Reborn as a Prophet in a Horror Movie

#171Reader Mode

T/N: Thanks for the coffee NG found and somecatmaybe! ❤️❤️(●’◡’●)

#171

“Don’t say it like that, Dennis.” Brown’s voice had an edge to it now. “You’re making it sound like Luciel threw a tantrum, demanding we hit both sites in one night.”

Dennis whipped around, abrupt and off-balance. In the dim light, his eyes gleamed with a feverish sheen, and a ugly red flush crept up his neck. He looked less like a man and more like one of those ranting prophets you’d cross the street to avoid.

“What the hell do you know? Don’t you dare twist her words.”

“I know what I heard.”

Brown stayed composed, at least on the surface, while Dennis practically buzzed with hostility. But Seojun was close enough to catch the tell: the way Brown’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching beneath the skin.

“Luciel said the sky without stars would be dark. Gloomy. That the earth below would burn brighter, and some kind of blind rage was coming. And when she talked about where to go, she picked the Happy Pig Factory. But the rest of us voted to come here too.”

“Yeah? And what would you know about what she really meant? I—I’m the one who actually understands her will—”

So this is what it’s come to. Her two devoted disciples, fighting over who’s the better follower.

Seojun eased a step back, the retreat so subtle you’d only notice if you were watching for it. Across from him, McCullan looked like he’d already checked out of the argument—eyes distant, expression bored. And Luciel, the one they were both so fixated on…

“Ahem! That’s enough. Both of you. To quarrel over what’s already turned to dust is the work of fools. What’s done is done. The past—whether shaped by Great or lesser ones—cannot be changed. The only thing that matters is the choice before you now.”

The words landed with quiet finality, sucking the heat from the argument. Even Seojun, ever the skeptic, had to respect how cleanly she’d handled that.

Thanks to her intervention, Brown and Dennis backed off, at least enough to avoid a full-blown meltdown. The tension still clung to them, though: clenched jaws, sidelong glares, all the signs of two grown men still simmering. But they were adults. No one was going to make them hug it out.

To break the silence, Brown turned to McCullan. “Anything from Mina?”

“Nothing.”

McCullan shot them both a glare. “Maybe your little pissing match scared her off. Ever think of that?”

No one rose to the bait. Brown was already pulling out his phone, the screen casting a cold, bluish light over his face. He sighed. “Damn it. No service. This whole building’s a dead zone. Not that I should be surprised after earlier, but still…”

Out of habit more than hope, Seojun checked his own phone. The familiar icon blinked back at him with no bars, and just that empty triangle with the slash through it. At this point, actually having a signal would feel strange.

“But she called from inside here, didn’t she?”

“Yeah. Maybe the signal’s just spotty,” Brown said, swiping uselessly at the screen. “And that was before the rain started. The storm’s probably making it worse.”

“Right… the rain.”

Seojun kept the small talk going while Brown rambled on about weather patterns and backup plans, but underneath the surface, he was getting more restless by the second. No signal meant no way to reach Mina. No Mina meant no finding Kira. And somewhere in this abandoned, rotting hospital, Kira had his teddy bear—the one thing Seojun actually needed to bring back.

The walls felt closer now, the air heavier. Silence pressed in, thick and wet. Then the smell hit—mildew and old rainwater, sour and sharp—and the unease that had been creeping up Seojun’s spine finally settled in.

Brown abruptly trailed off. “Ah.”

His brows drew together as he looked at Seojun. “You know what? This might sound crazy, but what if we’re walking into one of Mina’s pranks?”

“A prank?”

“Yeah. She lives for this kind of stuff.” Brown dragged a hand down his face, wearing the expression of a man who’d survived too many of these stunts. “Last year, she brought a hyper-realistic severed finger to a budget meeting. Dropped it on the table and said it was there to ‘cut costs.’ Her manager nearly fainted.”

Seojun blinked. That painted a very different picture from the perpetually enthusiastic woman he was told about.

“She uses these stunts to blow off steam from work,” Brown continued. “And her van, why else bring something that big unless you’re hauling props? Think about it. We’re in a creepy abandoned hospital… perfect setup for some elaborate fake crime scene, right?”

A van. Right. Seojun glanced toward the entrance, recalling the oversized vehicle parked next to the lone motorcycle. He didn’t think it was that large, not compared to his own truck, but he supposed it would seem huge to someone who didn’t regularly haul equipment.

“I see.” Seojun summoned every bit of social skill he had to keep his tone even. If this was all just some elaborate prank, it should’ve been a relief. But somehow, it wasn’t. The knot in his stomach only tightened.

“So if she’s really that into this stuff,” Seojun said slowly, “you think she might be hiding somewhere on this floor right now? Watching us?”

He made a deliberate show of surveying the room, eye sweeping over the shadows between overturned gurneys and toppled cabinets. With every pass, more hiding places revealed themselves. A dozen, maybe more.

Brown shrugged. “With Mina? Could be. Then again, might be something else entirely.”

“..…”

After a brief silence, they agreed to start searching the first floor, both to locate their missing teammates and to finally get on with what they came for. From the main entrance, they split into two teams: Brown, Luciel, and Seojun would take the left wing; Dennis and McCullan were assigned the right.

Neither looked thrilled about it.

“Why can’t I go with Luciel?” Dennis complained, voice taking on that whiny edge of a kid being told no.

Luciel, unfazed, planted her hands on her hips and replied with the calm authority of someone explaining basic math to a very stubborn student.

“Behold: the Obsidian Eye and Brown’s mortal flesh, my second wing. One is frail, the other is weary. Add me in, and we barely total the strength of two people. You and McCullan, on the other hand, are both healthy adults of standard build, fully capable of handling the work of two. Besides, I didn’t bring a phone. If I were on your team, I’d be more of a burden than help.”

