The basement. Or, more correctly, the wine cellar. It was large. It was very large, and it would do. The fire hadn't reached here yet. It would do perfectly, as a matter of fact.
'...aw, c'mon! ONE of you should've said 'too perfect'!'
"Shut! Up!"
So long as he didn't get distracted in the process.
'Ah, a splendid break from all of that unnecessary fighting! Might I recommend-'
"No!"
'But if you would please, there is a most excellent Cabernet Sauvignon on the right here which I believe you may find deligh-'
Moros turned the bare, impaled corpse to face him, sneering angrily at the head lulled lifelessly to a side, "I wish you were alive so I could kill you again!"
'Oh dear. That would not do at all.'
The floor was a mixed pattern of light stones, in colors varying from a light, spotted tan to a darkish gray. The walls were brick, their colors much the same degree, toward the top giving way instead to patches of white, accent lighting illuminating the room perfectly. There were six large wooden racks filling the room, three rows of two with considerable elbow room between them, as well as several more embedded in the walls all around, innumerable bottles of varying wines filling them to the brim. All around the cellar fresh herbs and several small plants decorated the racks, adding a fresh, enjoyable degree of life.
'M-my face! I implore you! Please!'
Moros started with the lighting while he waited for Apollo. The spear was thrust up, the sharp, bloody end that protruded from Hedylogos' throat by barely two inches shattering the glass fixtures one at a time, sending sharp remnants spraying down across the floor.
'My eyes! G-good sir, I beg of you! There is glass in my eyes now!'
Another. And another, after that. All the erote's begging did was make him smirk.
'I require medical attention!'
"Don't worry. We'll find Asklepios once I am done with Apollo. I promise," he said with a grin.
Moros continued until every last light had been shattered, leaving the room shrouded in darkness. That's when the crashes began, his large, hulking form raising a single boot against one of the tall, heavy racks, tipping it forward with a powerful kick. Dozens upon dozens of bottles fell from the overturned rack, glass shattering, wine spraying all over the floor - and then the first rack collided with the second, sending easily a hundred more, if not two to the stone floor. Then the third rack; a heavy domino effect. By this time Moros had felt his way over to the second row of three, repeating the process, grinning in the pitch black of the cellar as destruction rang out in his ears.
In his mind, right now, Hedylogos was crying.
A few seconds passed by where all he did was laugh. He stood there in the darkness, broken glass and a sea of wine flowing almost to his knees as he took it all in; not what he couldn't see, but how the rest would play out. It would be fun. It was doubtful Apollo hadn't heard the crashes. It was equally doubtful that if he didn't he'd just give up and leave; that he wouldn't come looking for the god to satiate his hopeless vengeance.
"Let him come," he spoke softly, legs wading through the sea of glass and wine as he felt his way around. Eventually Moros found his way over to the staircase, the only way in, and the only way out. Eventually he moved to stand beneath it, and eventually the hunter would be far closer to doom than he would perhaps like.
'This is so hot. ...Hey, Doomie, can we play Seven Minutes In Heaven while we wait?'