Reborn as a Prophet in a Horror Movie

#184Reader Mode

T/N: Thanks for the coffee suii & AbigailAnastaciaCastilloLevy! Enjoy! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

#184

Johan’s voice was calm and upbeat. He met Seojun’s gaze with ease, idly tapping the monkey wrench against his shoulder like he had all the time in the world. That laid-back confidence—so effortless, so grounded—made something shift in Seojun’s chest.

With that kind of confidence, he’s definitely got a plan.

Feeling strangely reassured and impressed, Seojun pushed aside the pain in his ankle and gave a firm nod. Honestly, trusting someone who sounded like they were actually thinking felt like a much safer bet than relying on his own blank brain. But just as that silent agreement passed between them, Samantha lurched upright. Her movements were still jerky, but she forced her legs to lock into place and threw herself forward, arms outstretched.

“Urgh—!”

Seojun didn’t even flinch fast enough. All he could do was curl around the bouquet and brace himself. Clang! A jolt of metal-on-metal rang out above him, followed by a scatter of sparks. Johan had caught her claws with the wrench.

Petals drifted down as Seojun ducked and stumbled out of the way, clearing space for Johan to take the lead.

Wait a minute… this bastard didn’t give me the bouquet to be nice, did he? He just dumped it on me so it wouldn’t slow him down.

The petty realization made Seojun grimace, but he shoved it aside and wiped a streak of blood from his cheek. He squinted ahead, searching for a weak spot in Samantha’s movements, but it was pointless. Without body armor, getting anywhere near her with those scalpels flying was basically suicide.

“Damn….”

Nurse Samantha was dead. Literally. She didn’t get tired. The only way to take her down was to catch her off guard or attack from a distance, and Seojun had neither the element of surprise nor the tools for reach. He finally gave up on the delusional idea of tackling her or using one of her fingers as a weapon, and snapped at Johan instead.

“Johan, what are you even trying to do right now?!”

Johan was still weaving around her strikes like he was just testing her response time. Seojun wanted to leave it to him, but with an enemy that didn’t tire, they both knew who’d hit their limit first. A bead of sweat ran down Johan’s nose, but he just grinned, like this was the fun part.

“Yeah, I think this is… just about enough.”

Then, with a sudden shift in weight, Johan slammed the wrench down on the back of her hand. The crunch of bone and the metallic snap of embedded scalpels breaking rang out sharp and clear. Samantha’s mouth was long gone, but the scream that should’ve followed echoed in Seojun’s bones.

That awful silence made his skin crawl.

Blood seeped from the Nurse’s stitched eyelids, trailing down her cheeks like tears. Thick black veins pulsed beneath her pale skin, swelling as if they might burst. The sight alone made Seojun’s stomach twist. She was nothing like the other ghosts he’d seen. With no mouth to scream, no voice to express her rage, she only writhed—trapped in a silence that felt worse than any shriek.

Whatever made her this way, Seojun didn’t have time to figure it out.

“Jun, come!”

“Huh—?”

He didn’t get the chance to react. Johan grabbed his wrist and yanked hard, lifting him off the ground. In a blink, Seojun found himself tucked against Johan’s side, being carried into a full sprint. The pounding of Johan’s footsteps—weighted with the effort of carrying them both—echoed through the corridor. There was no hiding it. No way Samantha didn’t hear.

Behind them, the jagged shuffle of feet scraped against the tiles.

She was coming.

“What are you trying to do?!”

Seojun barely got the words out, jostling awkwardly at Johan’s side like oversized luggage. But Johan wasn’t just running. He was making a scene. The man was stomping on purpose, making every step as loud as possible.

It was obvious he was drawing attention.

What Seojun didn’t understand was why.

Johan didn’t answer. He just rounded the corner at full speed, golden hair trailing behind him, and shot Seojun a grin. His eyes were fixed on something straight ahead, the elevator at the end of the corridor. It stood there, silent and identical to the ones they’d passed on the other floors.

Seojun’s eye widened.

Wait, seriously? He’s aiming for the elevator?

He almost scoffed. Like that was going to work. The place had been abandoned for who knew how long, there was no way it had working power, let alone a functioning lift.

Wait. Wait, hang on—

A memory pinged in his brain. Down on the first floor, hadn’t he answered a landline phone? That shouldn’t have worked if the power was really out. His face, until now gloomy and drained, suddenly lit up with realization. If the phone worked, maybe… just maybe…

Hope flooded in. Seojun slapped Johan’s thigh and started yelling encouragement.

“Run, Johan! Run like a washed-up racehorse in his final glory race! The kind everyone makes fun of for always finishing in the middle of the pack, never first, never last—but today, he’s digging deep and breaking free! He’s got one last shot to win, and there’s a kid in the crowd who locked eyes with him, felt destiny in his bones, and bet his entire allowance on him! That kid’s counting on you to win enough money to buy his parents an anniversary gift! You run for that kid!”

Johan barked a laugh mid-sprint.

