Hell's Actor-Chapter 122: Devil’s Emissary

In a dark underground chamber, twelve crumbling stone seats were arranged in a circle, hugging the cold, dark walls.

They were occupied by figures wearing cowls and robes that one would only see in a fantasy movie.

In this dark place, away from the prying eyes and unbeknownst to the law, a meeting was underway.

"So, that was your doing?" one of the figures uttered with a feeble voice.

In front of them, in the middle of the room, was a naked man strapped to a stone altar.

Agitated, the man tried to scream through his gagged mouth, only for his saliva to flood and choke his throat.

His bloody nails scratched at the inscriptions of the altar, and his wrists pulled at his restraints.

But it was all futile. He wasn’t getting away, no matter how hard he tried.

"You understand the consequences, right?" the feeble voice asked.

One after another, the rest of the figures whispered.

"Why would you do such a thing?"

"All in an attempt to fail?"

"Is there any sense in pursuing a man so openly?"

"Utterly shameful."

As they spoke with animated movements, bells tied to their wrists chimed.

And at the height of the symphony created by more than a dozen bells, the owner of the feeble voice stood up.

He walked up to the man and peered into his horrified eyes.

"You organized the car chase of that man, right?" he asked with a gentle voice, his hand brushing against the frightened man’s head. "You admit your wrongdoings, right?"

With tears streaking his cheeks, the naked man reluctantly nodded. His eyes were tightly shut, and his nose flared.

"There is a time and place for everything." The feeble figure’s hand caressed the naked man’s head. "You should not have been hasty."

His hand travelled over the man’s eyes and pressed down lightly.

"Let’s not waste any blood tonight."

The voice sounded distant as if he were talking to someone else. It was followed by the sensation of something piercing the naked man’s sternum.

His body shook as if it was going into shock, but the assault did not stop there. Eleven more blades were inserted into his gut.

He could not see it, but he knew daggers and knives were sticking out of his torso.

"Remember," the feeble voice fell on his ears as he was losing consciousness. "Such mistakes must not be allowed."

He addressed everyone present in the room.

"We must not approach the Devil’s Emissary until the time is right."

"Even though he is attracting attention to himself?" one of the gathered asked.

"That is his choice."

The body of the naked man stopped struggling.

Through the grooves and inscriptions of the altar, his blood flowed, dripping into the twelve bronze chalices arranged under the altar.

The feeble figure took his chalice and raised it in the air.

"To the second coming of the Devil."

He quaffed the repulsive drink alongside his fellow conspirators.

***

"It’s nice living in London," Averie remarked while cleaning his Best Actor trophy with a dry cloth.

"What’s nice about it?" Hyerin looked away from the book she was so invested in. "The weather’s always gloomy."

Even as she spoke, rainclouds were gathering in the sky outside.

"I am starting to like it a little," Min-Ha replied from the balcony.

She was watching the streets below while sipping a cup of coffee.

"It’s romantic." Her faded yellow dress played in the wind as if trying to chase the dancing curtains. "Like a tragic movie."

"I don’t see the appeal."

With his eyebrows arched sharply, Averie rubbed the spot where Peter’s lips had touched the trophy. "I can go out without worrying about people stopping me in the streets. That much is good for me."

"I suppose it is good for you. Treat it like a vacation. Sooner or later, popularity will catch up to you."

"Only now that we are away from home do I understand how fanatical the Asian celebrity culture is." The good actor shivered. "It’s much quieter here. I only have to worry about getting stabbed."

Hyerin waved off those remarks. "You know, you should still be careful. Wear a facemask or something. I see a few people noticing you every time we go out."

She returned to her book, and Averie took a peek at the cover.

"The Visionary? What’s it about?"

"A director whose works became famous posthumously. It’s a little sad. Do you want to read it?"

"No thanks, I am not patient enough for reading anything. There is something about hearing my voice in my head repeat the words in front of my eyes that makes me go mad."

She looked up from her book. "You are fine with scripts, though."

"I don’t use my voice while reading scripts, so it’s fine."

The building they were living in had resumed renovations, and only two floors remained. As Hyerin had said, it wasn’t an abandoned building.

They had managed to rent even the room adjoining the first one, thanks to the paychecks from BSPH’s earnings in the West.

The girls stayed in the second flat, affording Averie some privacy at night. But on the off days, they spent most of their time together in Averie’s living room.

While cleaning the trophy, Averie had a realization. "Is this why you had the producer explicitly write in my contract that Asmodeus Binsfeld was a main role?"

She looked up. "What?"

"The trophy!" He pointed at it. "Did you think I had a chance to be nominated? Is that why you had them write that down?"

Hyerin looked lost. "Does that even make sense?"

"Then?"

"I didn’t want them to cut your screen time and lessen Asmodeus’s importance to the story."

"You thought I was that bad?"

"No?" She laughed as if it were a ridiculous notion. "I knew how good you were; I just didn’t know if the staff could, you know, do you justice."

Averie kept glaring at her.

"Oh, that reminds me," she uttered, trying to change the subject. "Now that we are in London, have you thought about visiting your parents?"

He looked at her, dumbfounded. "My parents?"

"Yes."

’They are not dead?’

This 𝓬ontent is taken from fre𝒆webnove(l).𝐜𝐨𝗺