Chapter 97
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 97
Chapter Title: Shedding the Mortal Husk
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-Thud thud thud thud!!
"Hyah! Hyah! Run faster! Faster!"
Regardless of gender or age, the god whom all humanity praised as the epitome of beauty urgently whipped the reins as he raced across the heavens.
Piloting the chariot of the sun, the face of the beautiful male deity haloed in golden light was twisted in a way utterly unbelievable for one of his divine station.
Perplexity, confusion, and fear.
It was inconceivable that such a distorted expression could mar the face of Apollo, the radiant sun god beloved and revered by all on Olympus.
Were the other gods to witness it, they would surely pray for him to set aside his wrath and distress.
And as the rider of the sun, the most beautiful bard of melody, the compassionate healer, the very embodiment of reason on Olympus...
Even Apollo himself, who habitually preached the need to always maintain composure and beauty, was inwardly aghast at the sight of his own disheveled and darkened state.
"But this is no time for that! Hurry! Friends of Helios! My sister must not hurl herself into calamity!"
During the midday hours when the chariot of the sun traversed the skies, no god or hero could evade the eyes of the sun god.
Son of Hyperion and Titan sun god Helios, sharing his solar chariot with Zeus's own son Apollo.
As they fulfilled their divine duties, they beheld countless tales and epics, the joys and sorrows of mortals, the lifetimes of heroes, the deeds of gods—all transformed by Apollo's inspiration into myths and heroic sagas sung across the ages.
Among them, the most oft-repeated were the epic tales of heroes.
Perseus, rising from tragic birth under divine blessings to behead Medusa and claim the throne—his glory and tragedy.
Cadmos, rescuing Zeus from whom Typhon had stolen his divine core and slaying Ares's dragon.
Bellerophon, felling Typhon’s son Chimera, taming the winged steed Pegasus, and soaring the heavens.
Since Gaia first cradled the Greek lands, myriad heroes had blazed brilliantly, scattering glory and renown.
And Apollo, proud master of the most radiant and splendid divine duty in all Greece, lacked for nothing in singing their praises.
Yet now, after eons of singing and living through divine birth, he felt it for the first time in far too long—and plunged into shock.
"Heracles, Alkmene's son, daring to claim himself the great hero prepared by mighty Zeus for the grand war."
"His strength and glory indeed proclaim Zeus's bloodline, worthy even to invoke the great mother's name."
Zeus's thunderbolt could incinerate all the gods of Olympus with ease.
Heracles's lightning, mirroring it perfectly, proved irrefutably his Zeusian heritage— a vessel for the greatest hero Apollo had ever sung, one no other could approach.
"But what in the world is that?! That pitch-black fiend clashing head-on with such a paramount hero, deliberately aiding his awakening, and facing the first true great hero to rouse his divinity!"
Three faces: one gleeful in rapture, one savage in fury, one desolate in grief.
Black flames and wicked chill, Hydra's venom and razor gale, abyssal wisdom and tyrannical human might—twelve authorities wielded in twelve hands.
That form evoked the protagonists of the Titanomachy: the storm giants with fifty heads and a hundred arms.
Smaller and more delicate than those who hurled mountains and leaped seas.
Yet the jet-black manifestation leaping from the abyss and the powers clutched in those twelve hands rivaled the gods themselves.
No heroic saga, no divine tale had ever featured such an omen of ill portent. Even Apollo, god of prophecy with the sun's piercing gaze, could only falter.
And as the clash between Zeus's paramount hero and the abyss demon sent shockwaves rippling, the sun steeds panicked in terror and the chariot wheels groaned with cracks.
Apollo's shock deepened all the more.
But physical scars were the least of his concerns.
Artemis.
The goddess of the crescent moon, protector of huntresses, chaste guide.
His sister Artemis was in peril.
"Please, sister! Just hold on a little longer! Wait for me!"
Wounded grievously by the little hero called Dianes at Pasos—divine power stolen no less—his sister now healed in her temple, biding her time for vengeance.
Yet the insolent sinner had entered Chiron's forest under the hero's name, shielded by sanctuary; she could not approach easily.
Thus, she focused on recovery, gathering intelligence from Apollo and Selene as they performed their duties, awaiting her moment of retribution.
And at last, she convinced their father Zeus to permit her divine duty in the heroes' forest.
'Brother! At last, I can make that fool pay for defiling and humiliating this Artemis's divinity!'
Selene of the full moon returned at dawn, easing the reins. Artemis, tending her crescent chariot after so long and beaming innocently, was utterly endearing.
Bidding farewell to his long-smiling sister, Apollo had departed Olympus intuiting it would be his last glimpse of that black hero.
"Please! Sister, please!"
As things stood, the throne of the crescent moon and the divine duty of chastity might lose their mistress.
"Hyah! Hyah!"
-Hiiing!!
