Reborn as a Prophet in a Horror Movie

#168Reader Mode

#168 

The strangest part was Seojun’s first thought when he saw the Factory Manager’s skull caved in: a flicker of regret that he’d brought pepper spray instead of salt water. 

Wait… does salt water even count as holy water? Probably not. If it did, every beach would be a ghost-free paradise. 

Maybe it was his brain’s way of shielding him from the absurdity of it all—trivial nonsense ricocheting around his head while real danger loomed. And while he was busy having history’s dumbest theological debate, Luciel kept her arm locked in place, jaw set, refusing to surrender that last thread of hope. Her finger squeezed down again, unleashing another sharp stream of pepper spray into the mangled face. 

But capsaicin meant nothing to something that no longer needed to breathe, no longer felt pain, no longer remembered what burning eyes meant. To a ghost—or whatever the hell this thing was—pepper spray was no worse than a passing breeze. The Factory Manager tilted his head, a slow, almost curious motion, more irritated than injured. His bulging eye, wet and gleaming, swiveled in its socket until it landed on McCullan.  

The scream McCullan let out was so shrill it could’ve stripped paint from the walls. Standing too close, Seojun felt his eardrums nearly rupture. 

“Luciel, run!” 

Brown’s voice cut through the chaos as he dug his hands into the Factory Manager’s shoulder, still trying to hold him back. Their plan had crashed and burned. But if Luciel were the type to run when told, she never would have stepped foot inside this haunted factory to begin with. 

With the pepper spray a complete failure, Luciel’s head snapped around, eyes frantically searching for anything she could use as a weapon. They landed on the empty beer can they’d used as bait. Her latex-gloved hand darted out, snatching it off the concrete. She reeled back to throw—only for Dennis to grab her mid-motion. 

Her body lurched backward, the throw went wild. 

“Ah!” 

“Ow!” 

The aluminum can smacked Seojun square in the face. His vision exploded in stars, nose and lips going instantly numb. The can ricocheted off his skull, clipped McCullan on the crown, and clattered uselessly across the floor. For once, Luciel looked genuinely stunned. 

“O-Obsidian Eye—!” 

Before she could get another word out, Dennis was already dragging her toward the stairs. Her protests dwindled with each step until both of them vanished onto the first floor. 

“Shit! I’m not dying in this hellhole!” 

McCullan shot a glance at the others—Brown still grappling with the undead, Seojun clutching his battered face. A flicker of something—guilt, maybe—crossed his face before self-preservation wiped it clean. He released the Manager’s arm and bolted, pounding down the stairs two at a time. 

The true spirit of a man with no loyalty in his heart. 

That left three figures on the second floor: Seojun, still blinking through a haze of stars; Brown, locked in a desperate grapple with the thing that used to be the Factory Manager; and the can. It wobbled to a lonely stop on the filthy concrete. 

Brown’s round eyes narrowed with sudden resolve. Even when a mournful “Browwwwwn…” floated up from the stairwell, he didn’t spare so much as a glance. Every shred of focus went into keeping the Factory Manager pinned. 

“Hnnngh!” 

His pale face darkened to crimson in seconds, the flush rising up his neck like mercury in a thermometer. He was giving it everything he had— a true model employee who’d see the job through whether his opponent was alive, dead, or something in between. 

But while Brown held on with admirable determination, Seojun felt his own grip loosening. The moment it sank in that this wasn’t some wannabe killer or drunk squatter but the actual Factory Manager—dead and still haunting his own workplace—Seojun let go and stepped back. 

“S-Seojun?” The betrayal in Brown’s voice was a physical thing.  

Instead of answering, Seojun bent down and scooped up the beer can. He popped the tab, and foam exploded out, spraying his gloves. The liquid gleamed black under the dim light. He tipped the can upside down, letting it spill in uneven gulps across the floor until it was empty. Then, without hesitation, he dropped it and stomped down hard. 

The aluminum collapsed with a sharp crunch, spitting out the last bitter drops. The sour, yeasty smell of stale beer rose into the air. 

Seojun’s damp hand found the crowbar at his waist. He yanked it free, adjusted his grip, and shifted his stance to face the Factory Manager’s clouded, ruined eyes. What was the point of sticking to a plan that had already fallen apart? 

“You like alcohol, don’t you?” He ground the flattened can beneath his sneaker, aluminum shrieking against concrete, bubbles still hissing in the puddle of spilled beer. The sounds echoed oddly in the empty hallway. “Want a taste of this, at least?” 

Whatever emotion might have lingered in those faded, dead eyes was impossible to read, and Seojun had no interest in trying. Instead, he reached into his hip pack and pulled out another can of beer. Intact. Stolen from McCullan’s paper bag back in the conference room when no one was paying attention. 

