The Rain Idol: Diva of the Divine

Chapter 5

Genta's folding knife clashed with black fire. The ring of metal echoed, sparking embers that stung the skin. The figure was not human; he was a silhouette of darkness wearing an expensive suit, standing on the silent Gangnam Station platform in the middle of the night.

"Royalty?" The figure laughed, his voice like the grinding of bone against a tombstone. "In hell, the currency is despair. And this girl has an abundant supply."

Laras staggered, her grip on the train's iron pole weakening. Her face was deathly pale, her eyes emitting a dim, unstable golden glow. "Genta... I feel like a gas stove just exploded inside my chest," she hissed, her lips trembling violently.

"Hang in there, Laras! Don't you dare pass out! If you faint now, we're going to be the headlines for 'Tragedi of Foreign Idol Exploding at Station'," Genta shouted. He kicked the figure's chest with the heel of his shoe, which was already adorned with protective sigils.

CRASH!

The figure was sent flying, slamming into a vending machine until soda cans spilled and scattered everywhere. Genta did not waste any time. He grabbed Laras's hand, pulling her behind a concrete pillar.

"We need a booster," Genta muttered, his hand reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out a silver coin that was beginning to turn black. "And I know the most nonsensical place to ask for help in this ghost-filled city."

Ignoring the screams of the black figure who was beginning to rise—his arms lengthening like smoky tentacles—Genta dragged Laras out of the station, running through the cold Seoul night. They were not heading to a talent agency, but rather a narrow alley in the Itaewon district shrouded in colorful mist that smelled of expensive perfume and sin.

At the end of the alley stood an old barbershop called 'The Vanity Mirror'. Its door was made of teak wood with a handle shaped like a golden hand holding a rose.

"Dante! Get out here, you eccentric God of Desire! I need your services!" Genta shouted as he kicked the wooden door wide open.

The room inside the shop was a state of organized chaos. Mirrors floated in the air, reflecting the shadows of people from various eras. In the middle of the room sat a man in a flashy red silk suit, his hair dyed electric blue, busy trimming his nails with diamond-encrusted clippers.

Dante turned, his eccentric purple eyes glinting with amusement. "Genta? Well, well. What have you brought me? A girl with a goddess aura that is about to explode? I hope you've brought a sacrifice more valuable than cheap instant coffee."

"I brought a customer," Genta interrupted, panting for breath. He pushed Laras forward. "She needs a transformation. Korean agency beauty standards are insane, and her body cannot handle Lanying's divine energy unless her physical form is 'upgraded' to contain that power."

Dante stood up, circling Laras like a predator appraising its prey. He pinched Laras's chin, forcing her to look into the large mirror in front of her. "Human? Boring. But... the aura inside her? Now that is a delicious dish."

"I don't want to be a sacrifice, Sir," Laras tried to protest, though her voice was weak. "I just want to debut, not become an exhibit in a haunted museum."

Dante burst into laughter until the mirrors around them vibrated. "My dear, in the entertainment world, you are a display. The question is, are you a display that will shatter overnight, or one that will make the whole world kneel?"

Dante snapped his fingers. Instantly, the room was filled with ribbons of light that wrapped around Laras's body. Laras shrieked as a cold energy seeped into her pores. The pain that had gripped her chest slowly subsided, replaced by a smooth, burning sensation—like an electrical current adjusted to the perfect voltage.

"I'll give her the Visual of the Eon," Dante murmured, twirling his scissors in the air, cutting away the illusions clinging to Laras's soul. "She will look perfect from any angle. The camera will love her, the light will obey her. But, there is a price for this perfection."

Genta watched warily. "What is the price?"

Dante leaned close to Genta's ear, his breath smelling of rotten roses and ambition. "The rivals she faces at tomorrow's audition... someone has already placed a 'Cracked Mirror' curse on them. Once Laras performs with this perfect visual, that curse will reflect back at her. If she cannot control the goddess energy within her when that curse hits, she will not just fail her debut."

Dante grinned widely, revealing his sharp fangs. "She will lose her face. Literally. Her skin will peel off while she is singing in front of thousands of people."

Genta grabbed Dante's collar. "Are you insane?! Why are you only telling me this now?"

"Because that is part of the show, darling!" Dante laughed, brushing Genta's hand away. "Look at her now."

Laras turned around. The light in the room seemed to be sucked toward her. Her appearance was the same, yet something had changed. Her eyes now possessed an unnatural depth, radiating an aura that made anyone who looked at her feel like they would sacrifice anything for her. Her skin seemed to glow under the dim lights.

Genta was stunned for a moment. "You... look beautiful, Laras."

Laras flushed, but her gaze was sharp, filled with the remnants of Goddess Lanying's power now synergizing with Dante's illusion. "Thanks. But if I die on stage tomorrow, I am going to haunt you and pull your legs every night until doomsday, Genta."

"I'll make a note of that," Genta replied coldly, though his heart was pounding from the suffocating tension.

Suddenly, the glass of the shop window shattered into pieces. Something dark and foul-smelling entered the room. It was not the figure from the station, but a swarm of human-shaped shadows carrying black daggers.

"Shin-woo," Dante hissed, his purple eyes turning pitch black. "Your rivals' pets have found the goddess's scent here."

Genta unsheathed his knife again, standing in front of Laras. "Dante, if we survive this, I will give you a discount on our next service."

"No need for a discount," Dante waved his hand, creating an illusory barrier that began to crack under the shadows' assault. "Just bring me the soul of that black shaman after you destroy him."

Laras clenched her fists. The golden energy was no longer exploding, but was instead locked tight within her perfected body. "Genta, quit talking. We have an audition tomorrow, and I don't want my face ruined before I even get the chance to be an idol."

One of the shadows lunged, its black dagger aimed straight for Laras's neck. However, before the blade could touch her skin, Laras moved with impossible speed, catching the shadow's wrist and twisting it until the sound of cracking bone echoed.

CRACK!

The shadow screamed, its voice sounding like a thousand tormented souls.

Genta grinned widely. "Alright, Laras. Looks like you're ready for a very bloody debut."

As they prepared to face the next wave of attacks, Dante suddenly shouted, "Wait! There's something worse than them!"

The shop floor suddenly gave way. From the darkness below, familiar pale hands—the hands of the War God's soldiers who had been hunting them since Singapore—began to crawl up, filling the entire room.

Genta looked at Laras. Laras looked at Genta. Amidst the onslaught of enemies, they realized one thing: tomorrow's audition was no longer about winning or losing, but about surviving a curse that even gods were afraid to touch.

And just then, the shop's doorbell rang. Someone walked in, bringing an aura so cold that even Dante's magical fire was instantly extinguished.

"Sorry to crash the party," the man's voice sounded smooth, polite, yet deadly. "But I am here to collect the goddess's host. Without her body, tomorrow's show will be incomplete."

Genta fell silent. He knew the man. Shin-woo. Behind him, he carried a contract that was no longer engulfed in black flames, but was instead slick with fresh blood that continued to drip onto the wooden floor.

"Time for your audition, miss," Shin-woo whispered, his smile failing to reach his eyes.

Genta gripped Laras's hand firmly. "Get ready, Ras. We're going to turn this stage into their grave."