Urged by their master, the four sun steeds panted raggedly, hurtling along the celestial path faster than ever before.
Greece welcomed night several hours early, but Apollo arrived at Olympus without his fears proving unfounded.
"Artemis! Artemis!"
Forgetting even to call her "sister," Apollo leaped from the chariot and dashed into the temple.
"Lord Apollo! Well done today as alw..."
A young attendant emerged with towel and cool nectar to greet him, but his god had no mind for mortal welcome.
"Where... is my sister... Artemis right now?"
"P-Pardon?! Oh, Lady Artemis?"
The boy attendant, seeing his ever-gentle lord in such panic for the first time, froze and could not speak.
"W-Well..."
"Argh! Out of my way!"
"Eek!"
-Crash!
Enraged at the dazed devotee blocking his path, Apollo shoved him roughly aside and bolted down the hall.
No time to waste on such trifles.
"Artemis!"
Bursting through the doors into her private chambers.
But greeting him were only empty rooms and a stone tablet etched in his sister's bold script.
-The foolish sinner who sought to defile the goddess's chastity shall suffer agonies worse than death.
I'll buy you a drink after I settle this grudge. Love you, bro~.
Crescent Mistress, Goddess of Chastity, Eternal Huntress Artemis.
"...."
An unprecedented crisis.
Overwhelmed by surging dread, Apollo could only stare mutely at his sister's missive for a long while.
* * *
-Twang! Ding-a-ling!
Under the brilliant moonlight, at some point I had begun plucking the lyre.
Not the Twelve Laments of Nostalgia, nor idle Korean tunes, nor the classics from music lessons.
An unfamiliar, intricate melody.
Lacking the seductive tones that ensnare the mind, the thunderous crashes that sunder earth, or the sharp notes that slice the air.
Simply, as my fingers wandered, I played—and hummed along.
"Ah, aaah~ Aaaaah~!"
Adding occasional solo flourishes to the pluck's thrill and the rhythm's sway, I thrashed in trance.
Vast shocks and explosions flashed through my mind, lightning barrages and colossal pains assaulting my body like illusions before my eyes.
The immense authorities that had enveloped me, the twelve powers shifting at my will, thrilled my nerves to ecstasy.
A torrent of overflowing inspiration, demonic energy crashing like tidal waves, divine power rippling as if heaven and earth resonated.
A rapture dwarfing even the ecstasies of embracing women and consummating desire overwhelmed my flesh.
"Haaa!!! Aaaaahhh~!!"
In that rapture's torrent, the massive barrier blocking my path began to crumble.
As the wall shattering through my mind rained debris, my body quaked with each fragment.
Yet even that pain transmuted to bliss, and I played on without cease.
Was I strumming the lyre, or was it plucking me?
Was the ground beneath me solid earth, or was I gazing up at it from below?
I could not tell if I screamed or chanted, only nodding wildly and bellowing hoarsely.
And then, all ceased.
The black sky, the boundary of flesh, the soul's frontier.
Beyond them all, the cosmos of ecstasy.
The Reverse Heaven Stairway I had once touched—the hierarchy of evolution letting man challenge gods and rule the world—shimmered anew before me.
The cosmic truth beyond its peak, where I had stretched and grasped, danced once more in my sight.
"Ah...!"
The distant, impossibly far cosmos hitherto unseen now unveiled itself.
The realm I had attained before—and the one step beyond it—manifested plainly.
Still shrouded in veils of illusion, yet now it flickered tantalizingly; I could bear it no longer.
"Aaaaah...!"
But the seat I yearned for, longed to return to, remained forbidden to my present self.
And that hazy realm beyond revealed not its full form.
My feet, just crossing the threshold, rooted fast as if nailed in place.
Enraged and aggrieved, I sought to sever them and crawl onward—yet a gentle hand stayed me.
[No need to rush, dear. It will soon be yours.]
A voice soft and alluring, motherly as soothing a child or seductive as a temptress.
Its tender caress upon my cheek plunged me into freefall.
"Gasp?!"
I snapped awake, regaining my senses atop the boulder where I had played.
"Hestorias will scold me."
Whatever frenzy had gripped me left all ten fingers sliced and split by the strings, drenched in blood.
The lyre of wood and silver thread gleamed red, evoking a strange aesthetic.
But what seized my senses above all was the stench wafting from my body.
"Ugh... what is this?"
My hands, the nape of my neck I rubbed, the face I wiped down.
An indescribable reek and pitch-black filth coated me entirely.
At the revolting grime, I could not suppress my rising grin.
"Kuh... Kuhahaha! At last! Finally, one step closer!"
In the orthodox path, they call it the Incarnation Realm.
In the demonic way, the Ultimate Demonic Realm.
Like a cicada molting to ascend the heavens, I had shed my mortal husk—ready at last to stride toward divinity.