Tower of Gods

8

Game 8: The Real Bait

The concourse was wet marble, wet sneakers, and the scent of the golden fruits that dangled on the gnarled limbs of the bamboo staff. The fountain water sloshed lazily against its edges and caught the fluorescent lights and scattered tiny reflections across the chaos below. The leaves were whirling about in the air with an unusual intent, curling like little green scimitars, and every crack of a root against a rock or a player's leg sounded like a drumbeat in the cavernous depths.

Kim Lee-soo’s mind raced as he watched Han Tae-yang (한태양) move through the chaos. The manner in which the male lead managed to avoid being whipped by roots and spun by leaves was not by chance, but by calculation. Tae-yang stepped through shallow puddles, his knees bending in the right degree to absorb the shock of sudden root strikes, his elbows brushing the air as he deflected spinning leaves without even touching them. His motions were like the water round the rocks, slow and unhurried. Kim Lee-soo was unable to help thinking, That is why he has not touched the fruits yet. He is not precipitate… he is computing a few moves ahead.” The truth of it sank in his chest like a load on his lungs. Should he have misinterpreted the male lead, the result would be immediate death.

Beside him, Kim Lee -soo, sweating in the flickering fluorescent lights, asked, voice shaking but loud enough to be heard above the din, What now? What is to be done, supposing you are speaking the truth?

Tae-yang’s eyes flickered toward them, dark and sharp, reflecting the flickering reflections of leaves and roots across the water. His chest rose and fell slowly, in control despite the adrenaline pounding in his veins, heart syncing to the rhythm of the attack. “We advance together,” he said, voice low but steady, carrying the weight of certainty. “If we go one by one, it’s too easy for it to target us. We move from opposite sides at the same time.”

Kim Lee-soo’s eyebrows rose. “So… you want to distract it?”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Tae-yang’s lips. “… Exactly. But hurry. Every second we hesitate, we risk being crushed, suffocated, or worse. Reincarnation isn’t guaranteed if you die here. One wrong step and, poof. Game over.”

The pressure of the air was thick now, humid and almost tactile, as if the bamboo tree itself was watching, waiting. Water droplets from the fountain clung to the edges of leaves, trembling in place. The roots flexed, tensing like coiled snakes, their movements deliberate and predatory. The faint hum of magical energy pulsed through the air, vibrating the stone floor beneath their feet.

Tae-yang inhaled deeply, feeling the vibration under his feet, the slickness of water on marble, and the slight pull of the roots’ gravitational-like influence. He stepped back to gather momentum, feet sliding just slightly in the puddles, then pushed off the ground with precision, launching himself forward with a yell that echoed across the concourse.

“Now!” he shouted.

Kim Lee-soo reacted instantly, charging forward from the opposite side, muscles coiling, breathing sharp but controlled. The sound of his sneakers slapping wet marble joined the cacophony, and for a moment, it seemed the concourse held its breath. The leaves whipped past Tae-yang’s face, slicing tiny scratches across his forearm. A root lashed, snapping inches from his knee, but he twisted gracefully, twisting his body like a taekwondo practitioner dodging an opponent’s strike in a tournament.

Something was… off. Tae-yang’s instincts, honed from thousands of hours in the game and countless repetitions, tingled. His gaze flicked over his shoulder.

Kim Lee-soo wasn’t charging in blindly; he had stopped mid-stride, standing with a calm smile on his face. He let Tae-yang run ahead as bait.

The male lead’s lips curved into a faint, enigmatic grin. Ah… so you’re still the same. Playing the game your own way. Smart, aren’t you?

Kim Lee-soo’s inner thoughts mirrored Tae-yang’s realization: “He thinks he’s the bait. But… who’s the real bait here?”

Tae-yang’s stride didn’t falter, sneakers skidding slightly over wet marble but recovering perfectly. Each muscle flexed in perfect synchronization: calves tightening to absorb impact, quadriceps contracting to push off the puddles, and arms balancing against invisible forces as he dodged a whip-like leaf. He could hear the faint hum of magic in the air, feel the subtle quiver of roots beneath his feet, and smell the mix of sap, sweat, and fear that saturated every inch of the concourse.

The bamboo tree, sensing the shifting focus, reacted. Roots that had lunged at Tae-yang’s legs veered sharply, like guided missiles, aiming for the real target instead.

By the time Kim Lee Soo realized the trick, it was already too late. Roots, thick and glossy, coiled around Kim Lee-soo’s legs, arms, and torso like living chains. The grip tightened with terrifying speed, splintering marble dust beneath the constriction. Leaves whipped around like green daggers, each one slicing the air with sharp whistles. The fountain water sprayed in erratic arcs as the roots dragged Kim Lee-soo toward the bamboo tree’s base, his screams echoing in a wet, metallic slap against stone.

Tae-yang’s grin deepened, eyes dark with controlled amusement and deadly focus. Every sense screamed alert: the vibrations through the floor, the smell of wet sap and blood, the sharp metallic tang in the air, and the sound of strained joints under the bamboo’s grip. The concourse itself seemed to lean in, silent for a heartbeat as if acknowledging the turning of the battle’s tide.

And then the world froze, just for a second, in anticipation; players scattered, screams echoed, leaves spun, roots tightened… And Kim Lee-soo was trapped.