Reborn as a Prophet in a Horror Movie

#112Reader Mode

#112

Seojun could practically hear the shameless voice of the middle-aged man echoing in his mind, a faint and lingering like an unwelcome memory. He imagined a woman with pale, almost bloodless fingers, gently caressing the puffy, red corners of her eyes. Her hand floated weightlessly in the air, while beneath the harsh, cold moonlight, she wept silently. The night swallowed her sobs, leaving them unheard.

This was the tragic and bizarre story of how D ended up at the Invisible Man’s mansion. After the incident known as “The Vanishing Under the Moonlight,” the document Seojun was reviewing delved into mundane details, such as the financial settlement for handing D over to the facility.

Disgust curdled in Seojun’s stomach as he realized D’s uncle had not only failed her, but also callously sold her off without a second thought. It shouldn’t have surprised him. The man saw his niece as a burden rather than as family. The relief in the uncle’s words made Seojun’s expression darken, his gaze heavy and somber. He skimmed back over the researcher’s earlier notes.

A telepath had confirmed the uncle’s story by reading his mind, so the lab accepted it without question.

D was mute. She couldn’t even speak to defend herself. A sharp twitch pulled at the corner of his eye at the sheer injustice of it all.

No… his mind corrected. The prophet who had only ever earned the blind faith of one believer knew better. The Invisible Man’s mansion wasn’t just a physical place; it was a breeding ground for madness. A fanatical group, obsessed with creating an invisible human, preyed on those with supernatural abilities, dragging them into illegal experiments with wild abandon. Even if D could have spoken, would they have listened? Seojun doubted it. They would’ve ignored her pleas, turned a deaf ear to her cries for help.

“……”

Seojun’s thoughts felt gritty, like sand stuck between his teeth, as he tried to wrap his head around D’s incomplete invisibility. Only her arm had turned transparent. Was it possible for something so imperfect, so… half-baked? If the transparency had started at her fingers, gradually spreading up her limbs, it might have made more sense. But for just her arm to vanish while her hand stayed visible…

The more Seojun thought about it, the less sense it made. A stubborn feeling of unease clung to him as he flipped back to the first page of the file.

That’s when he saw the information on S. A yellowed, crumpled sheet of paper was tucked into a plastic sleeve, its edges frayed and worn. Just like with D’s file, S’s name had been redacted, and the original photo was missing. Seojun’s eyes lingered on the blank white space where the picture should’ve been before he moved on to read S’s profile. Unlike D’s sparse details, S’s life was recorded in overwhelming, meticulous fragments, so dense it almost felt like too much.

It didn’t surprise Seojun. S had been trapped in the lab longer than anyone else. The researchers had all the time in the world to dissect his life from every possible angle. This worn, yellowed paper held the carefully curated scraps of information they deemed worthy of keeping.

Though Seojun had never learned S’s name or seen his face, he had begun to piece together an idea of the man. They were around the same height and weight, so Seojun imagined a thin, irritable figure, someone whose edges were worn down by misfortune. As he tried to picture S, his pitiful imagination struggled, and the features he conjured up would blur and disappear whenever his focus slipped.

In the end, the face Seojun pictured wasn’t all that different from his own. Any faint sense of connection he might have felt for S quickly vanished, leaving behind only a shred of pity. It was a shame, Seojun thought, that S had never had the chance to build his strength, free from the stress, pain, and unknown drug substances that had likely ravaged his body.

Seojun couldn’t help but acknowledge the bitter truth to himself: if he hadn’t been so consumed by the paranoid delusion that life was a horror movie, and had focused on a decent diet and healthier habits, like Johan, maybe he wouldn’t be stuck with a body as fragile as a leaf. Who knows, maybe he would’ve even developed some impressive biceps by now? Seojun clicked his tongue, unimpressed with the image of S’s scrawny physique, and by extension, his own.

His immune system must be a total mess.

His gaze drifted to the “Special Remarks” section of the file. As expected, there was a note from one of the researchers about S’s declining health.

