side of his abdomen, though the god didn't acknowledge it. There was no shriek of pain, no yell of anger - at least not due to the arrow.
Moros thrust what of the bloody spear he could fit through the hole at Apollo, which wasn't much at all. The smaller god had cleared just enough room for himself to slip through. The spearhead and Hedylogos' head had fit, and his torso fit through to just past his shoulders, but when it came to the part where Moros' arm held the spear, his fingers inside the god's still-warm flesh, there wasn't enough room. The tall, muscled form threw all his weight against the wreckage with a fierce yell, "APOLLO!! HAVE YOU COME HERE TO RUN, YOU LITTLE SHIT?!"
'He's always been a coward. He didn't try when you attacked me at my temple, not really. He didn't want to mess with you, baby. He let me die.'
"DO YOU HEAR THAT?!" he called out, throwing his head back in laughter. "CONDEMNED BY YOUR OWN SISTER!"
'He can't hear me sweetie, I'm in your head.'
Another arrow found the dark god's flesh, followed by a third, one in his right hip and the other his right thigh. Moros sneered. He could push through the debris, he knew, but the time it would take would leave him open to Apollo's arrows for far too long. He stepped back slowly, shield held ready, defensively, as he exited the hallway the way he came in. The arrows in his leg and side didn't impede the god's movement in the slightest, pain to him nothing. Years of misery had led to years of self-mutilation, had led to pain acting as adrenaline at best, had led to pain being simply failing to register to his nerves at worst.
'Turn around. Charge through. Charge through like a bull. Pin him against the wall and rip out his throat.'
'Heavens, all that blood on my beautiful wall?! I beseech you, there must be another way!'
Moros grinned. "No," he spoke to himself as he rounded the corner, disappearing from the hallway, walking back into the ballroom where they had been a moment before. "He's going to come to me. He came here looking for a fight. He's going to come to me, and he's going to die."
'Oh god, you're getting me so hot...'
'That's because the place is on fire you twit.'
"Be quiet! Both of you!" he shouted. "If he keeps shooting my legs I won't be able to catch up to him. We need to find some place less suited for an archer..."
'I doubt he'd have an easy time in the basement.'
Though Doom had disappeared from Apollo's immediate view, his presence in the inferno was undeniable. Several rugs, including the one covering a large portion of the floor of the room Apollo had escaped to, were now laying out across an open pit rather than solid ground. Some were filled with spikes. Some were filled with poisonous snakes, or scorpions. At Doom's will a handful of bear traps appeared, set out in hallways or around corners. Dogs were summoned, a half dozen rottweilers now patrolling the hallways, rabid down to the last one. And the fire, left over from Phlegethon, that simply put a fun little time limit on things.