My Wives Are Seven Beautiful Demonesses-Chapter 148 - No. Artemis’s Betrayal (End)

(2/2) This is the Bonus Chapter.

Enjoy!

***

"You know by interfering in this matter, you very well declare betrayal against Olympus’s decorum."

Ares’s gaze burned crimson as his snare of authority tightened, war-mist coiling thicker around his boots. The ground beneath Manhattan groaned faintly, cracks spider-webbing through asphalt as if the city itself sensed it was standing on a fault line between divine wills.

Artemis did not retreat.

She didn’t even tense.

Her bow remained loosely held, string unpulled, posture relaxed to the point of insult. The wind tugged at her mantle again—no, not wind. Something older. Wilder.

"Decorum?" she echoed softly, as if tasting the word. "You mean convenience."

Ares’s smile twitched.

"Oh, I mean law," he corrected. "The kind that keeps gods from tearing reality apart whenever they feel personally inconvenienced."

"And yet here you are," Artemis replied, finally turning her head toward him. Her winter-pale eyes met his blazing ones without fear. "Invoking the Old Accords on mortal soil. Dragging a city of seven million into your temper tantrum."

A low, dangerous laugh rumbled from Ares’s chest.

"Temper tantrum?" he repeated. "Little sister, someone ate a piece of me."

The pressure snapped tighter.

"Oh, you were there too when he did. You can testify for me~"

"You didn’t forget why I was there in the first place, do you?" Artemis said, as she tightened her hold on her bow, it quivered with her emotions.

The bowstring sang.

Not loudly. 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

Not explosively.

It sang the way a taut wire hums just before it snaps—quiet, lethal, undeniable.

Ares’ grin froze for half a breath.

Artemis had not drawn the bow fully. She hadn’t aimed at him. The arrow—if it could even be called that—was nothing but condensed silver intent, half-formed, unreal.

A warning.

Ares’ fog recoiled.

Just a little.

That alone was enough to make every supernatural presence on the street stiffen.

"...Ah," Ares said slowly, crimson pupils narrowing. "There it is. The real reason you came."

Artemis exhaled, steadying herself. "You’re escalating beyond necessity."

"I’m responding proportionally," Ares countered. "Divinity was consumed. Law was broken. You know this."

"I know why it happened," she shot back. "And you know it too."

Ares’ jaw tightened.

The war-mist surged, thickening until the air tasted like iron and ash. Street signs bent inward. A distant skyscraper creaked, steel bones groaning under pressure that had nothing to do with gravity.

"Careful," Ares warned softly. "You’re skirting confession territory."

Artemis’ fingers flexed around the bow.

"I was there," she said quietly. "Yes. I witnessed the avatar’s destruction. I witnessed the fragment being taken."

Zeraphira’s eyes widened. "You admit—"

"I admit context," Artemis interrupted sharply. "Not guilt."

Her gaze flicked—not to me—but to the space beside me.

To Eris.

Just for a moment.

Ares noticed.

Of course he did.

"Oh?" he said, voice silky and dangerous. "Do enlighten me, oh paragon of restraint. What context justifies theft of a god’s essence?"

"Your ’avatar’s’ attack on me." Artemis finally invoke the truth.

Ares’ smile did not vanish.

It curdled.

"Ah," he said softly. "So that’s the version you’re going with."

The war-mist thickened in response, no longer drifting but circling, spiralling around his legs like a living thing tasting blood. The pressure doubled—not outward, not indiscriminate—but focused like the tightening of a fist around a throat.

"My avatar attacked you," Ares repeated slowly, savouring each word. "Is that what you’re claiming?"

Artemis did not look away.

"Yes."

The word landed cleanly. No hesitation. No embellishment.

Silence followed—not the courtroom kind this time, but the brittle quiet before violence decides whether it will remain theoretical.

Zeraphira stepped half a pace forward, halberd scraping lightly against broken asphalt. "That is a grave accusation against an Olympian god."

Artemis’ eyes flicked to her—cool, assessing. "So is invoking the Old Accords over a fragment."

Selene whispered loudly, "Ooooh, she went for the counter-accusation strat. Bold."

Gabriel gasped. "I–Is this... allowed...?"

No one answered her.

Ares tilted his head, cracking his neck once, slowly. The sound echoed wrong, stretched by the pressure hanging over Manhattan.

