hydra | svt

CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN.

wonwoo pov

"oh...hic...dear me! is that...hic...all that you've got, my boy?" dionysus bellows, his arrogance reverberating in the darkness of the ice rink. the vines grating against my skin have numbed my hands and feet already and my breathing is hard to keep steady. with an awkward crane of my neck i just glimpse hansol slipping across the ice, trying his best to make dionysus bleed. he's as nimble as he can be, swift motions creating skin-deep cuts.

it's obvious that he's hesitating, unsure of how to go about dissecting the god of wine who looks more and more spritely with each passing minute. my throat feel hoarse and my vain attempt to get the drunkard's attention is pathetically rebuked. hansol's breath clouds thickly in front of him and a violent shade of crimson mars his nose and cheeks: he's reaching his limit.

meanwhile mingyu is huddled in the corner, barely illuminated by the mocking stage light: his hands work quickly, emitting a light pink magic as they fashion a couple of the sharpest icicles i have ever seen, their razor sharp points gleaming. even from a distance, it's easy to tell that the magic is rushed and shabby and if the sweat on his forehead coupled with the nervous biting of his lip is anything to go by, panic is slowly replacing hope.

if not for the numbness bursting up my neck, i would've cried out in frustration: our journey has been long and arduous at the best of times and we've just discovered jihoon, bringing our numbers up to a strong seven put of thirteen.

"ooh! i'm...hic...bleeding! that's not happened in a...hic...long time," dionysus quips in a light tone, though indignation drips from each syllable. his stance changes: his back straightens up and he faces hansol head on, looking down at him with an expression of utter disdain, as if he were nothing more than dirt on his shoe - a mere inconvenience.

like lightning, a vine whips out of dionysus' sleeve and coils around hansol's ankle just to bowl him into jun and mingyu, effectively taking out half of the people here. a resounding crack fills my ears and rage begins to coagulate in my heart again. repeatedly i struggle against my bindings but with gradual constriction and the anxiety and adrenaline ebbing through my veins, my body begins to shut down. my head feels heavy. i can no longer feel the better portion of my body. i slump against the ice, the cold providing a temporary moment of relief as my consciousness begins to spill over, tarnishing that relief. suddenly there are two hansols doubled over in pain, two junhui's feverishly pulling him up and two mingyu's swaying on the ice. the spotlight hurts my eyes and i can no longer hear whatever dionysus is performing.

the voices fade. i let all tension leave my body.

a soft and sorry smile pulls at my lips.

the quiet is a comfort, for a moment.

"WAIT!"

the sharp cry startles me and suddenly all my senses kick into overdrive: the ice is blinding in the white spotlight, burning my retinas for the split second that my eyes shoot open. the shouts and sounds flood me at once and i writhe, trying to physically force them out of my mind. it doesn't even occur to me that the voice is unfamiliar until my eyes adjust to my surroundings once again.

barely visible from where i'm laying, two figures stand by the entrance to the rink, almost lost in a sea of red mezzanine. the doors to the locker room still swing violently behind them and they both pant like dogs, their chests heaving in unison. the taller of the two points an accusatory finger at dionysus, his black clothes looking extremely familiar.

could it really be...?

not even the god has time to react as they bound down the stairs, somehow declaring their presence at the same time.