Reborn as a Prophet in a Horror Movie

#127Reader Mode

T/N: Thanks for the coffee, Patwmm! ✧ヾ(≧▽≦*) Big thanks to everyone for helping me hit beyond the goal—you’re amazing! Bonus chapter dropping today. Whooo~ 1/2

#127

The room was a mess. So dark you could barely make out your own hand in front of your face. Trash and junk were scattered everywhere, making it a miracle you didn’t trip over something with every step. It looked like no one had lifted a finger to clean the place in years – a mess that, weirdly, reminded Seojun of his own room back home. But it wasn’t the mess that left him breathless… it was the lone source of light in the darkness. The TV flickered, casting a rippling aquatic glow that felt like gazing up at the sun from the ocean floor.

And then, he saw her.

Her auburn hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall, soft and wispy as a summer cloud. Every curl caught the light as she moved, forming tiny halos around her face. When she spoke, her full, crimson lips curved into a smile, revealing a flash of perfect, pearly whites. She’d blossomed into curves and contours, almost unrecognizable from the girl he remembered. Yet… those eyes. Those striking, almond-shaped eyes with whites so pure they seemed to suck in the surrounding darkness, trapping him in their intense gaze. Despite her more mature features and unfamiliar sweet, fake smile, Seojun knew deep down this was how Doade would’ve looked if she’d been given the chance to grow up.

Could this really be her? But how was this possible? The Doade he remembered was a girl bound to a Devil, not the radiant figure on the screen, exuding an otherworldly aura.

No, this was the Devil, wearing Doade’s skin. Those bright red, rabbit-like eyes were all the proof Seojun needed. Standing beside this devil in disguise was a man, or what was left of him. His skin hung off his bones like crumpled paper, his sharp angles and hollows a testament to some unspeakable horror he’d endured.

You could practically see the outline of his skull under the few, thin strands of hair clinging to his head. Every breath looked like a struggle, sucking his cheeks in and deepening the hollows around his eyes, where they burned with unsettling intensity. His lips, thin and pale, were pulled back in a grin that might’ve been a smile if it didn’t look so damn creepy. The two of them bantered back and forth, like some comedy duo, as they promoted whatever product they were selling.

A concoction bubbled in the pot, an odd mix of ground pork, oil, salt, and shredded parchment being stirred with a coarse, white powder. The mixture hissed and sputtered as boiling water was poured in carefully. Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream ripped from the man named Harry, a wail so raw and agonized it seemed to tear something from the very depths of his soul.

Harry’s gaunt frame, emaciated to the point of being disturbing, convulsed violently with each desperate cry. Seojun couldn’t help but wonder if he was actually watching the guy die in real-time, as his sunken, haunted eyes bulged with pain. But no, somehow, Harry was still alive. He clutched his hand, a hand now missing two fingernails, leaving raw, glistening wounds. Tears streamed down his hollow cheeks, but his pathetic whimpers were barely audible over the sound of something wet and solid hitting the mixture with a soft plop.

One of the freshly ripped-off fingernails, ragged and bloody, now sat in the center of the concoction. The Devil, with the delicate touch of someone placing a cherry on a sundae, positioned the fingernail with care. Harry’s cries intensified, begging her to stop, sobbing that he couldn’t take it anymore. But she remained serenely indifferent. The Devil’s voice, sunny and cheerful, cut through his suffering like a knife.

“Oh, the questions are just flooding in! Dear viewers, for any exchanges or refunds, please refer to the number flashing below. Though, do keep in mind,” her smile grew even wider, “we are not responsible for any… mishaps… resulting from improper use.”

The precautions for the Perfect Lover Powder, impossibly tiny and crammed together, flashed across the screen for a millisecond, gone before any human could possibly read them. Then, her face filled the screen again, her beautiful smile radiating pure joy. It was an ad so profoundly messed up, so fundamentally wrong, that it felt like it could melt your brain just by looking at it.

The world lurched, then snapped back into focus, leaving Seojun blinking dumbly at the familiar blue and white tiles of his bathroom. He was back. The glasses slipped from his grip, clattering to the floor with a dull thud.

“The f*ck…?”

What the hell did I just see?

His mind reeled, struggling to make sense of the scene he’d just witnessed.