“Oh, or maybe you’re too picky? The one on the floor wasn’t good enough for you?” 

He gave the unopened can a rough shake. A ragged wheeze scraped out of the Factory Manager’s throat—not a word, not even close. More like air leaking through a punctured tire. Seojun’s stomach turned as his gaze caught on the half-severed tongue lolling inside that slack mouth. The throat, too, was shredded—crushed meat and torn tissue, damage from when his skull had been caved in. No wonder every sound it made was just breath whistling through ruined flesh. 

So the mask wasn’t making the noise after all. 

A strange, euphoric clarity flooded him—a high without a drink. Electricity crackled under his skin as his gaze locked with the Factory Manager’s. His heart hammered, a frantic drum driving fire through his veins. Heat scorched his face. His mouth went dry. 

Most people would call this love. That dizzying, all-consuming burn. 

But Seojun knew better. This wasn’t love. This was rage, as familiar to him as his own reflection. He knew this particular heat—the kind that coils around your heart and squeezes until you can’t breathe, until pressure builds behind your eyes like it’s about to burst. The moment when fear mutates into something sharp, something useful, something deadly. When survival stops being about running and starts being about fighting back. He’d felt it countless times. 

Of course, realizing the Factory Manager was actually the Factory Manager had been a shock. But once something tried to kill him, the equation was simple. Human, monster, ghost… it didn’t matter. He’d be equally pissed at all of them. 

Besides, wasn’t love supposed to be cleaner? Softer? White and pure and bashful? Not this. Not this fire that wanted to bite back. 

“Why don’t you go lick dog piss off the pavement? I’ll enjoy this beer myself.” 

Seojun had a revelation: nothing fueled human creativity quite like the urge to piss someone off. His taunt landed beautifully. The Factory Manager shoved Brown aside, sending him sprawling on his ass—not ideal, but definitely better than getting a knife in the gut. That was all Seojun needed. He bolted toward the far end of the hall, away from the stairs, without a single glance back. 

The Factory Manager didn’t disappoint. He came barreling after him instantly. Crowbar in one hand, beer in the other, Seojun sprinted down the hallway with a grim realization beating at the back of his mind: 

The Factory Manager really was an idiot. Maybe death had rotted the last of his brain, or maybe—as the journal claimed—he’d always been this stupid. All impulse, zero plan. 

Good news: predictable meant exploitable. 

Bad news: the knife-wielding ghost with serious anger issues was still trying to run him through. 

Seojun slammed his shoulder against the door, bursting out onto an outer walkway. The dull thud of his sneakers on concrete turned into a jarring CLANG-CLANG-CLANG on grated steel. The whole structure rattled under him, every step echoing into the dark. He gritted his teeth, absolutely certain this deathtrap violated every building code ever written. 

Fighting the fear that the floor might collapse beneath him, Seojun risked a glance over his shoulder. The Factory Manager was only a few steps behind, driven by God knew what—desperate thirst for the beer in Seojun’s hand or pure, murderous rage. His ruined eye had shaken loose from its socket, swinging with each stride like a grotesque pendulum. 

“Ha, haha! Ahaha! Ahhh—ah! Fuck!” 

Seojun snapped his gaze forward again, and laughter erupted from deep in his chest, spilling out alongside tears that streamed down his face. What the hell was this feeling? He didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to name it. Regrets were a luxury he couldn’t afford. He pressed his lips together, sniffling hard as his long strides devoured the hallway.  

Left turn. The endless hallway finally broke. At last—finally—he reached the spot he’d been aiming for. His breath seared in his throat, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. 

Seojun swallowed against the dryness in his throat and turned slowly. The Factory Manager’s dead gaze was locked on him. They were standing in the exact place where the Manager had once loomed above them, watching as they’d pounded desperately on locked doors. 

At that moment, Luciel burst through the middle doors of the manufacturing floor. She ripped her hand free from Dennis and cupped her mouth to shout something, probably something about the Obsidian Eye again. 

Too bad Seojun didn’t have the time to pay attention. The standoff lasted no more than two seconds before the Factory Manager lunged, knife carving the air. Seojun barely got his crowbar up in time. Steel shrieked against steel, the impact jolting through his arms as the blow deflected. 

“Ugh.” 

The impact rattled through his bones. How the hell did pepper spray mean nothing to a ghost, but its knife could still cut flesh? For one split second, Seojun wanted to scream at the sheer unfairness of it all. But there was no time for that. He hurled the beer can straight at the Factory Manager’s face. Unlike Luciel’s throw, sabotaged by Dennis, he was close enough that missing wasn’t even an option. 