「Note: Before we focus on improving his physical strength, it’s crucial to increase his caloric intake. I’ve arranged a consultation with Ms. Muncie, the nutritionist, to discuss a balanced diet.」

However, it wasn’t the diet plan that caught Seojun’s attention. It was the paragraph right above it.

「Considering that his identical twin does not exhibit any psychic abilities, it appears that the presence or absence of such abilities is unrelated to genetics and not hereditary. Initially, the twins were experimented on together, but with no significant results, we’re shifting our approach. Unlike his brother, S shows overt hostility toward the research team. However, his apathy outweighs his hostility, so we are considering introducing positive psychological control techniques and experiential learning activities.」

“Abilities aren’t hereditary…”

Seojun nodded to himself, a quiet agreement forming. He wasn’t sure if his own abilities had anything in common with those of the test subjects at the Invisible Man’s mansion, but one thing was clear: there weren’t any shamans in his family. No psychic lineage among his parents or relatives, that was for sure.

Wait… if this world isn’t a horror movie, shouldn’t I have gotten a shamanic calling by now? Was I always meant to be a shaman?¹T/N: A shamanic calling, often referred to as “신내림” (shin-nae-rim) in Korean culture, is a spiritual experience where an individual is believed to be chosen or ‘called upon’ by spirits or deities to become a shaman.

The realization crept up on him, a thought he had never taken seriously before. Sure, the visions he’d been having lately were undeniably supernatural, but before that chaotic night at Hamon Campground, he’d lived a perfectly ordinary life.

“Don’t shamans have to stay unmarried?”

His mind spiraled, suddenly taking him down a bizarre rabbit hole. A familiar booming voice echoed from deep within it: Elderly… living alone… a bachelor life… Johan had a funny way of thinking sometimes.

Why was he so against the idea of me becoming an old bachelor, anyway?

For some reason, a hot flush crept up the back of Seojun’s neck, spreading like wildfire across his face. His cheeks, cheekbones, and even his once-somber eyes felt like it was on fire. He half-expected steam to rise off his skin, like he could fry an egg on his forehead.

“Hmmm…”

Seojun bit his lip, dipping his chin to hide the flush creeping up his face. An unexpected image of a certain someone had invaded his thoughts, turning his expression into a mess. He shook his head vigorously, trying to shake it off. Now wasn’t the time for random daydreaming.

— Oz? What’s going on? Is there poisonous gas leaking in or something? If you’re about to die, at least give me a heads-up first.

Right on cue, the Wizard’s teasing voice rang in his ears, hitting him at the worst possible moment. The warmth that had spread through Seojun’s body vanished instantly, replaced by a simmering irritation. How could the Wizard sound so carefree when they were both stuck in the same messed-up situation? It was downright infuriating.

Had the Wizard already figured a way out of the CCTV control room? Questions swirled through Seojun’s mind, but he bit them back. Instead, he raised his middle finger inside the sack covering his hands and aimed it toward the camera. His neck stiffened as he tilted his head up awkwardly, his hand swaying like a metronome. Hopefully, the Wizard would pick up on his irritation.

— Is your hand cramping? Even if it is, keep going! You’re the type who pushes through, Oz. I know someone with a heart of gold. Kind, loyal, and always trusting his friend. I really like him. That beautiful warm heart of his? I want to be just like that. So, hang in there!

Like hell you can sense my irritation!

The Wizard, as usual, seemed completely oblivious. He was the kind of guy who’d ride a mule and keep whipping it without realizing anything was wrong!

A blue vein pulsed on Seojun’s forehead. He cursed himself for being foolish enough to team up with someone he couldn’t even see. And that heart of gold idiot who blindly trusted his friend? Seojun muttered curses under his breath for him too. Anyone who believed in that kind of logic couldn’t be a decent person.

Taking slow, measured breaths, Seojun fought to calm himself. He turned his focus back to the file in front of him. Unlike D, S’s birthdate was still intact—January 9th. He made a mental note and flipped to the next page.