"You’re telling me," he said, voice deceptively calm, "that I—Ares, God of War—sent an avatar to attack you unprovoked."

"You think being ignorant will erase your crime of attacking a fellow god," Artemis growled, silver eyes hard as winter steel.

Ares stared at her.

Then—

He laughed.

Not the booming, battlefield laugh from before.

This one was quieter. Meaner. The kind of laugh that came from a god realizing someone had just crossed a line that could never be uncrossed.

"Oh, Artemis," he said softly, spreading his hands as if in apology. "You really shouldn’t accuse War of ignorance. I know exactly what I did."

The war-mist surged.

Not outward.

Inward.

Compressing around him until it looked less like fog and more like a living cuirass of blood-red vapour clinging to his form. The pressure spiked just enough to make the asphalt beneath his boots liquefy, then harden again like scar tissue.

"But what you seem to be forgetting," Ares continued, voice carrying that terrifying calm generals used right before ordering massacres, "is that avatars act on intent."

Thunder rolled across the skyline as if angered by what; it was undetermined if it was because of Artemis’s betrayal or Ares’s delay.

"I admit nothing, now leave here before you’re declared a rogue goddess of hunt~" Ares licked his lower lip.

Ares’ gaze lingered on Artemis for a fraction too long.

Not an appraisal.

Assessment.

Predatory, territorial, offended.

The war-mist thickened again, crawling higher up his legs, licking at his waist like embers searching for fuel.

"Rogue goddess," he repeated softly, savouring the phrase. "You know, that title has... consequences."

Artemis did not flinch at his gaze.

But something subtle shifted.

The air around her cooled—not magically, not theatrically—but with the quiet inevitability of winter settling into bone.

"I know," she replied evenly. "That’s why I’m still standing here instead of killing you right now."

That—

That did it.

The pressure snapped.

Not exploded.

Snapped.

Ares vanished.

Not teleported.

Moved.

War does not travel politely.

One moment, he stood three meters away—

The next, the street detonated where he had been, asphalt folding inward as if punched by an invisible titan.

Ares reappeared mid-step, fist already swinging.

Ares’ fist never reached Artemis.

It should have.

By all laws of momentum, inevitability, and sheer divine violence, his strike was perfect—compressed war intent wrapped around a god-forged arm, moving fast enough that even light seemed unsure whether it was allowed to keep up.

But Artemis did not dodge.

She redirected.

The silver bow snapped sideways, not to block, not to clash—but to guide. The instant Ares’ knuckles crossed into her space, the air curved. Not bent—curved, like the world itself had briefly decided her trajectory was more correct than his.

BOOM—

Ares’ punch slammed into the street beside her instead.

Manhattan screamed.

Concrete vaporised. A shockwave tore outward, flattening parked cars like paper toys and shattering windows in a widening ring. A city block away, people would later swear it felt like an earthquake—but no seismic fault would ever claim responsibility.

Artemis slid back half a step, boots carving twin lines through molten asphalt.

Her expression remained calm.

Ares’ did not.

"Oh?" he snarled, already turning, war-mist exploding off him like burning cloth. "So you do want to dance."

"Mock battles don’t require cities," Artemis replied, bow already raised again—still not fully drawn. "Stand down."

"Too late."

Ares vanished again.

This time, Artemis moved first.

She leapt—not upward, not away—but sideways through space, her form blurring into overlapping afterimages like moonlight reflected off broken glass. Ares tore through two of them, each impact detonating with concussive force, until—

TWANG.

The bowstring released.

The arrow was not physical.

It was intentionally made linear.

A crescent of silver force screamed across the street, slicing through war-mist, pressure, and authority alike. Ares crossed his arms just in time—

—And was driven back.

Boots skidding, heels gouging trenches through asphalt as he slid a full ten meters, sparks and crimson fog trailing behind him.

Selene screamed in delight."YES! CLASH CUTSCENE! THIS IS DEFINITELY PHASE TWO!"

"P–Please don’t encourage them...!" Gabriel cried, hovering frantically higher as another shockwave rattled her halo.

Zeraphira planted her halberd, infernal fire stabilizing around her as she anchored herself against the backlash. "Dominic—get behind me!"

I didn’t move.

Not because I couldn’t.

Because Eris had gone still.

Completely still.