Damp strands of hair clung to his forehead from the cold sweat. A chill radiated up from the hard tiles, seeping into his knees and shins. It was then that he realized he was on his knees, hunched over the cold floor like he was about to hurl.

A deafening crack, like the sky ripping open, shattered the silence, leaving his ears ringing. Then, a softer sound… the gurgle of water, almost musical in its ordinariness. It was coming from the sink. A steady drip, drip, drip from the faucet, each drop exploding against the white porcelain stopper.

Reality settled back in, a cold draft against his skin. His breath hitched and rattled in his lungs, chest tight. He was soaked, his shirt plastered to him like a second skin. Sweat ran down his face, one stubborn drop tracing a path down his nose until it burst on his lips, the sharp taste of salt shocking him further from his fugue state.

The image of what he just saw had burned itself into his brain, a horrific afterimage branded behind his eyelids. It was exactly what Oliver had once watched through those same glasses.

A ragged gasp tore from him, doing absolutely nothing to ease the tightness in his chest. While he didn’t recognize the pitiful-looking man in the vision, there was no mistaking the Devil wearing Doade’s face. If he could just cut that image out of his brain, burn it away like a cauterized wound, maybe he could convince himself that Oliver was just a fan of some messed up, dark web comedy show.

But those red eyes… bottomless, sucking him in, boring into his soul even now. “A powder that creates the perfect lover.” Of course. A Devil dealing in twisted desires, toying with people at a crossroads. It was exactly the kind of shady crap Seojun expected them to sell. Just thinking about what kind of strange ingredients went into that stuff was enough to confirm they were completely insane.

Seojun’s legs were shaking so badly he could barely stand. He finally managed to get up, but he practically had to drape himself over the sink to stay upright. He buried his face in his hands.

…Is this seriously the end of the world? Was Nostradamus actually right all along?

Honestly, meteors crashing into Earth, dinosaurs staging a comeback – even those seemed more plausible than this. A freaking home shopping channel run by the Devil? He’d given up on the world making sense ages ago, but this was just too much.

Goosebumps erupted on his arms. Powder. That word brought to mind the white containers crammed into Carrot’s bag. That guy was built like a brick wall, so it was probably just protein powder… but after that bizarre vision, everything felt suspect.

Seojun’s hands slid from his face, hanging limply at his sides. His gaze drifted upward, unfocused, to the ceiling. It landed on the light fixture, a graveyard of dead bugs trapped inside, their tiny, blackened bodies stuck there for who knows how long.

My paranoia… it’s getting out of control. I’m not actually losing it, am I?

Most things in the world are just… meaningless. People try to come up with these grand explanations, these elaborate stories, but it’s all fake. Lies. Reality is different. It’s a chaotic string of stupid, random events. Pointless chains of cause and effect. His dark eyes vanished behind closed eyelids, and his thin lips moved, soundlessly, like some madman chanting a spell.

“This isn’t a movie. This is real life. This isn’t a movie. This is real life. Clichés don’t exist… Stop with the damn delusions!”

Seojun’s beat-up sneakers slammed against the tiles, hard enough to make them creak. Then, like he was trying to purge all the air in his lungs, he started laughing. It was a harsh, hollow sound that brought tears to his eyes, but there wasn’t an ounce of joy in it. Any shred of hope he’d been clinging to – that leaving Wraithwood would magically fix everything – was long gone. But seriously, how could he be this unlucky?

Seojun was no stranger to hardship. If he had to pinpoint the start of it all, he’d probably trace it back to his past life, to the last movie he ever saw: The Murderer of the Bloody Lake.

I should’ve gone with “Ms. Nam Jeong-sook Witnesses a Murderous Love Affair Between Her Son, Husband, and Father-in-law.”

But regrets were pointless now. And his new life? It was no walk in the park either. His childhood, which he’d naively believed was peaceful, was actually riddled with kidnapping threats he didn’t even know about at the time. Then came the psychological and physical torment that was his time in Wraithwood.

Even running away from Johan hadn’t changed much. He’d tried to comfort himself with the thought that he had survived countless dangerous situations by knowing when to run, so he could survive another. But he knew the truth. Seojun knew his body was breaking down, but what he hadn’t realized was that his spirit was just as broken.