The finality in her tone left no room for argument. Dennis looked like he might protest—mouth half open, indignant spark in his eyes—but thought better of challenging the woman he practically worshipped. Instead, he muttered something under his breath and grabbed McCullan by the ear, dragging him along like a sulking sibling.

McCullan yelped and swore, but no one was listening. His opinion didn’t matter anyway.

Meanwhile, Seojun stared at Luciel, still processing what she’d said. “Wait, didn’t you have a phone back at the factory?”

The memory was clear: Luciel holding up a phone in the freezer, its screen glowing in the darkness.

“Dennis was generous enough to provide me with material support,” she replied, gesturing toward him with a casually raised hand, her black-painted nail catching the light.

Seojun followed her gaze. Dennis was already stomping off, McCullan grumbling in tow.

Ah. So she’d forgotten her phone and borrowed his.

At least she’d given it back before they came here. If Luciel had kept the phone, Seojun was pretty sure his ears would’ve bled from whatever dramatic monologues she felt compelled to deliver during the drive.

He fell into step beside her, letting out a silent sigh. A little disappointing honestly, especially coming from the same woman who’d just labeled him “the frail one.”

The corridor stretched ahead, lined with tall windows that must’ve once filled the space with light.

Someone, at some point, had clearly tried to make the place less depressing. Shattered ceramic lay scattered beneath several windows—remnants of potted plants, maybe. All that remained now were shriveled black stems, so brittle and dry Seojun couldn’t tell if they’d once been real or just twisted wire passed off as decor.

Either way, they suited the vibe of the place perfectly.

Seojun stepped carefully around a crooked waiting-room chair and the shattered remains of a planter. Near the main entrance, a storage alcove sagged under the weight of abandoned cleaning supplies—bottles and plastic tubs buried under decades of cobwebs and grime.

Yeah. No way he was going in there.

Instead, he crouched beside a single hospital slipper lying near the threshold. Faded lettering across the fabric read St. Montgomery Hospital, though the material was so degraded it began to disintegrate the moment he touched it, releasing a puff of strange, powdery residue.

“Ugh.” Seojun dropped the slipper remains and wiped his hands on his pants, doing his best not to inhale whatever he’d just stirred up.

While he’d been poking around, Brown and Luciel had drifted farther down into what looked like the emergency department. Seojun followed, and stepped straight into chaos.

Hospital beds, wheelchairs, and meal carts lay piled together in rusted heaps, their twisted frames forming a maze of decay. Tattered privacy curtains hung in shredded strips from ceiling rails, and a loose rod teetered precariously on a bent bedframe nearby, ready to crash with the slightest nudge.

At the far end of the ER, Seojun spotted what must have once been exterior doors, now sealed off behind a heavy fire shutter secured with an industrial-grade lock. Brown hadn’t mentioned this exit, which meant it clearly wasn’t an option.

Seojun’s jaw tightened. This place was worse than he’d expected, and they’d barely scratched the surface of the first floor.

He started mapping the layout in his head: emergency department on the left, reception and waiting area in the center. But something pulled his attention… a dark stain on one of the hospital beds. Its shape was irregular, smeared and uneven in a way that made his skin crawl. He rubbed his forearm without realizing it.

“Ahhh!”

The scream ripped down the corridor, followed by the clatter of a phone hitting the ground. Its flashlight spun as it tumbled, casting frantic shadows across the walls and flickering over a row of purple waiting chairs, a cracked water cooler, and McCullan flat on his ass on the ground.

Just ahead, Dennis was halfway out of a doorway, wide-eyed and clearly just as rattled.

“McCullan, what the heck happened?” Brown rushed over as McCullan sat shaking, arm outstretched, pointing toward the far wall.

Seojun followed his gaze and saw it. A single purple chair wedged awkwardly between what looked like a pair of consultation room doors, far removed from the tidy rows of blue seats near reception.

Nothing particularly scary about a chair. Even a misplaced one.

A chair. That’s what freaked him out?

Seojun rolled his eyes at the pitiful display. The guy had good instincts wasted in all the wrong directions. Just like Bobby.

McCullan flushed, clearly catching the judgment in Seojun’s face. “Look… look up there!”

And then Seojun saw it.

Perched on the purple chair was a baby doll. Its faded clothes hung limp over a cracked, crumbling plastic frame. Most of the paint on its face had been eaten away by time, leaving a pale, ghostly mask where features once were. What little pigment remained seemed to shimmer unsettlingly in the dim light, as if shifting when you weren’t looking directly at it.

But the worst part?

It was disturbingly realistic. Just real enough to make your hair stand on end.

But unlike McCullan, Seojun could see the thing clearly in the beam of his flashlight. He wasn’t about to lose it over a doll in plain sight.

He stepped closer and crouched beside the chair. The doll’s uneven glass eyes seemed to follow him, and its painted smile—cracked and warped by age—gave it a creepy, mocking charm. But that wasn’t what caught his attention.

Something pale and flat was tucked beneath the doll.

Carefully, he slid it out. It felt soft, almost velvety, against his fingertips. Then the scent reached him: sweet, faintly floral.

A lily petal.

Pure white, perfectly shaped… and impossibly fresh.

Like someone had placed it there just moments ago.

T/N: Hey y’all, I’m back and officially a Mrs. now! 🎉 Sorry for the scare, I totally should’ve posted that update under a chapter instead of trying to be fancy with the announcement feature. I should’ve known better 😂 I had a good laugh reading all your concerned messages though, y’all are the sweetest.

Thanks so much for the love and congrats! It really means a lot 💖

TLDR: Prophet and Othergod Translations are still alive. So am I. Just got hitched! 🙂