hydra | svt

CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE.

wonwoo

my confusion is momentarily subsided as the spotlights flicker on, barely illuminating the pale ice and the haggled figure stumbling on it. the silence is jarring and i blink a few times, darting my gaze around as i come to the realisation that the only people here are me and the drunkard, and that i've somehow teleported onto the ice from the sunken shadows of the seats lining the rink like teeth. my shoulders tense and i clench my fists, preparing myself for the worst.

my mobile weighs heavy in the pocket of my coat and i cautiously slide a hand in, angling it so i can just about see the screen; it seems my cautiousness is unnecessary as the old man continues to slug his wine and pay no attention to me. still, my fingers move deftly across the screen, typing out a short three word message. it's the middle of the day, so i doubt that anyone would even be free if i needed the help but i send it anyway. my hands automatically come to protect my face after switching my phone off, my knuckles almost as white as the ice that i'm somehow managing to balance on.

for a few empty seconds, my breath clouds in the air and neither of us make a sound. i bore holes into the back of his head before i'm suddenly overcome with a sense of dread. i bounce on the balls of my feet and resist the urge to shiver as the cold creeps up my spine.

it seems almost too good to be true when the old drunkard stumbles towards me, making it hardly a challenge to strike him down with my fist. he flails pathetically and i'm almost in disbelief as i teleport behind him and grab one of his abandoned skates, using the blade to deal a nasty gouge to his left shoulder.

he lays unmoving as i pant hard, gulping down stale air at an irregular pace as i absorb what i have just done.

the room spins on its axis as red liquid seeps out of the unmoving body, tainting the white with it's deep red. i stumble back, hands shaking as they support my weight against the railing; i'm about to reach for my phone again when the trickling sound becomes louder.

the body of the drunkard seems to be shrinking as more blood drains from it, the wrinkled yellow skin dispersing into crimson droplets that suddenly don't seem much like blood anymore. i watch helplessly as the body melts away, leaving behind nothing but a violent stain and a decrepit brown hat.

on the other side of the rink, a spotlight snaps on like some twisted theatrical performance showcasing my own murder. bile rises in my throat as the god sways towards me at a taunting pace. he looks much younger and moves with a lot more precision and in his right hand he holds a golden chalice, encrusted with a line of dazzling crimson gems that catch the dim light like knives.

"welcome, jeon wonwoo."

the words are so slurred i almost mistake them for incomprehensible noises.

"who are you?" my voice rattles, which betrays my facade of confidence.

"oh c'mon, you...hic...don't know who i am?" the god lets out a laugh riddled with hiccups before taking another gulp of whatever is in the chalice - my guess is that it's wine. "you've got to be..hic..kidding me."

my brain is in no mood for a history lesson as i shift my weight, preparing to fight again. however, the god seems more interested in our idle chitchat as he stumbles back and forth with a ditzy smile on his cherry lips; if you linger on it for a fraction of a second longer than normal you realise that it's more of a sneer.

"i'm the great...hic...god dionysus! the god of wine, ritual madness and..hic..theatre! it's a very fun job, i'm not going to..hic...lie."

the gears turn behind my eyes and i grimace as it finally clicks.

tired of his incessant rambling (he's only introduced himself, but any more than a sentence counts as rambling to me), i make my move first, blipping across the ring towards where he sways. surely a person who can't even stand upright, god or not, won't be much of a fight; all the same, i pack as much power as i can into my punch, swinging my fist madly towards his head.

but dionysus is much faster. without so much as a drop spilling from it, he uses the golden chalice to strike my shoulder, much as i had done to him. it weighs a ton as the shockwaves of the hit reverberate through my clavicle and i falter with a cry.

i roll back, clasping a hand to the wounded area. it's not broken, but it might as well be as my arm begins to numb from the shoulder down. my balance is affected too as i struggle to get back up on the ice to fight.

"good...effort wonwoo...hic! a little slow though, shall we..hic...restart the scene from my line...hic..?""

with a strangled cry i inch forward pathetically, trying to get one last hit in. but no sooner do i take another step than i'm yanked back by my ankles, face colliding painfully with our frosty stage and in front of our ghostly audience. my neck cranes down just as the grapevines that had twined around my ankles and constricted them together, snake up my torso to do the same to my arms, which actually kind of alleviates the pain in my shoulder.

the ironic humour of my predicament disappears in flash as the binds get tighter and climb ever higher towards my neck. for now, they sit comfortably like a choker but i already feel out of breath and claustrophobic. my new necklace also inhibits my movements, so the only thing i can do is glare at dionysus through my hair.

his smile is decorated prettily with all his ulterior motives.