The Rain Idol: Diva of the Divine

Chapter 6

"Good, then let the show begin." Shin-woo flicked his fingers.

The world around them seemed to twist. The dusty wooden floor of Dante’s shop transformed into a massive, magnificent stage. The smell of wood turned into a suffocating scent of expensive perfume, and before them, thousands of empty seats seemed to scream, demanding entertainment.

Genta pulled Laras behind his back. His indigo eyes flashed sharply, piercing through the stage illusion Shin-woo had built. Behind the blinding glare of the spotlights, Genta saw black threads crawling like earthworms, sucking the vitality from the shadows of every empty chair.

"A hack shaman with a hack budget," Genta spat, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "Using energy-draining talismans for an audition? What do you think this is, some back-alley amateur tournament, damn it?"

Shin-woo only chuckled, his voice echoing throughout the room. "Genta, you’re always too sentimental. This isn’t about talent. It’s about who owns the platform. And this stage… is an altar."

Laras trembled behind Genta. Her hands gripped Genta’s shirt so tightly the fabric strained. "Genta, I… I feel empty. The energy is being pulled right out of my pores."

Genta turned, looking Laras straight in her eyes, which were beginning to emit a golden glow. He cupped her cheeks, his thumb gently brushing her skin, which now felt as cold as porcelain.

"Listen to me, Ras," Genta whispered, his voice deep and full of urgency. "You aren’t a host for them to play with. You are a Goddess masquerading as an idol. Remember, you’re the main character, not some damn pawn like him. If they pull your energy, give it back. But give it in a way that makes this stage explode."

Genta let go of her and reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out five old copper coins bound together by a blood-stained red thread—the result of a trade with Old Man Huat.

"Come on, show this rotten shaman a bit of your 'vocals,'" Genta commanded.

Shin-woo waved his hand. Instantly, the upbeat music playing through the studio speakers shifted into a distorted rhythmic melody, filled with low frequencies that could rupture a normal human's eardrums. From behind the stage, shadows emerged—other trainees who had lost their souls, moving like wooden puppets with pitch-black eyes.

"The opening dance!" Shin-woo shouted.

The shadows charged. They moved with inhuman speed, their muscles cracking and popping with every step.

Genta didn't waste any time. He tossed the copper coins into the air. Running through the crowd of shadows, he kicked the main projector, tilting it toward the talisman altar Shin-woo had hidden beneath the stage.

"Ras! Center stage, now!"

Laras ran to the middle of the stage. Even though her legs were shaking, the aura of Goddess Lanying began to take over. As soon as she stood under the spotlight Genta had aimed, a burst of pure white energy exploded from her body. It wasn't just stage lighting; it was a spiritual barrier that swept away the shadows in front of her like dust caught in a hurricane.

"Damn, your power is insane, Ras!" Genta yelled as he launched a spinning kick at the neck of one of the shadow puppets, shattering it into black ash.

"Genta, the lights!" Laras screamed. Her voice vibrated, carrying a divine hypnotic power.

Genta looked up. Shin-woo was chanting a spell, summoning more darkness to shroud the stage. Genta immediately leaped onto the light pole, climbing it with the agility of a wildcat. He grabbed the electrical cables wrapped around the pole, fusing them with his indigo energy.

"You want to suck energy, right? Here, eat some divine current!"

Genta slammed his foot against the main spotlight, channeling Laras’s golden energy as it reflected off the lamp’s mirror toward Shin-woo’s talisman.

BZZZZZT!

The energy explosion wasn't fire, but white lightning that struck right at the heart of Shin-woo’s power. The black talisman embedded under the stage shattered into pieces. Shin-woo was thrown backward, his pale face now slashed with magical burns that emitted black smoke.

The illusionary stage began to crumble. The studio walls reappeared, paint peeling, and the neon lights on the ceiling flickered weakly.

Laras still stood there, panting. Her trainee dress was slightly torn at the shoulder, but her eyes—oh, her eyes—were now truly glowing with an uncontrollable ancient power.

"Stop!" Shin-woo screamed, clutching his bleeding chest. "You have no idea what you’re doing! You’re ruining the rhythm of this world!"

Genta landed in front of Laras, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He stood before her, his back to Shin-woo in a stance of absolute protection.

"Rhythm?" Genta laughed shortly, though his hands trembled from exhaustion. "This world has been broken for a long time because of trash like you. I don't care about the audition, I don't care about debuting. I just want her to be safe."

Suddenly, Laras draped her arms around Genta’s shoulders from behind, leaning her head against his back. Her overflowing energy began to seep into Genta’s body, stabilizing his heart rate which had nearly stopped.

"He isn't finished, Genta," Laras whispered, her voice now sounding like thousands of voices merging into one—cold, arrogant, and dangerous.

Shin-woo rose to his feet. He no longer looked like a talent scout. The skin on his face was peeling away, revealing something scaly underneath. He pulled a dagger from inside his suit—a dagger made of human bone, sharpened to a razor's edge.

"You think this is over?" Shin-woo licked the blade. "The real show has just begun. And for the final stage, the audience won't be human. They are the bloodthirsty spirits of the Han River."

Shin-woo vanished into a thick black mist, leaving the stench of rotting carcasses lingering in the room.

Genta turned around, cupping Laras’s face again. But this time, something was different. Laras’s pupils had turned into vertical slits, like a reptile’s eyes. She no longer looked at Genta with fear, but with the predator's interest in its prey.

"Ras?" Genta called out softly, his chest feeling tight. "Laras? Are you still in there?"

Laras smiled. The smile was too wide, too beautiful, and utterly terrifying. She leaned her lips close to Genta’s ear, her breath feeling like freezing ice against the nape of his neck.

"She is gone, mortal," Laras whispered. "Now, tell me… what should we do with the rest of their lives?"

Before Genta could answer, the studio door suddenly burst open with a loud crash. Dozens of men dressed in all black with a single-eye symbol on their chests stormed in, wielding firearms coated in ancient talismans.

In front of them stood a woman in an incredibly luxurious traditional Korean dress, holding an iron fan that dripped with poisonous liquid.

"Hand over the host," the woman’s voice was cold, freezing the air in the room. "And we will let you die without pain."

Genta swallowed hard. He glanced at Laras, who was still pressed against him, then looked toward the exit that was now surrounded.

"Ras," Genta whispered, gripping the handle of the folding knife in his pocket. "I need your help one more time. Can you do it?"

Laras—or the entity possessing her body—giggled. A laugh that caused the studio walls to crack instantly. "Give me full control over this body, Genta. And I will ensure that not a single one of them returns home to tell the story of their deaths."

Genta stared at the advancing crowd of enemies. There was no other choice. He nodded slowly.

"Do it," Genta muttered.

In that very instant, every light in the studio exploded simultaneously. Pitch blackness swallowed them whole. Amidst the darkness, only a pair of golden eyes shone brilliantly, followed by the sound of Laras's laughter filling every corner of the room, transforming from a human voice into the roar of a wrathful goddess.

Just as the hand of one of the attackers touched Genta's shoulder, a black shadow darted by with lightning speed, and the sharp crack of breaking bones rang out through the haunting silence.