Next up was information on the telepath. Once again, the name and photo had been scrubbed from the file.

L’s records were something else—meticulously detailed, with no deviations compared to what L had already confessed. He was a relentless talker, not just with his mouth but with his fingers, too. The special remarks section practically echoed what he’d rambled on about in their shared journal, almost word for word. But there was one detail that hadn’t come up during their conversations.

「…We investigated the home shopping channel L claimed to have watched, but no such channel exists. Additionally, the earbuds he supposedly ordered turned out to be regular cotton balls. It seems that during the awakening of his telepathic abilities, L experienced some form of mental delusion.」

“…..”

Seojun nodded to himself, expression unchanging. The idea that earbuds from a home shopping channel could trigger telepathy was ridiculous, even by the lab’s warped standards. He could only muster a faint, lukewarm sense of pity for L and his fragile mental state.

Then, there was T.

Her file was worse and deeply disturbing. Before being brought to the lab, she had cut off her own hand. Throughout all the torturous experiments, she endured everything with a vacant, hollow gaze, never explaining why she did it.

In contrast to the frail D or the scrawny S, T had a build similar to L—average for a young adult. But while her mental health seemed unstable in the shared journal, her physical strength was undeniable, a fact the file emphasized over and over. Yet, this strength wasn’t an advantage for T.

The researcher’s notes were almost gleeful, reveling in the fact that T’s healthy body had allowed them to run a wider range of experiments. Each comment Seojun read dragged a heavy sigh from deep in his chest, the weight of it growing with every page he turned.

「Judging by the clean cut, it appears she used her ability, rather than brute force, to sever her hand. Though her overall power isn’t remarkable, her precision with this ability is extraordinary.」

The researcher’s disturbingly enthusiastic tone twisted Seojun’s already uneasy stomach into knots. He could feel the nausea rising, a bitter taste flooding his mouth. The mix of the researcher’s cold detachment and T’s willingness to mutilate herself sent chills creeping up his spine.

Seojun’s own body bore its own missing piece, but he had been a victim. A loss caused by someone else’s cruelty, someone else’s decision. The idea of voluntarily cutting off a part of yourself was incomprehensible. The thought rattled him so deeply that, unlike with the other files, where he skimmed past the details, he found himself transfixed on the special remarks section here.

Just reading the notes made his eye throb with exhaustion, as if the words were draining the life out of him. He pressed the back of his hand against his eye sockets, blinking slowly, forcing himself to focus. Reluctantly, he moved to check T’s birthdate and froze. His remaining eye widened in disbelief.

Leaning forward, he barely registered the rough fabric brushing against his nose. His focus was entirely on the date in front of him: T’s birthday was listed as January 9th. The familiarity of it was eerie. Slowly, a memory surfaced, one he hadn’t fully processed before.

「By the way, S, did you catch the meteor shower last night? It was incredible. As I watched, I remembered how you and T once mentioned there were falling stars on the day you were born, so I tried to draw it.」

S and T were born on the same day.

The realization knocked the breath out of him, leaving Seojun reeling.

T/N:

ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ Additional shamanism lore for the nerds like me:

The journey to becoming a shaman is often marked by intense challenges. Those called may experience intense physical, mental, or emotional distress, sometimes referred to as “spirit sickness.” This suffering is a sign that the spirits are trying to connect, and the only way to find relief is to embrace the calling. This involves undergoing rigorous initiation and training, learning to communicate with the spirits and serve as a mediator between the spiritual and human worlds.

Across different cultures, a shamanic calling can manifest in various ways – through vivid visions, prophetic dreams, or experiences that leave you feeling profoundly connected to the spiritual realm. It’s believed that those who receive the calling can’t avoid it. Refusal can lead to even more suffering and misfortune, while embracing the calling can bring healing and spiritual awakening. It’s as if the universe itself beckoning you towards a sacred purpose, and the only path to peace lies in answering that call.