Why did I even bother leaving Wraithwood?

He was desperate for a cigarette, needing nicotine like a drowning man needs air. He felt like he’d been running on fumes long before that whole Devil home shopping debacle. Was it the soggy waffle incident that set him off? Or Leimia’s suffocating attitude? Maybe it was the crushing weight of knowing he’d never be anything like Christina. Or, hell, maybe it was just the lingering trauma of being kidnapped and toyed with by that damn Wizard at the Invisible Man’s mansion.

He could list a million reasons, but only one thing was undeniably clear: His shirt was getting soaked.

“Ahh!”

Lost in his dark thoughts, he hadn’t noticed the sink overflowing until the hem of his shirt was drenched. The stopper was in, and the basin had filled up and spilled over. That icy water hitting his skin was a harsh slap of reality, dragging Seojun out of his despair and back to the present misery.

He yanked on his gloves and shut off the faucet, but the damage was done. His soaked shirt made him look pathetic. And with that mirror reflecting his hollow-eyed stare, there was no escaping the wreck he’d become. A sigh, heavy with all his accumulated pain and frustration, rasped out.

Get a grip. You’re too old for this melodramatic nonsense.

Shaking his head, Seojun bent down and dunked it in the cold water. The shock did its job, a harsh jolt that forced him fully awake.

“Puhah!” He jerked back, gasping.

Cold water streamed down his face, blurring his vision. But for the first time in days, his mind felt clear. The fog that had been clouding his thoughts lifted, leaving him sharper. He wiped at his face with the back of his hand and stared at his reflection. The same lifeless expression stared back, but at least his gaze held a new sense of focus. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a small win in an endless string of defeats.

“Ugh, shit. Cold. So damn cold. Ah, f*ck.”

He fumbled with the hem of his shirt, wringing it out like a cheap rag. Then, because his brain was clearly fried, used the soaked fabric to wipe his face. In his clumsy movements, his foot accidentally nudged something on the ground—Oliver’s glasses. He stared down at the thick lenses that had caused him so much trouble. Putting aside that whole Devil’s home shopping fiasco – what truly disturbed him was stumbling onto someone else’s hidden desires. If Oliver had actually bought and used that Perfect Lover Powder, the outcome was obvious. Hugh.

A tall, handsome guy, practically glued to Oliver’s side, oozing over-the-top affection that would make even a rom-com fan cringe. Seojun crouched, picking up the glasses and giving them a quick once-over for damage, his mind already racing.

Now that I think about it, Hugh’s behavior wasn’t exactly… bright. Is that just how it works when someone’s made with that powder?

Hugh had a weird habit of either recycling the same cheesy lines or recklessly picking a fight with Carrot, who was easily twice his size. Back then, the repetition seemed like harmless devotion, and the fight was chalked up to his “passionate love” for Oliver. But what if those were just the limits of something created from magic powder?

The world really is filled with all kinds of strange things.

Seojun clicked his tongue as he carefully pocketed the glasses. He left the bathroom, where the pounding rain against the restaurant’s windows confirmed the earlier thunder wasn’t just his imagination. A tight knot of worry twisted in his stomach about his truck as he made his way back to his table.

Only now, for some baffling reason, Carrot and Alice were sitting at his table.

Alice was chatting comfortably with Camry, her words punctuated by loud, bubbly laughter. The sheer extroverted energy radiating off them was exhausting. To Seojun, an introvert to his core, it was like observing an alien species. There was just no way to bridge the chasm between them. Honestly, compared to them, Oliver—who had basically whipped up his own boyfriend and was now trotting him out in public—felt strangely more… relatable.

Seojun sighed again and walked over to Oliver, making a conscious effort to sound friendly.

“These yours?” Seojun asked, holding out the glasses.

“Huh? Oh, ah, yeah. They are. Thanks.”

Whatever guts Oliver had shown earlier when chucking the gym bag at Carrot had completely vanished. Now he just sat there awkwardly, fumbling to take the glasses back. Seojun took the opportunity to get a better look at Oliver’s face without them.

And, as expected, Oliver did not fit the tired cliché of the plain wallflower who turns into a jaw-dropping beauty once their glasses come off.