Her small hand tightened slightly in my coat—not in fear.

In interest.

Her golden eyes tracked the two gods as they repositioned, head tilting minutely, like a child watching a complicated puzzle come together.

That terrified me more than the fight.

Ares rolled his shoulders, laughing now—loud, wild, ecstatic. "Oh, Artemis! I forgot how annoying you are when you decide to be righteous!"

"You’re not righteous," she replied coolly. "You’re offended."

"Damn right I am!"

He stomped.

The street answered.

From the cracks spiderwebbing outward, spectral weapons began to rise—broken spears, shattered swords, phantom shields, all forged from residual war intent. They hovered, trembling, hungry.

The war-mist thickened until it became a battlefield memory given shape.

"This," Ares declared, spreading his arms, "is my domain."

Artemis’ eyes narrowed.

She exhaled once.

And the night answered her.

The streetlights—those still intact—dimmed, their glow shifting from yellow to pale white. Shadows deepened unnaturally, stretching, aligning, listening.

Not darkness.

Cover.

The mantle around Artemis unfurled slightly, its edges dissolving into a haze of night-silver motes. The air cooled further, frost blooming along shattered windows and broken cars.

"You always mistake noise for control," Artemis said. "War doesn’t own the night."

Ares’ grin widened. "No. But it hunts in it."

He snapped his fingers.

The spectral weapons lunged.

Not all at once.

In waves.

First spears—dozens of them—shooting forward like artillery rounds. Artemis spun, bow moving faster now, string singing repeatedly as she loosed arrow after arrow.

Each shot intercepted—not exploded—the weapons, striking precisely at points of instability, unravelling them into harmless mist.

Then shields slammed down from above, attempting to crush her—

She slid beneath them, body flattening impossibly close to the ground, then reappeared atop a streetlight that hadn’t existed a moment before—conjured, solidified shadow.

Ares was already there.

They clashed mid-air.

Fist against bow.

CRACK—

A pressure wave tore through the block, ripping fire escapes from buildings and flinging them like shrapnel. Artemis flipped backwards, landing lightly, boots skidding across the side of a building as if gravity were optional.

Ares landed heavily in the street, laughing breathlessly. "There you are! That’s the Artemis I remember!"

"You remember what you want," she shot back, drawing the bow fully for the first time.

Silver light flooded the street.

Not blinding.

Accusing.

The arrow that formed was different.

Thicker. Denser. Layered with intent that made my skin crawl.

Zeraphira swore under her breath. "That’s not a warning shot..."

Selene leaned forward, eyes shining. "Ultimate move charge."

Ares’ laughter slowed.

He didn’t dodge.

He raised his hand.

And caught it.

The arrow screamed as it struck his palm, silver energy flaring violently—but it didn’t pierce. The war-mist surged, compressing, wrapping around his arm like living armour.

The ground beneath him cratered.

He snarled, muscles straining—then crushed the arrow, silver light shattering into harmless sparks.

"Nice try," he growled. "But if you’re trying to put me down—"

Artemis was already moving.

She appeared behind him.

Her bow struck—not as a weapon—but as a lever, slamming into the base of his skull with surgical precision.

Ares’ head snapped forward.

He staggered.

Just one step.

But that was enough.

Zeraphira sucked in a sharp breath. Carmilla’s eyes widened fractionally.

No one had ever seen Ares stagger.

"—you’ll need more," Artemis finished quietly.

Ares straightened slowly.

Very slowly.

His laughter was gone.

The war-mist around him darkened, crimson bleeding into black.

"...You’re really doing this," he said softly. "For him?"

His gaze flicked—just once—toward me.

Artemis’ jaw tightened.

"Yes."

The word was absolute.

Ares’ smile returned.

But this time, it was wrong.

"Then let’s stop pretending," he said, spreading his arms wide as the sky above Manhattan creaked. "If you stand between me and recompense..."

The clouds twisted violently.

Thunder roared—no longer distant, no longer restrained.

"Then you stand as my enemy."

The world shuddered.

Eris’ grip tightened.

And somewhere deep within the pressure, the rules-strained—old accords groaning as two gods pushed closer to crossing a line neither could unmake.

***

Stone me, I can take it!

Please leave a review; it really helps.

Comments are almost nonexistent. Which, in turn, demotivates the authors. Please have some compassion.