Reborn as a Prophet in a Horror Movie

#144Reader Mode

#144

Madison’s anger seemed illogical. Yes, Johan had spouted some half-baked, maybe offensive nonsense, but she was the one who tried to stab him in the head first. Details.

Still, Johan was no stranger to dealing with the irrational. Years of encounters with unhinged people had given him the weary patience of a coastal rock enduring endless waves. He adjusted his stance and flashed an easy smile, his voice slipping into the casual tone of someone reciting from a therapy podcast.

“Hey, take it easy. Why be so hard on yourself? Madison, you need to practice some self-love.”

The empty platitude hung between them, all shine and no substance, like offering someone a fruit peel and calling it nutrition. Madison caught his condescending tone immediately. Something snapped inside her chest—a sensation unrelated to breathing, since her undead body didn’t need oxygen. Still, her chest heaved as if caught between needing air and craving revenge—a purely psychological response as rage coursed through her lifeless heart.

Still clutching the knife, she shouted, “You believe every ridiculous conspiracy theory out there, but me being a ghost is too far-fetched?! Is that empty head just for show? Why can’t you see what’s right in front of you?!”

Johan remained completely unfazed. The insult bounced off him like water on a raincoat. His expression stayed locked in a serenity so absolute it was almost ridiculous, nearly majestic in its detachment. But his calm wasn’t without reason. The man had seen an actual alien monster on Earth. He’d glimpsed classified government files documenting human experiments. Through pure coincidence, he’d stumbled onto the aftermath of an illegal research facility’s work on human invisibility. He’d even chatted with someone who introduced himself as a literal devil, though the guy looked more like an awkward uncle than the harbinger of doom.

“Well, you don’t look like you weigh twenty grams, Madison. Don’t need a scale to figure that out. So I’m thinking… maybe you’re not a ghost. Maybe you’re some kind of enhanced human. Or, wait, maybe you’re just a downgraded version? A weakened, modified human or whatever.”

The look in Johan’s eyes—that condescending gleam reserved for kids who still believe in the tooth fairy—sent a chill across Madison’s scalp. Realization hit her then. The man standing before her wasn’t just dense. He was impossible. Unreasonable to the core.

And that left her with only one option.

She didn’t waste another word arguing. Instead, her pale, trembling fingers tightened around the knife handle.

It was still sharp. Despite everything, it had tasted only one life. Whatever traces of flesh or blood it had touched had vanished, consumed by the mirror. Madison had killed only once before, and that had been with poison. Quiet. Clean. Impersonal. But this… this was intimate.

This was the very knife that had stabbed into her own chest.

Something cold and instinctual clicked into place within her—muscle memory outlasting the muscles themselves. Her body recognized what her mind was still figuring out. The moment she slashed forward—a pale blur of fury and steel—Johan finally shut up.

“Heh… heheheh…”

The laugh escaped Madison’s lips—hollow, unnatural, like it belonged to someone else. She hated this feeling, this overwhelming sense of weakness that consumed her whenever she faced Johan. Her earlier attempt to take him down had failed so miserably it almost made her laugh again, if it didn’t make her want to scream. She’d thrown everything at him: rage, desperation, every bit of her willpower behind her swings. But it wasn’t enough. Speed, strength, focus—she’d been missing the elements that mattered. The ones that allowed you to survive.

But now… something had changed.

Her body moved in ways that should’ve been impossible—joints twisting, limbs bending as if boneless. It was horrifying, but it was power. Real power. The kind that could rip through flesh like tissue paper. The knife wasn’t just a weapon anymore; it was an extension of her, slithering through the air with lethal precision, aiming directly for the vulnerable veins beneath Johan’s jaw.

Johan, however, couldn’t be taken down so easily.

“Hup!”

He moved like he’d anticipated it, not just by instinct, not hurried, but with deliberate calm. He didn’t challenge her directly or try to overpower her. He simply… wasn’t there when the blade arrived. Her knife cut through empty air.

Madison’s wrist pivoted, quickly redirecting the blade toward the exposed carotid artery in his neck. But Johan was already a step ahead. He read her intentions perfectly—her posture, her eyes, the subtle weight shift. He stepped back, just beyond her reach, with barely a split second to spare. For someone who’d been going on about “enhanced humans,” his reflexes were frustratingly, almost supernaturally, quick.

Shadows gathered in the corners of the windowless room, leaving only a dim patch of light where Madison and Johan faced off. The tension between them was a palpable thing. Neither moved, both locked in a staring contest, until Johan broke the standoff with words that matched his demeanor—inexplicably casual, a stiletto dangling from his fingertips as if they were sharing a leisurely afternoon.

