The lights above buzzed faintly—too steady, too bright.
Shiva stood still, his breath shallow, body screaming beneath his calm. Pain coiled inside him like a knot of wire—tight, burning, always there. But he welcomed it. It reminded him he was still alive.
His fingers twitched around the silver coin in his palm. Such a small thing. And yet… today, it would decide fate.
He raised his head and looked at the four of them.
Arthur sat with a grin stretched across his face—too sharp to be human, too amused to be safe. Excitement danced in his eyes, like a child before a show, except the show was death.
The man with silver rings was smirking already, fingers twitching with anticipation.
The woman with the notebook hadn't looked up once. Scribble. Scribble. A never-ending stream of notes.
And the third one…
Still.
Statue-still.
Didn't blink. Didn't move.
It was him.
Yes.
He'll be the one, Shiva thought. That thing—whatever it is—needs to break.
He clenched the coin tighter.
Shiva (voice low, sharp):
"We'll play a game."
The word game came out like poison dipped in honey. Arthur leaned forward, grinning wider.
Shiva continued, voice tightening with each word:
"Each of you… and me. Three rounds. Toss of a coin. Heads, I win. Tails, you do."
He turned the coin between his fingers.
Simple. Cruel. Perfect.
Shiva:
"At the end, whoever has zero victories… loses."
He let that hang. The tension twisted higher.
Shiva (quietly):
"The loser gets to choose their punishment.
If they want pain, they get it.
If they don't—" he let the coin flick into the air "—they die."
The coin landed. Heads.
Shiva (smiling without warmth):
"If I lose all three tosses… I'm yours. Do whatever you want with me."
Silence.
Arthur clapped once, slowly.
Arthur:
"Now this is entertainment."
The others exchanged glances. The man with rings nodded with a smirk. The woman with the notebook gave the barest of nods without lifting her pen.
The third one didn't move.
Shiva (locking eyes with the statue-man):
"You agree too, don't you?"
No response.
But silence was as good as consent.
Shiva (in thought, bitterly):
Let them see. Let them know I'm not to be messed with. Even this… corpse-in-waiting will feel fear. I want to know how deep I have to dig before this thing starts screaming. Or will he choose death just to avoid it?
A sick thrill curled in Shiva's chest. But underneath it—tighter, colder—was the ever-growing pressure.
What if I lose? What if I finally fall? What will they do to me?
He swallowed.
No. I can't afford to lose. Not now. Not in front of Arthur.
Arthur licked his lips, eyes gleaming.
Arthur (murmuring):
"I'll go last. Save the best for the end, no?"
Shiva (sarcastic):
"As you wish."
He faced the first judge.
The man with silver rings stepped forward, rolling his knuckles.
Shiva held the coin high.
Round 1: Toss.
Heads.
Round 2: Toss.
Tails.
Round 3: Toss.
Heads.
Shiva smirked.
Shiva:
"You live."
The man bowed mockingly and stepped aside.
Next came the woman with the notebook. She walked to the front, still scribbling.
Round 1: Tails.
Round 2: Heads.
Round 3: Heads.
Shiva:
"Another survivor."
She didn't react. Only wrote faster.
Then it was time.
The third one. Still hadn't blinked.
Shiva's breath hitched, heart pounding against bone.
Let's break him.
Round 1: Heads.
Round 2: Heads.
Round 3: Heads.
The coin spoke. The game obeyed.
Shiva (whispering):
"Zero victories."
Still… no movement. Not even a twitch.
Shiva leaned forward.
Shiva (softly):
"You lost. You choose.
Pain… or death?"
No answer.
Just silence.
Arthur (almost giddy):
"Oh, this is delicious."
Shiva (voice cracking with anticipation):
"Tell me... Will you scream eventually? Or are you so hollow, even agony can't find a place in you?"
Still nothing.
Shiva (to himself):
If you won't answer… I'll make the choice for you.
He stepped forward.
Eyes cold.
Smile fading.
Mask cracking.
Shiva tilted his head back, his breath uneven but eyes gleaming.
Shiva (grinning):
"Before we start the main show… let's end this current one with a banger."
He flicked the coin into the air, turning now to Arthur.
Arthur stepped forward, arms wide like he was walking onto a stage, basking in applause only he could hear.
Arthur (mock bow):
"Let's dance, darling."
The tosses began.
First round: Tails. Arthur smirked.
Second round: Tails. Arthur giggled, clicking his tongue at Shiva.
Shiva narrowed his eyes. His fingers curled tighter around the coin. He could feel his nerves fraying—just a little.
Third toss: Heads. Victory.
A flash of steel in his smile.
Shiva (half-breathless, but wild-eyed):
"Now that this warm-up is over—
let's take the stage for the final act."
The room chilled.
He turned to the third judge.
The others moved back.
But the man didn't.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't even blink as Shiva approached.
Even when pushed forward to the center—no resistance.
He just stood there.
Shiva (voice like glass):
"Only one torture suits a statue…"
He pulled out the chisel.
Shiva (smiling, broken):
"Chiseling."
He raised his arm, and the tool struck flesh.
No reaction.
Again.
And again.
Still—no movement.
Only silence.
A lifeless performance.
Is he even alive?
But then…
A twitch.
Barely perceptible—but it was there.
Shiva's eyes narrowed. He struck again. Another twitch.
A pulse of movement.
And then it unraveled.
A scream—not human, not animal—burst from the man's throat.
He flailed, all calm shattered, composure reduced to ash. He threw his arms wildly, eyes wide with maddening terror.
The statue had cracked.
And beneath it… was something desperate. Something pathetic.
He fought back, clawed at Shiva, kicking, screaming.
Judge (howling):
"YOU LET ME STAND THERE! YOU—YOU'RE USING ME! ALL OF YOU—!"
Shiva (low growl, grimacing from his own pain):
"They won't save you. You're just another piece on their board."
The man staggered toward the door, mad with agony, hoping escape might still exist.
But Shiva, bleeding, vision spinning from pain and hallucinations, grabbed the chisel again.
No hesitation.
He drove the chisel into the man's throat.
A single, wet crack.
Shiva (cold, trembling voice):
"You might be tall and strong like a statue…
But when I play with you—you play along.
You bastard.
Who told you to run?"
Silence.
The body collapsed in a heap of twisted limbs and crimson.
But Shiva didn't stop.
He kept chiseling.
Breath ragged.
Eyes unfocused.
The sound of metal on bone. Flesh splitting.
It wasn't revenge anymore.
It wasn't justice.
It was release.
Or maybe… it was just madness.
Minutes passed. Or hours. He didn't know.
When he finally stepped out, his clothes were soaked in blood—face streaked with it, hands trembling, the chisel clutched like it was part of his arm.
For the first time—the woman looked at him. Eyes wide, notebook still.
Arthur?
Arthur laughed. Full-bellied, joyous.
Like this was his favorite show in years.
The first judge?
He just gave a slow, mocking smirk.
Judge 1 (softly):
"Thank you."
Shiva stood still.
No words.
Just the heavy weight of blood on his skin… and a storm gathering inside his skull.
Arthur (smiling, curious):
"So, tell me, kid… how many people have you killed?"
Shiva (grinning faintly, eyes distant):
"Depends… on what you count as dead."