The can struck with a dull thud, dead center on the caved-in skull. The Factory Manager’s attention snapped to it instantly—exactly what Seojun wanted. He slid both hands onto the crowbar, muscles burning as he twisted his whole torso into the swing. Pain didn’t matter. He wasn’t built like a quarterback, but sometimes grit was all you had. And today, grit was everything. 

The crowbar slammed into the Factory Manager’s temple with a nauseating crack. The impact shuddered up Seojun’s arms—skin tearing, bone splintering, and then that awful, yielding softness beneath. No time to dwell on it. Something popped in the Factory Manager’s neck as his head wrenched sideways, his legs buckling. He pitched forward, draping over the railing as if casually leaning for a rest. 

“Heup!” 

Seojun dropped the crowbar and lunged forward, his hands clamping around the Factory Manager’s ankle. A brutal kick slammed into his thigh, sending waves of pain shooting up his leg—but he held on, fingers digging in with desperate strength.

A memory surfaced suddenly: a girl he’d once met in a cornfield under the blazing summer sun. Leah, she’d called herself. She’d told him that what defines a soul is the record of its past. She’d been kind, always trying to understand those who had nothing left but their souls. But Seojun… he was just a worn-out adult with no patience left for understanding anyone. Blood trickled from his lip where he’d bitten through it.

The truth was simple, really. What hurt ghosts wasn’t salt or smoke or protective charms. It was fear, carved deep into the very core of their existence. The Factory Manager had died falling—you could read it in every detail of him, in his crushed skull and broken body that told his entire story.

And so the Factory Manager fell again. 

This time, only one thing was different. A brilliant flash erupted, flooding everything in blinding white. The Factory Manager’s eyes—frozen open, unable to ever close—went glassy as the light consumed him completely. For one miraculous moment, the world held its breath.

Then—CRACK! 

The sound echoed as the Factory Manager struck the ground headfirst and simply… vanished. Gone in an instant. Over in seconds. 

Seojun staggered back from the railing and let the cold wall catch his weight. His legs buckled, and he slid down without any pretense of grace. For a gamble, he’d played some decent cards. But even with good odds, gambling was still gambling. He held his trembling right hand with his left… it felt like ice. Slowly, the reality of it sank in: he’d survived. The thought spread warmth through his entire body.

“Heh… haha…” 

“Seojun! You okay?” 

Brown finally arrived, late and wheezing, his hand already extended to help. Seojun didn’t have the energy to refuse. He let the sturdy arm haul him to his feet, his legs still wobbling like wet noodles.  From below, McCullan’s voice erupted into a full-blown shriek.

“Holy shit, it just vanished! That was a ghost? An actual fucking ghost? I… I gotta call Mina. Right now!” 

Seojun spared one glance at the spot where the Factory Manager had fallen—clean, not even a drop of blood—then let Brown guide him down to the first floor. By the time they reached it, the noise had shifted away from McCullan and onto Dennis. 

“Luciel, I’ll tell everyone about this miracle! I’ll be your witness! Your prophet!” 

Dennis was so worked up he’d given himself a nosebleed. Seojun made a quiet note to steer clear. Even Brown approached with caution. 

“Dennis,” he said carefully, “maybe we should get you to a hospital first. A real one.” 

But reasonable suggestions were wasted on true believers. 

“What? What the hell are you even saying, Brown? This is a miracle! We have to spread the word about Luciel’s miracle! Especially to Kira… that woman who dared to doubt Luciel’s powers… Heh, hehe.” 

Dennis clutched a single photograph, whispering “with just this…” under his breath. The shot was surreal—capturing the Factory Manager mid-fall, his body seeming to dissolve into the ground itself. With evidence like that, Dennis looked like he could survive on faith alone, no food required. 

What startled Seojun more was that Dennis wasn’t the only one eager to trek out to the abandoned hospital. Luciel was obvious, of course, but even McCullan jumped at the chance. His motivation was crystal clear—bragging about a paranormal encounter was bound to impress girls. Brown let out a weary sigh and turned to Seojun. 

“What about you, Seojun? We’re still heading to St. Montgomery Hospital like we planned, but if you’d rather skip it, I can grab the teddy bear for you.” 

“No, Brown.” 

The words barely made it past Seojun’s lips. Exhaustion had turned his body to lead, but a stubborn ember still burned in his chest. He forced more strength into his voice, letting that dark determination push through the fatigue. 

“Let’s go to St. Montgomery Hospital.” 

*** 

The blond young man buried his face in a bundle of flowers, inhaling deeply. Their mingled fragrances bloomed in his lungs, each note distinct yet blending into harmony. Beside him, Kira tugged off her helmet with a click of her tongue. 

“You really love those things, don’t you?” 

“Of course.” 

Johan’s smile was effortless, radiant. He beamed as if the flowers themselves had taught him how, pure sunshine and contentment.