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.
"i don't know who...or WHAT...you are," the one in black announces, flying down the steps two at a time with the other hot on his tail. "but you're not welcome here."
they reach the rink in no time and that's when i'm able to see the box of metal in his hand; it looks rusted and extremely old and i wrack my brains for an explanation since currently that's all i'm pretty much capable of doing.
for a moment, dionysus is caught off-guard. "he never mentioned..." he mumbles under his breath before shaking his head, dismissing the thought. "whatever, if you can see me...hic...you'll have...hic...to die too!"
with a shrill laugh, he lashes out with another grapevine. the other two are faster, diving out of the way and rolling back onto their feet.
"don't make me use this." the one in black is menacing and the hand holding dionysus' chalice of wine tightens around the stem.
our saviour holds up the block of metal, which happens to be an old-fashioned lighter; the clink of metal as he unclasps it is ear-splitting.
"hah! that thing...hic...looks older than me! are you underestimating me, brat?" dionysus punctuates his sentence with a messy slurp of his wine, almost dancing on the spot at how the tide has turned in his favour. however, he seems to feel threatened at the very least, as the chalice disappears with a wave of his hand.
during his mocking and preening, hansol has mostly recovered and staggers beside the short boy, who is quite obviously jihoon. i have no time to feel wonder as my consciousness becomes unstable once again; my suspicions about the identity of the person in black are confirmed.
jihoon seems to side-eye hansol's sword, which is crusted with the god's ichor. it's hard to say if the look is of surprise or acknowledgement but he grips the hockey stick in his hands with new fervour and stares up at his opponent, who has now doubled in size. his weapon is, simply put, pathetic, when going up against a divine deity; if this was a play, the audience would be splitting their sides right now, roaring in dionysus' favour.
or not. perhaps we represent the 'good' and dionysus is the embodiment of 'evil' and the audience are instead teetering on the edge of their seats with their lips tugged harshly between teeth as they watch with strained breaths at our battle: the sound of a pin dropping is like that of a jet engine.
the god of theatre and wine has also noticed our vast weaponry (a crusty sword and a corporate hockey stick) and is folding over with laughter.
"too easy!...hic...too easy! and my siblings have fallen...hic... at your hands." he shakes his head, clawed hands resting languidly on his hips, his whole demeanour practically yelling 'unbothered'. "how pathetic."
pathetic. it knives us all and i can tell by the uneasy silence dionysus gets in response that none of us are joking anymore. not that we were messing around earlier, but now our eyes glow red as the victorious scent of bringing this gloating god to his knees makes us feral. even dionysus seems jarred by our silence, expecting a witty reply or even a small sneer; we take the high ground and offer nothing but silence.
a performer's worst nightmare. even booing would be better.
"so, you're...hic...all out of words, huh? good, let's...hic...not waste time with...hic...pointless conversations!" his voice reaches a crescendo with the last syllable, a cascade of vines hurling towards jihoon and hansol. dionysus revels in playing the pitcher, not even trying to hide his smile as the other two are forced to take a defensive stance and tumble out of the way: he's managed to separate and unbalance them in one murderous throw.
however, the chaos inevitably works in our favour. even i'd forgotten about soonyoung lingering in the shadows, his black attire making it easy for him to stay unseen in the darkness. his silence has been unnatural too, as i strongly remember him being the first to cause an uproar when wronged.
my breath swirls in my throat as he yells my name, diving across the ice to reach me with the lighter in his outstretched hands. his movement is perfectly synced with dionysus' and he skids to a halt right at my bound feet, the orange flame a symbol of our hope and determination. before i know it, the air around my ankles flickers with heat and blood is able to reach my toes again.
"ack!"
it seems the vines are a direct extension of dionysus' body as he staggers in pain, one hand gripping the other wrist with such strength his whole arm is white; smoke wisps through his gnarly fingers and the smell of burnt flesh singes my nose hair. as his forearm continues to burn, soonyoung embraces the moment of the god's weakness and scrambles to help me off of the ice. although my brain is functioning a little too well for my liking (my ability to feel anxiety in every situation possible never ceases to amaze me), my legs shake fiercely and my breathing is irregular and shallow as i gulp down galactic amounts of oxygen to feel an ounce of normality.
"you good, dude? hey, i recognise you from-"
one weak groan from me is all it takes to remind soonyoung that now is not the time to reminisce. the hopelessness that hung around us before seems less staunch now that we may have found a way to win. i can see it now: the average heart rate in the audience picks up to 90 bpm and they're now chewing on that lip between their teeth, eyes shining and silently praying for the heroes to come out alive.
"sorry, not the time. good news, you don't seem to have any external wounds apart from rope burn. best you stay out of this one though."
there's no room to argue and for once i don't feel like doing so. i sing to the heavens as i collapse against the other side of the ice rink barrier, eyes squeezed shut. i can still feel soonyoung's body heat flitting around me and his unsure movements.
"i'll be okay. you go fight," i whisper hoarsely, my breathing finally returning to a bearable rate. my wrists, ankles and neck burn like hell and i still feel as though the vines are grating against my skin.
wordlessly soonyoung leaves my side but not without hesitation and a noise of dissatisfaction at leaving me so vulnerable. my surroundings start to fade again and the seconds stretch as i wait for the pain to subside enough for me to at least stand. the colours swirl behind my eyelids and i very nearly retch but am able to keep it down for now. when an experimental wiggle of my fingers and toes brings me minimal pain, i gather enough strength to position myself so that i can see the show finally reach its climax.
