Dionysus ~ The Twice Born God

Young man? You're sweet.

I was rusty. At fighting, at defending myself. 

Formerly, a lifetime ago, it used to come easy. Natural. A pleasurable pass-time (among other things) but, like all nice things, it came to an end; a painful, maddening and lonely end. 

Darkness blocked my vision. Deke's fist tore forward, colliding with the bridge of my nose.

A crack. I swore.

I spun around, my legs collapsed and folded beneath me, smacking with a jarring pain on the tiled floor. 

Blood flecked my shirt, the purple silk staining an off brown. "My favourite shirt," I snarled, my eyes watering, nose hammering. Gingerly, I touched my injury, and the skin smarted under my touch. Broken.

The three intruders scurried into my pub, like a colony of ants to jam, their sticky fingers and corrupted eyes touching everything, degrading everything. 

I found the golden lightning bolt. Found Deke, their cursed gloved hands fingering a bottle of my wine. I shot up, my legs protesting with each step. "You lout!" I shouted. A coil of hatred surged inside me, growing rapidly, haphazardly like a poisonous weed. "Hit me, destroy my favourite shirt. But don't you dare touch my wine without my permission!"

Deke's golden face tilted, and they ran a finger, a lewd gloved finger, over the neck of the bottle. They flicked the glass, and a high, silvery ping whirled like a gas around the room, stifling my insides, twisting them up like a knot. 

"I said, take your—!"

"Bind his hands," Deke ordered apathetically.

Air tickled the back of my ears. I spun, curling my fist to strike, but my brain was slow, my actions sluggish. And acolyte caught my wrist, inches from where their shin would be. They squeezed, their nails protruding through their gloves, digging into my wrists. Nails forced me down, and I was once again on the floor.

Static buzzed in my ears, the tips of my fingers prickled. Ignoring the ache in my nose, I took a deep breath, and the scents from my pub overwhelmed my mind.

Old wood, fresh, magnificent wine and the faint, pleasurable smell of sweat—of a good time. The came the earth, the free, ever-expanding earth. Musty-sweet old leaves, fresh dew and newly turned soil. I let the smells consume me, permeate my core, distil the anger in my heart.

A lifetime ago, when not much else, mattered, I used to find it challenging to be still, to be calm. Each day had to be powered by alcohol, by fun—no point in life when everything stood still.

But that had passed. Destroyed. And I'd forgotten who I was. 

I took another deep breath, and I felt it, sensed it as my blood cooled, and my heart healed, the earth back on my side. 

Deke retrieved a length of rope from behind them and threw it to nails. I smiled. "Have you got a stick up there too?"

"Quiet." Deke hissed, their voice rough, handshaking. "I said, bind him!"

I eyed the course, plaited rope before Nails pulled my hands behind and tightened it around my wrists. "I wouldn't do that."

"Prey tell," Deke said, "Young man?"

"Young man? You're sweet," I teased bitterly, not answering their question, knowing I would strike a nerve. "Fancy a drink? With my permission, of course."

Deke growled and flicked a gloved hand, ignoring my generous offer. With a quiet swish of fabric, a curved blade appeared at my throat, the point stinging, digging into the soft of my skin. I smelled blood,

"A kopis knife. Old school." I Leant further into the weapon, further into the pain and tilted my head towards the knife's bearer, daring them, challenging them. "Push it in. I dare you. It's been a long time."

"Keene," Deke warned, "Not yet." 

Nails—Keene—retreated, their breath rattling, shaking behind their mask, their footsteps only a tiptoe, silent on the stone tiles of my pub.

I watched in silence. Watched as chair and tables were dragged to the corners of my pub, as wooden bowls were brought out and filled, water in one and a small, brown grain like barley in the other. It was odd, watching people prepare a sacrifice, even more so for a human. It amazed me how flued, meticulous the three cultists moved. They danced around each other like something from a play, never once faltering.

Before I knew it, flower garlands hung in rows from my neck, and loose petals lay scattered delicately at my feet. The third mask, who I named Coy, placed a tall, thin black box at my feet, their fingered gloves fumbling as they removed a pure white statue.

It was of a man; a long spear clutched in his hand, a fierce eagle perched at his feet. The statue looked beautiful, carefully carved and oddly familiar.

"Tell me," I asked, breaking the silence, "What is the cause in which I am giving my life up for?"

Deke placed a bowl of water at my feet then knelt, their golden face level with mine. "We are the worshipers of Zeus."

"Ancient greek Zeus?" I almost laughed. I looked once again at the stature. "All the other God's, demi-gods, heroes, and you choose that old kook?"

"You question the power of Zeus?"

I gasped dramatically, "I would never! But from what I've personally heard old Zeus, Lord of the sky and thunder, King of Mount Olympus is not the biggest fan of human..." I trailed off as something shifted in my mind, a memory.  "This cult," I said quickly, "what name do you go by?" The three cultists exchanged looks, and I chuckled. "Who am I going to tell? I'll be dead soon."

"Zithuesea," Deke said.

I nodded and ducked my head. Hit my smile. "And you three are the only ones involved in this cult?"

Deke put their hand in a small bowl of water, swirling it around with their fingers. "We are the only left direct descendants of the original cult." Deke said, "The only ones worthy." They shifted from one foot to the other then brought their hand out the water, something brown and bundled up in their fist—a rag. They brought their dripping hand towards my face.

I tilted back, dodging away from the wet rag. "Uh, what are you doing?"

"Ceremonial cleansing,"

"Is that rag...sanitary?"

"Does it matter? Like you said," Deke said, their voice a smug tin under the mask. "You'll be dead soon." They gripped the back of my head, their fingers tangling in my curls, tugging at each stand. I grunted as cold water splashed against my face, the brought rag digging, grating into each pore. Deke moved the rag towards my nose, and pain flashed like lightning through my skull, my nose cracking. "My mistake," Deke said, brushing a thumb over my cheek, "I thought there was dirt in your nose. But I guess it's just broken."

I smiled bitterly, ignoring the pulse that thumped through my skull. "I hope you rot."

Deke stood, removing the water. I stared at the spot where the bowl once was. A ring of moisture stained the floor, and jewel-like drops glistened, reflecting the lamp's warm glow. Something warm dripped over my lips, and a wine-red drop splattered, spreading over the ring, shattering the clear water like glass. 

I licked my lips, tasting the tang of iron. I sniffed. "Can I bother you for a tissue?  Or possibly that wet rag again? You'd have to wipe as you know—" I shrugged and clicked my tongue.

"Shut it," Deke said and nodded to Keene, and their knife once again appeared at their side. "It's time."