Reborn as a Prophet in a Horror Movie

#008Reader Mode

T/N: UPDATE! Correction to bullies’ names: Gold-Silver-Copper —-> Gold-Silver-Bronze trio

#008

Nestled at the heart of Hamon Campground, a spacious clearing revealed itself. At the center was a towering stack of firewood, with several triangular tents scattered around it.

An eerie silence filled the deserted campsite. There were no signs of a fire ever being lit on the firewood, and the tents remained untouched. This suggested that the main protagonists of the horror movie might be staying elsewhere. Given the shabby state of the triangular tents, it seemed more appealing to simply lay a mat outside and sleep there.

Could they be in the cabin?

While the term “cabin” might sound fancy, it was only slightly better than the campsite tents. Still, Seojun hesitated, his mind wandering to the nearby lake and, more specifically, to the flesh-eating monster believed to dwell beneath its surface.

Of course, he couldn’t afford to dawdle. He had to choose his next move immediately. With Gas Mask on his tail, his options were severely limited.

The problem was that, unlike when he had left the restaurant earlier, the campsite now presented two paths.

D-zone, encompassing the restaurant and management building, had a sign pointing to the campground’s entrance. This had allowed Seojun to confidently select the opposite path earlier. However, the A-zone campsite was essentially Hamon Campground’s epicenter.

If Seojun had the luxury of time and safety, he might have explored each path. But with a relentless killer breathing down his neck, every second counted. If he failed to head straight to B-zone, where the cabins were located, his life would be at risk.

Lost in thought, Seojun’s eyes lingered on the stack of firewood.

Which way should I go?

If only Christina, Johan, Airi, and William were as rowdy as the Gold-Silver-Bronze trio, locating them would have been a breeze. But of course, they were all well-mannered intellectuals.

Christina aside, aren’t the others probably enjoying themselves, as young people do these days? Maybe they’re drinking, singing, or even lighting a bonfire.

Seojun, having naturally excluded Bobby from his count, mentally cursed Gas Mask for chasing him while he was trying to find the others.

As he anxiously shuffled his feet, rustling sounds came from the bushes. Without thinking, he quickly hid inside the nearest tent. He had wasted too much time…

His heart pounded, and a profound sense of impending doom clung to him. Seojun held his breath in the stifling silence, trying not to give away his presence.

Thud, thud. Footsteps echoed across the campsite. From afar, these steps were followed by a tearing sound. The eerie rhythm continued: footsteps, tearing, footsteps, tearing…

After hearing the sequence three times, Seojun realized Gas Mask was systematically slashing through the tents with the Hamon knife, inspecting each one.

“Huff, huff, huff…”

Panic surged through him, his breaths becoming erratic and uncontrollable, slipping through his fingers like whispers of fear. His eyes, wide and unblinking, fixated on the tent flap’s entrance, reddening as the sounds gradually faded into silence…

“Haah, Haah, Haah…”

He desperately smothered his mouth with both hands, yet his breathing thundered in his ears. Biting down hard on his left thumb, the sharp pain momentarily anchored him. His eyes fluttered closed, only to snap open again shortly after.

Was he gone?

The unsettling sounds were gone. The campsite returned to the silence that had greeted Seojun when he first arrived.

With quivering fingers, he lifted the tent flap just a smidge. Just a tiny peek outside was enough. Stretching his neck slightly, the dark campsite came into view. The moon, now obscured by clouds, cast an even deeper darkness over the surroundings.

His eyes, now thankfully acclimated to the dark, scrutinized the area. A sigh of relief slipped from him.

I need to get moving.

Rubbing his stiff neck, Seojun cast a glance downward. It was a meaningless gesture, just an attempt to relax his tense body.

Then… their eyes met.

Right there, directly in front of the tent, Gas Mask lay in ambush, his masked face seemingly twisted in a sinister grin. Suddenly, the knife in his hand lunged forward.

“Ah!”

This time, it was Seojun who fell backward, his world spinning. Dodging the lethal strike was pure dumb luck, not a testament to Seojun’s reflexes.