“Why is that backstory so painfully specific?! Jun, do you bet on horses? Gambling is a slippery slope, you know!”

Seojun was in the middle of debating whether to throw McCullan’s phone at the elevator button—and silently praying his aim wouldn’t be terrible—when Johan acted first. He jammed the wrench into the bouquet to free one hand, then grabbed a heavy, half-rotted planter from the corner. His muscles tensed, and he hurled it down the corridor.

It slammed into the elevator doors, bursting apart in a spray of black soil and jagged ceramic.

The stomping stopped instantly.

Without a word, Johan crouched and pulled Seojun with him into the shadows. Seojun clamped a hand over his mouth, stifling a panicked noise. A breath later, Samantha streaked past them, completely fixated on the crash. She barreled straight over the scattered shards without slowing.

Maybe it because she couldn’t read the “Do Not Lean” sign posted above eye level. Whatever the reason, Samantha crashed into the elevator doors, and they buckled under her weight. In a place where the boundary between life and death had already broken down, gravity was the one rule still holding.

Her ID card fluttered once in the air, and then she disappeared into the dark open shaft.

A moment later, a wet, horrible thud echoed up from below.

Seojun crumpled to the floor, his limbs giving out beneath him. Every muscle felt hollowed out. He swallowed over and over, trying to summon even a hint of saliva into his dry mouth. His vision wobbled at the edges.

The bouquet lay nearby, soaked in blood, still absurdly stuffed with a scalpel-finger and a wrench. Seojun let out a breathy, humorless laugh.

It was surreal.

He curled his fingers against the cold tile.

Trying to stay alive is exhausting.

He squeezed his eye shut.

Then groaned and opened it again.

Here we go again. Survive one near-death experience and suddenly I’m getting sentimental. Is this what getting old feels like?

Shamelessly tacking on the years from his previous life to justify the thought, Seojun slowly pushed himself upright, clicking his tongue. He sincerely hoped Samantha found a new career path in her next life. Nursing was a fine profession and all, but frankly? It didn’t suit her temperament.

Seojun was still trying to catch his breath when a massive arm hooked around him and hauled him into the air.

“Gwahk!”

The strangled sound he made was less human, more startled duck. When he managed to open his eye again, Johan was grinning down at him.

“Jun! Jun! Jun! Seojun!”

Johan swept him into a bear hug and spun them both in dizzying circles. His grip was absurdly strong, and Seojun—never the heaviest guy—practically flopped around like a kite caught in a windstorm. Dizzy and vaguely nauseous, he squirmed weakly against Johan’s arms.

“Okay, okay! Johan, put me down before I puke—Hey. Are you… crying?”

Johan didn’t stop. He kept saying Seojun’s name over and over, his voice cracking as fat tears rolled down his cheeks.

Seojun froze.

He was terrible at this kind of emotional stuff. Usually he was the one sniffling first, not the one trying to figure out how to console someone else.

Sure, Johan had cried back when they were discharged from Wraithwood hospital, but Seojun had been sobbing too, so it hadn’t felt awkward. This time was different. Johan was full-on crying, and Seojun just stood there… confused and vaguely panicked.

We beat Samantha, didn’t we? Shouldn’t this be the part where we breathe a sigh of relief? What’s there to cry about?

Feeling helpless, Seojun awkwardly reached up and brushed a tear from Johan’s cheek. He immediately tried to withdraw, but Johan caught his wrist and held it tight, nuzzling his face against the blue latex glove. His voice was thick with emotion.

“I missed you so much, Jun. For real. Until we ran into each other just now, you were all I thought about. Day or night. It feels like we were apart for half a year.”

“What are you talking about? It’s barely been two months since I left Wraithwood.”

“I’m saying it felt like six.”

And just like that, Johan stopped crying. He shrugged, grinning like nothing had happened, though his eyes were still red and swollen. The way he could switch moods on a dime was honestly kind of terrifying. Johan could probably out-act half the industry.

Still… he really did seem like he was crying a second ago. So I guess it was genuine.

Seojun let out a small sigh and slumped into him. Whatever. If Johan wanted to celebrate like this and it made him happy, Seojun wasn’t going to ruin it. Being spun around wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Still… something about it familiar. Too familiar.

A slow flush crept up Seojun’s neck and into his pale doll-like face as a memory surfaced, uninvited and vivid.

Stop thinking.

A few years back, same terrifying grip of a quarterback, same spinning motion. Only difference was, Seojun had been dressed as Snow White—wig, makeup, puffy sleeves and all—while Johan had twirled him like a doll in front of the entire student body.

No. Don’t go there.

But his brain had other plans. The repressed memories came flooding back with a vengeance. Even after leaving from what Seojun called his “second home,” he’d avoided thinking about that day. But now? Now his mind pulled up the worst part: the photo.

S-stop thinking.

Somewhere, in one of Johan Gentil’s albums, there was a worn picture of Seojun, looking like he’d been emotionally and physically run over.

And yet, that silly photo still managed to capture one undeniable thing:

The way Johan had looked at him.