“Madison. Where’s the teddy bear?”

“…What?”

Madison’s knife hand hesitated mid-calculation. She had been planning her next move—the vulnerable spot beneath his ribs or perhaps the soft flesh of his throat—when his question interrupted her focus. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Was he being serious?

Johan noticed her confusion and leaned forward slightly, speaking each word with the exaggerated clarity people use when talking to someone hard of hearing or particularly dense.

“The teddy bear. The one you tossed aside in that secretly recorded video. You threw it on the floor, remember? But now…” His eyes scanned the room. “It’s gone.”

Johan tried to stay focused on the fight. He really did. But his mind kept wandering, fracturing into countless directions as his gaze drifted across the shadowy floor. He couldn’t help himself. He was searching for that sad little teddy bear that should have been collecting dust in some corner.

And that… that mattered more.

Because those tiny paws had once been held in Seojun’s hands. That fluffy plush had known the weight of Seojun’s dark, thoughtful gaze. Perhaps—and here Johan’s throat tightened involuntarily—it had even touched Seojun’s lips.

Being the shameless bastard that he was, that thought alone was enough to make Johan’s cheeks flush pink.

His gaze darted around the room, bloodshot eyes scanning every shadow-filled corner. Nothing. The teddy bear was nowhere to be found. His grip tightened on the shoe. Then, as understanding struck, his shoulders relaxed and a soft sigh escaped his barely parted lips. His icy blue eyes lit up with a clarity that hadn’t been there before.

“…Ah.”

“W-What?”

Madison’s composure faltered. That single sigh from Johan had instantly transformed her from predator to victim—though “innocent” was hardly the word for her situation. But Johan wasn’t mocking her. He had finally figured something out. He turned toward her with an intensity that verged on obsession.

If the video on her phone was real, then the argument between Camry and Leimia wasn’t staged—it was a genuine confrontation. Which meant Madison had either stolen the teddy bear or taken it by force. If Seojun had given it up willingly, Camry wouldn’t have looked so furious.

Johan’s heart started racing.

There was more to that conversation than he’d first realized. Seojun probably hadn’t even arrived at this place yet. And his upcoming visit to this run-down haunted house had nothing to do with any romantic interest in Madison.

No. He was coming to get back what belonged to him.

This realization snapped Johan’s scattered thoughts into perfect clarity.

He was the one who had given Seojun that bear.

Which meant Seojun was willing to travel all the way to this decrepit house just to get it back.

Johan’s face burned hot, blushing to his ears. The emotional shift in him was so abrupt, so jarring, that Madison’s already-tense expression twitched with visible unease.

Johan studied her through half-lidded eyes, his gaze darkening as tears gathered at the corners like morning dew.

“Do we really need to keep fighting like this?”

His voice had softened to a sweet murmur, each word coated in fake tenderness. He even added a small sniffle for effect, then slowly held up the heel-less stiletto he’d been holding as if it were some delicate peace offering. He wasn’t actually planning to return it, of course. The gesture was purely symbolic. A truce. An improvised handshake in the form of badly abused footwear.

Obviously, Madison didn’t take it. Her eyes fixed on the stiletto like it had personally offended her. Jaw clenched. Fists twitching. Barely containing the urge to smash his face in.

Johan kept talking, unfazed.

“I heard this haunted house is a popular spot for ghost hunters. Madison, couldn’t you just kill the next person who walks in instead of me?”

“Oh, so we’re begging now?”

Her voice was cold.

“Don’t you think it’s a little late for that? Don’t make me laugh. There’s no ‘next’ person. There will be no one else. You die today. Right here. Right now.”

Madison hated herself for that brief moment when fear had crept through her. Fear of Johan. Of someone who was supposed to be nothing but a placeholder. A mere sacrifice.

A muscle under her right eye twitched, sending waves of tension along her sharp cheekbone. Her lips pressed into a bloodless line as she glared at him, her words landing between them like a cold sentence without mercy. The shoe he offered hung in the air, a pathetic gesture that might as well have been invisible.

“You’re not leaving. You’re taking my place. You’ll rot in this mirror forever… instead of me.”

She pointed the knife at the glass like an accusing finger—sharp, steady, final. Johan’s eyes followed it automatically, focusing on his reflection.

And immediately widened in horror.

He looked terrible.

