Beauty Of Thebes

Chapter 40: The Winner of the Hunt Is…

“Rules? Violation?” Apollo asked coldly. “Are you going to hit me some more?”

Artemis scoffed. “If I try to vent my anger, it won’t end with one or two bloodbath. Are you going to give me something big in return, brother?”

Artemis looked at the bloodstains on Apollo’s lips and laughed sardonically. 

Apollo wiped the blood away. His arms had taken a severe blow. It was tingling. 

“I know you’re upset because your old sons of b*tches died.”

“!”

From Artemis’ eyes, flames seemed to pop out. 

“Sister, go. Aren’t you the winner of the bet? I’m not interested in your sheep with golden horns. It’s boring. And the look in your eyes, the attitude of blaming me for your b*tches is too blunt. As for the laurel tree, take it. I was thinking of cutting it someday too. Even if you dig and dig, you won’t find what you want. That tree is just one of the many ones I pulled out of Delos.”

Apollo took off the laurel crown on his head and threw it at his sister’s feet. It rolled, making a clear sound.

“I repeat, you’re the winner, Artemis.” 

Artemis pulled back her bow, as if rejecting her brother’s offer. Apollo immediately looked elsewhere, his mind occupied with something else.

The place where the two gods went to was different. Artemis walked to her hounds, which the fairies carried in their arms, with a tearful look. Hugging their cold bodies, she shed hot tears. 

Though she was pronounced winner, her spirit was chaotic. 

Apollo rushed to the bloodstain mess at once. There was a mixture of broken grass and the hounds’ blood. It was a mess. There were traces of something dragging on the floor.  

In the meantime, the fairies continued to drag the bodies away.

He saw a trail of a human body being dragged away, too.

Apollo’s heart beat faster and faster as he walked along the trail, which seemed to be covered with red carpet. The afterimage of the laurel wreath, which he took off earlier, remained on the ground and throbbed as if he were choking his head.

“Uhh…”

Eutostea was desperate. 

All the hounds that followed after her were dead and the fairies who came to collect the bodies of the dead chattered about the fight between Apollo and Artemis, announcing that the game was over. 

A strong tenacity to live moved inside her. 

Half forgetting the pain, Eutostea dragged herself, crawling away. She made a trail akin to a red-like carpet on the path. 

Apollo looked at it, unable to utter a word.

And then… his footsteps stopped suddenly.

“Don’t chase me away!”

“Don’t come after me!”

He heard the illusion voice of the fairies which he had forgotten momentarily overlaid on the road. He shook his head and kept walking and then he saw her, he saw her back figure. 

“Kill me rather than to be intimidated by this man, father!”

Voices… illusions… they echoed in his ear. 

He hated it. 

Was he so ugly blinded by love? 

Illusions. Again.

Apollo looked at Eutostea.

Eros’ arrow struck his heart. He was eager for her. How was he to express his love in his own way to her? Was he able to love to the point of hating death? Somehow, Eros and Thanatos came to mind. 

Meanwhile, audible voices echoed in his ears. It was Eutostea’s groan.

“…Save me… help me…”

It was a voice full of fear, but the will in her words was clear. It was a desire to live. 

Apollo trudged along.

The arrows Artemis struck Eutostea with on the shoulder looked like the wings of a broken angel. When she felt a strange sensation, she immediately became wary. 

“Eutostea, it’s me. You don’t need to run.”

‘I came to save you.’

The words he had wanted to say pressed heavily against his chest.

Eutostea had two arrows struck her, one pierced her ankle and surprisingly, there were many small wounds. But the biggest cause of the bleeding was the arrow lodged through the right of her shoulder. 

The bleeding was so severe.

It was cruel—typical of Artemis’ hunting methods.

The muscles were torn apart and arrows clattered between her bones. Had Artemis struck a living nerve, a terrible pain would flood her at every moment. 

Apollo spread his legs over her and knelt down. Touching the wound, he grabbed the arrow.

“It’ll be painful. Bear with it.”

“Ah!”