And then Apollo was gone, engulfed in the flames. Moros cackled loudly against the walls, eyes peering through a sea of flames as he tried to spot exactly where the god was flailing around in pain. Oh, the agony of the archer's final moments would be a thing of beauty. Part of him was disappointed that Phlegethon wasn't here to witness the moment, but a much larger part of him wasn't so concerned. This was his kill. He already knew what he was going to do with Apollo's blackened remains.
'Why isn't he screaming?'
"..." Moros' laughter ceased.
'You're supposed to scream when you're on fire.'
"..."
'That's the best part.'
The eyes of Doom redoubled their scan over the flames, now with a cold, blank stare adorning the dark god's face. Moros looked. Then he looked franticly. Then he looked desperately. Then again in a frenzy, eyes bulging, long ebony hair flipping about.
Then his jaw set firm.
'What the fuck? He couldn't have gotten out. Where did he go?!'
"...The same way he came in."
'Where the hell is that?'
"I. Don't. KNOW!"
'You should kill again. You haven't killed in awhile.'
"I'M TRYING!"
'Get off his back! Give him an 'A' for effort at least!'
'Just like you, right?'
"SHUT! UP!"
'Please! Please, friends, there is nothing to be gained by such discord!'
'Oh fuck you. You're both fucking distractions.'
'I'm not a distraction!'
"YES YOU ARE!!"
'D...Doomie?... But I... W-we... I thought we...'
"I WANT YOU TO DIE!"
'I... I already am, sweetheart. You killed me.'
"THEN WHY WON'T YOU LEAVE ME ALONE?!"
'Because I love you.'
"I HATE YOU!"
Face twisted in agony and strain, Moros ran up the stairs, knocking the door free with a hard slam of his shoulder. The heat was instant on his face, much more intense than before, but he didn't care. Fire was everywhere now. Debris was falling from the ceiling openly, destructive tendrils hungry for anything they could touch. Smoke filled his eyes. Instantly it became impossible to see. But he didn't care. His head was pounding. His steps were quick and awkward, but he didn't care. Mad. He had gone mad, raving to himself at the top of his lungs.
And then an arrow.
It hit not the god nor even his shield, but the short length of the grotesquely stained wooden shaft skewered through Hedylogos' body. The flaming arrow embedded in the bottom of the shaft without Moros' notice, inches away from black slacks drenched heavily in wine. It took little more than an unconscious tilt of the shield in a given direction to send the bottom of the wooden leg brushing against a pant leg. And then fire. And then the god quickly became engulfed.
Moros' eyes widened. His teeth bared. But he did not scream. Smoke stung his eyes, his immense height serving now as a disadvantage. Flames tore at the entire lower half of his body, but he made no sounds of pain. Yet his body could not hold out forever. The fire, mixed with the arrows from before... His body could not hold out much longer.
"APOLLO!" he screamed against the choking air. "COME! COME, SHINING ONE! SLAY ME, IF YOU CAN!"