“Uh, ugh…”

Terror gripped him, rooting him to the spot. Instead of bolting as he had in the restaurant, he could only manage a pathetic backward crawl.

Even after wriggling out of the shredded tent, he continued to crawl on the ground, hands and legs scraping against the tiny rocks below, causing them to sting and bleed. Yet, Seojun couldn’t muster the strength to get up.

Gas Mask, looming over Seojun’s collapsed body, looked even more menacing. He didn’t deliver the final blow immediately, a chilling mercy that only amplified Seojun’s horror.

His feeble struggle didn’t last long. Looking up at the approaching Gas Mask, he felt trapped.

Turning his head, a familiar sight caught his eye: the towering stack of firewood. Seojun belatedly realized that the tent he had chosen was near this stack.

“Ah…”

A sound, barely more than a whisper, slipped from his throat. Was this what surrender felt like? His eyes, though stinging, remained tearless. Was this the end? Seojun’s mind flickered through memories of the years he was trapped in ‘Wraithwood Warren’, the volatile moods of his parents, the tormenting hallucinations, and the countless meteor showers.

Gas Mask raised his arm once more, resembling a solemn priest seeking the blood of a resigned sacrifice.

But Seojun knew better. Gas Mask was just a deranged murderer. Although he wielded a Hamon knife, this nutjob wore a gas mask instead of a chef’s hat, making himself nothing more than a mismatched villain. He was a clichéd character, typical of horror movies, specifically from “The Murderer of the Bloody Lake.”

Yes… merely a character from “The Murderer of the Bloody Lake”! Anger bubbled within Seojun.

“Ah! You don’t even get a sequel!”

In a fit of rage, Seojun wildly swung whatever was in his hand, yelling the first thing that came to mind.

[……!]

To his surprise, Gas Mask staggered back, blood seeping from beneath his trench coat. Seojun gawked, dumbfounded.

He had assumed he was just swinging a piece of firewood. But as the clouds dispersed, revealing the moonlight that illuminated the campsite, Seojun finally saw what he was clutching so tightly.

It was an axe.

“Whew, whew…”

Even without seeing Gas Mask’s face, Seojun could tell: the murderer was in pain. He was sure of it. Nervously, he licked his dry lips, tasting the metallic tang of blood.

But beyond the pain, a profound sense of triumph coursed through Seojun. He had managed to land a blow on that damned murderer. The axe in his hands felt weightless. It wasn’t just a weapon… it represented hope.

…No, snap out of it.

Reality is unforgiving. Clinging to a flimsy hope could lead to a dead end. The initial blow had only been successful due to the surrounding darkness and Gas Mask’s brief distraction. It wasn’t Seojun’s skill.

With that sobering thought, Seojun stabilized his quivering arms and, pressing against his weakening knees, rose to his feet. He wielded the axe with determination, swinging it with his arms and retreating with his legs. Coordinating all his limbs so efficiently was f*cking exhausting.

“……”

Gas Mask just stood there, still somewhat dazed. Instead of charging, he angled his Hamon knife, pointing it threateningly at Seojun.

Should he warn him to stay back? The thought briefly crossed his mind but was quickly dismissed. He had a gut feeling that the moment he spoke, that bastard would charge. It wasn’t a premonition, but a strong intuition that buzzed warningly in his ears.

Certainly, the axe was intimidating. However, Seojun’s odds weren’t great. He was drained, and his breaths came heavily, as though a substantial weight bore down on his chest.

In a showdown between Seojun, the accidental axe-wielder, and a seasoned killer, who would come out on top? Especially when the opponent was the hulking Gas Mask, whose bulk was apparent even beneath the trench coat.

His initial bravado faded, replaced by a growing sense of humility. He humbly acknowledged the truth.

I can’t win.

There was only one thing to do. Creating some space between himself and Gas Mask, Seojun spun around and sprinted with all his might.

He couldn’t afford to be choosy about his route. He simply fled in the opposite direction of Gas Mask.

Naturally, such a hastily selected path wasn’t the correct one. Seojun was moving further away from where he hoped to find Christina and the others.

The path ahead was shrouded in darkness.