No PoV
He couldn't be taken to a hospital. A demigod kidnapped by an ancient hero, who dissolved after being defeated, the cops would put them all in a Looney bin. Instead, he laid in bedrest as the ambrosia slowly healed the fresher wounds. Examining the handiwork Odysseus had done was a grim sight. Broken ribs, missing teeth, cuts, bruises, and worse of all... the whip marks. The ambrosia could only do so much to his battered, weak body. Most of the injuries would heal, except the whip marks, all three hundred, seventy-three of them. The marks, some raised, and some indented into his Skin, left cold memories of each beating, each cruel word had a mark. Most were smaller, and less painful to remember, but one, which stretched along his chest, collerbone to the bottom of his ribs... that was the worst. He would find himself tracing It, recounting the words spoken as the slash was made, then traced with a knife so it would scar deeper. "You are nothing Dylin Moon. Just a waste of the gods breathe of life. You deserve this."