"so! there is...hic...have some fighting spirit amongst...hic...you! i don't seem to...hic...recognise you two, though," dionysus let's his sangria cloak drip over his wound, protecting it from any further damage soonyoung may cause. "that'll take a minute to heal," he mumbles.
as if a switch has gone off in his mind hansol lunges forward with renewed vigour, fleeting movements executing a slice to one of the god's kneecaps before sliding across the ice as soonyoung had done, stopping a few meters behind him.
"why, you...!" his hand pulls away from his wound covered in crimson wine that smatters the ice below it. no ichor means not a fatal wound but it's enough.
"hah! you missed! sure, i can't really stand now, but that was pitiful!"
after bleeding properly for the first time, the god seems brand new. no longer does he blunder over his words like a drunkard, but his voice carries clear and coherent throughout the rink. his eyes become alight with passion and his movements are more exaggerated than ever. he hunches over to the right slightly to avoid putting pressure on his sliced kneecap.
he doesn't spare hansol a second glance.
divine power is no joke, though, as the bleeding is already slowing and i can somehow sense that the wound is repairing itself at an alarming speed. i'm not the only one who has realised either, as junhui nimbly arcs a glint of gold through the air, masking his desperation with a false cheer.
"open, gate of the golden crab! cancer!"
warm beige light condenses to the form of the crab spirit, cancer. despite his earlier defeat, the hunger for battle sparkles in his supernatural irises, reminding me of a treasure trove of sapphires. his knives look clean and sharp too and i suppose jun has briefed him of a new strategy.
"what's up home skillet? wow, you look rough," cancer announces rather loudly; i'm too distracted by his use of 'home skillet' to even begin to unpick his bluntness. are cancers really like that? i shudder in my parka jacket. jun, mumbles quickly and lowly but the spirit waves him into silence.
"jun, homeboy. relax, i know what i'm doing." he's as laid-back as the low tide, sauntering towards the god whilst humming something along the lines of the fresh prince of bel-air theme tune.
what? television exists in the magic realm too.
"okie dokie, think fast!"
cancer is already behind dionysus before he can finish his sentence. the god is only able to grow an inch of his vines before he falls to the floor. at first, it seems no damage has been done and that the knives cancer wields are merely for show. and then, crimson bleeds into the white fabric of his toga like a plague, tainting the pure cloth with ugly red. and there's not a single drop on the spirit's magnificent weapons.
dionysus doesn't know whether to stand or kneel: staying upright proves difficult with his inoperative kneecaps, as cancer has sliced over the wound hansol had cast earlier, preventing it from fully healing, and kneeling to nurse his wounds pulls the skin on his back taut, opening the gash even further. he pants hard, one hand on the ice and another hovering over his wounds like a moth to the light.
"this..this is going off script!" he begins to sound less god-like and more nervous as he frets over the gradual colour change of his blood from wine red to gold. cancer has long since closed the gate and the rest of my friends inch ever closer to dionysus, circling him like a pack of hungry, hungry wolves. mingyu even manages a wicked smile.
an unfamiliar emotion chokes me and i'm reacting before i can think it through; jihoon, has been nursing hansol, resting his hockey stick against one shoulder as hansol uses the other to stand. he looks awfully pale and before i know it, i'm right beside him.
"hold on, how di-"
"don't worry about it," i rasp. "i can take it from here."
gratefully, jihoon transfers hansol's weight to me and i'm scarcely able to stop both him and i from collapsing onto the ice again. 'thank you' is on the tip of my tongue, but it's not 'thank you' that spills from my lips.
"XB Y X."
i match his alarmed expression. "sorry i-"
"no... XB Y X. you're a genius." jihoon flushes gently and his mind is galloping way ahead of mine. he's definitely not talking about his video game, i can gather that much.
"a vertical attack. if this works, you'd better tell soonyoung and i what the hell is happening right now."
he doesn't wait for the response i don't have before swooping down to pick up hansol's discarded sword and weighing it in his hand.
"better than a hockey stick, at least."
in moments he's right behind dionysus, looking as if to run past him and join mingyu and the others on the opposite side of the rink. however, a few slashes of the sword signify anything but that as a neat X appears in dionysus' skin, gracefully ended with a chilly flourish in the form of a stab straight through the back.
there's no guessing that it's hit something vital when the howl that is ripped from the god's throat causes me to visibly cry out in pain and cover my ears. it last several seconds before petering out into a quiet whimper. the colour is already draining from his face and he shrinks back to the size of a frail old man, cowering at jihoon's expression. unfortunately i can't see what kind it is, but i can piece together a very strong mental image judging by everyone else's reactions to it.
our moment of relief is short-lived: seeming alright for one moment, jihoon's facade of strength buckles and he's out like a light. mingyu reacts quickly, rushing in to stop him from face-planting the ice. his bangs are matted with sweat and his breathing becomes barely noticeable.
the spotlight that had been burning down on us this whole time finally disappears, plunging us all into darkness and the curtain falls. the roar of the audience rings in my ears as i feel another set of hands share some of hansol's weight: it's jun. like zombies we follow soonyoung to the 'employees only' break room, fumbling through the darkness.
we're much too tired for an encore.
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i've written more words in this chapter than i have for an art essay worth 20% of my grade
consider it an apology for all the time spent not updating this book lmao