His once-glossy hair was now a dusty, tangled mess, like he’d crawled through an old fireplace. Soot somehow smudged his eyebrows and the tip of his nose. Cobwebs clung to his collar, and a spider dangled from the shoe by a single thread.

No amount of charm could save him now. Not even billionaire-level charisma could distract from this absolute disaster.

It wasn’t exactly the reaction Madison had been hoping for, but whatever. Results were results. Johan’s expression changed rapidly: nervousness creeping in, panic flaring behind his eyes. His hands and feet tingled like they’d gone numb. The thought of meeting Seojun looking like this?

He’d rather be stabbed to death. Twice.

Even a guy needed time to get himself together before a big reunion. He couldn’t waste time in a place like this.

He blurted out desperately, “Madison, you said you’re already dead, right?”

She tilted her head slightly, one eyebrow arching upward. “Still don’t believe me?”

“No. I believe you. You’re right, Madison. You’re dead. What’s standing here is just a talking corpse and a ghost. And I—” he gestured dramatically between them, “—I get it. I completely understand now.”

In a spectacular display of backtracking, Johan reversed everything he’d previously claimed. Not only that, he doubled down on her own words like he was trying to win her over with them.

Madison’s lips curled into a sharp, birdlike sneer.

“Oh. Finally scared, are you? Doesn’t matter… it’s already too late—”

“If you’re already dead, then technically, killing you again wouldn’t be my fault, right?”

Johan didn’t wait for an answer. He flung the stiletto mid-sentence.

The dangling spider went flying, an unwilling passenger along for the ride. The heel-less stiletto spun once and landed with a loud, wet thwack—right in Madison’s eye.

Pain flashed across her face as she screamed, more from rage than agony, but that wasn’t what mattered.

She couldn’t see. Just for a second. But a second was all Johan needed.

He didn’t hesitate. He brought the other stiletto—the one with a heel—crashing down on Madison’s wrist. The solid sole hit its mark, smashing against bone.

“AAAGH!”

The knife clattered to the floorboards, the dark red wood catching the glint of steel as it spun. Johan lunged for it, grabbing it before she could recover.

And just like that, the tables turned.

Across from him, Madison grabbed for the other shoe. But somehow, in her hand, it looked pathetic. Useless. Like a child’s tantrum weapon.

She tucked her injured hand behind her back, trying to hide the damage, but the smirk stayed on her face. Twisted and wild. Her smeared makeup had finally stopped pretending she was anything close to human. Her skin was pale, ghost-blue in the dim light, and as she raised one long fingernail to point at the knife, her grin only widened.

“What are you gonna do with that, huh? Kill me again? Stab me?” She leaned into the space between them, her pupils expanding until her eyes looked like black holes. Her voice dropped, taking on a dangerous, almost flirtatious tone. “You’re gonna take that big knife and stick it right here…?”

Her laughter erupted out in sharp bursts, starting low in her throat before breaking into wild, uncontrolled cackling that echoed off the walls and seemed to come from everywhere at once.

“Ha… ha… ahahahaha!”

Like someone completely unhinged, the ghost threw her shoe to the floor. The sight hit Johan with déjà vu—he’d seen it in the video, when she tossed the teddy bear aside like garbage, like it meant nothing.

“Johan, right? That’s your name? Yeah. Johan.” Her eyes scanned him, evaluating. “You’re young. Too young to know what it really means to take someone’s life. Can someone like you even handle that burden? Malice…” She drew out the word, savoring it. “It’s heavier than you can imagine. It devours people like you from the inside out.”

Without warning, Madison’s fingers pressed against her chest, finding the edges of the wound already torn into her flesh. The fabric of her clothing separated as she pulled the gash wider. Beneath the torn skin and broken ribs, her heart was exposed—a dark, motionless organ that looked more like polished stone than anything living.

“My bond with Camry?” she said, almost dreamily. “It was intense. Sweet. Sickening, really. Like honey oozing from a crushed hive. But malice?” She chuckled. “Malice is poison. And kids like you? You’re not built for it.”

She tapped one long fingernail against the exposed heart, the sound unnaturally sharp in the quiet room.

The sight of it—something that should’ve remained hidden inside flesh, protected by bone—sent chills down Johan’s spine.

But Johan wasn’t one to waste an opportunity. Especially not one this… convenient.

Without a word, he flipped the knife into a reverse grip, cool as anything, and drove it straight into her dead heart.

There was one crucial fact Madison had failed to understand about him.

Johan Gentil had never killed out of malice.

He just didn’t let anything, or anyone, stand between him and what he wanted.