Hell's Actor

Sophie Moon was in a moving taxi.

The driver was in his forties.

Hanging from the rear-view mirror was a string attached to a laminated note with a serial number ending with a triple six.

Sophie, while eyeing the driver, dug into the backseat pocket of the passenger seat. It didn't even take a second for her to feel the touch of something familiar—something that had haunted her night.

She gingerly retrieved it and read the

Episode 7 begins with Asmodeus's theme as Sarah, unable to contact him despite her repeated calls, returns to the mansion, fearing he has abandoned her, and finds it empty.

She walks up to the bedroom and finds his dead body and screams in terror. His torso, the sheets, and the floor were entirely drenched in red.

The theme intensifies as the screen cuts to the office of Lucifer, who receives a call. It is from Policeman Butler.

He was instructed to make it appear as if the work of Altobelli by stealing evidence related to Toni and incorporating it into the scene, but he betrays Mammon.

As the whole of Mammon's plan, to put the blame on the Altobelli family, depended on Butler, this was a great wedge in the plans.

As he listens, a close-up of his face is shown. His face turns more and more serious. The scene cuts, and the opening plays.

"Every night he would come to me, talking about Sarah this, Sarah that. It's all your fault," says the prostitute, having escaped the mistresses to be in Asmodeus's warmth.

"Do you even know my name?" she asks.

After all, she was just a nameless prostitute—and here she was expressing her sorrow—as a person and as an unnamed character.

She looks like she hasn't slept. And she appears to be a lunatic.

"It's all because of you. This all happened because of you," she keeps muttering.

She tries to kill Sarah, who responds by smacking her with the nearby crowbar. It rips the girl's throat. Blood everywhere, the girl is dead—now lying on top of Asmodeus.

Sarah screams. She is frantic and has lost her mind. Her husband is missing, her lover is dead, and now she has killed someone. To her, life feels like it's over. She rushes out of the mansion, crowbar in hand.

Lucifer rushes to Asmodeus's house, where he meets up with Beelzebub, who guides him to the bedroom where the body is. Lucifer's pride is hurt at Satan's open rebellion.

He tells Beelzebub to contact Belphegor, whose phone was switched off.

Belphegor is shown lying on his side, salivating while murmuring a nursery rhyme.

Some of Leviathan's men return to his mansion, but they are shot and killed by Asmodeus's men, who are still unaware of their boss's death.

Regardless, the two assault Satan's house after gathering their full force, every underling following behind.

The three have already gathered their henchmen, but they are not prepared, as policeman Butler betrayed them.

Leviathan couldn't gather much as most of his men were being held hostage by brothel mistresses, and some were already dead.

The three are sweating, finding themselves with less manpower than they had predicted.

It results in a gang war so intense that the police had to cordon off that part of the city. They knew better than to go in while a gang war of this scale was taking place.

More than a thousand members of the family were actively engaged. Hundreds of pistols, revolvers, and shotguns were involved. Tens of thousands of shots were fired.

"One more piece, now," Sophie muttered, her voice tired. "Just one more."

The driver looked at her through the rear-view mirror. "Did you say something, Miss?"

Her eyes droopy, the poor lady passively shook her head. It was clear that she hadn't slept in more than a day.

"Nothing," she said somewhat defeatedly. "Just want some rest."

***

It was near the beginning of April, just as the film set was turning into a machine churning out quality takes, when Averie received visitors in his hotel room.

There were three in total—one woman and two men.

"So, this is the script you wanted me to take a look at?"

They had contacted him over two weeks ago, but thanks to the filming schedule, he had a hard time making time.

Averie received a neat stack of papers from one of the men.

"Yes, please take your time reading."

Averie observed the group; they didn't seem overwhelmed.

'Clearly, not very big fans of mine.'

And that was fine as long as the role was good.

Averie read the script.

'Interesting.'

The amber light in his eyes was burning with intensity. He liked the script.

While keeping his eyes on the script, he addressed them, "It's not the lead role, is it?"

They shared a quick glance among themselves.

"No." The lady of the group shook her head. "It's one of the supporting roles."

His legs crossed, Averie waved his toes through his socks as if he were playing a piano.

His head nodded along to an imaginary tune all the while, sending a wave of hopeful energy through the guests.

Averie handed back the script, his face serene. "I'll have to pass on the opportunity, I am afraid."

The face of the gathered lot fell.

"There is plenty of time to deliberate," said the fatter of the two men. "Please keep the script."

Averie agreed to keep it, but his mind was clear.

'Don't have time for good scripts, my good man.'

He was busy working on one of the most ambitious roles of his life, and he didn't want anything interfering with it.

'It would have been different if the role being offered was a lead role. The support role they suggest isn't even that fun.'

Hyerin wasted no time in politely sending them their way.

"If you had made up your mind from the beginning," she said after returning, "why did you waste everyone's time?"

"Hey," — He looked her in the eye — "I am a celebrity. If I'm not wasting someone else's time, I don't feel satisfied."

"Be truthful."

Averie sighed. "What's the harm in seeing the proposal? I was undecided on whether I wanted to take a new role now, so this helped. And well, I was kind of bored."

He scratched a throbbing patch on his head—courtesy of recklessness—and snapped his fingers.

"It's like killing two pedestrians with one vehicle."

Min-Ha spat out the soft drink she was chugging.

Hyerin rubbed her heaving back and glared at Averie.

"It's 'killing two birds with one stone.'"

"Oh, don't be such a beast, Rin." He shook his head in disgust. "Have some empathy. Don't be so crass."

At that moment, Averie's phone rang.

He wagged a finger in front of Hyerin. "Give me a second."

He got up and picked up the call.

"Hey, listen, Peter, I don't have time for you. I'm a bit busy—"

His voice halted, and rapidly, his eyes widened.

"This isn't an awful joke, right?" He slid a dry tongue over his lips. "Right, I'll have to see what I can do."

He nodded his head while gesturing for Hyerin and Min-Ha—who were staring at him expectantly—to look up the latest articles on the internet.

Hyerin did so.

And to her surprise, a familiar name occupied the latest entertainment news coming out of Seoul.

'[Ent Interior] BSPH writer Sophie Moon tragically loses her life in a traffic accident.'

'[Drama's Hot] Sophie Moon, writer of BSPH, announced dead immediately after the car accident.'

Hyerin rubbed her forehead. It felt heavier than usual.

***

It was only a week later that Averie could leave for Seoul, having adjusted his filming schedule with the director.

At the airport, he took a deep breath. "Smells—"

"Like home?"

"—like everywhere else. I don't know why people become so overdramatic when they are on home soil."

'Well, the only place I consider home is Hell. I suppose that says something about me—nothing good, I am sure.'

Waiting for them at the airport was a car, sent by none other than Peter Kang.

"Please, get in," the bodyguard, anxiously looking around, said.

"Oh, don't worry, big guy; we took precautions this time. Nobody knew we would be here."

"Impressive." The good man nodded. "What were these precautions, if you don't mind my asking?"

Averie twirled a finger in the air. "For the past week, I have been feeding false information to entertainment reporters."

He cracked a smile.

"I bet there were big crowds here for a few days, before they got fed up with my tricks."

He was proud of that.

While passing by popular streets, Averie noticed some teenagers dressed in white shirts with the top two buttons unbuckled, ironed dress pants, and polished leather shoes.

'Are they still imitating Asmodeus?'

It was truly baffling to see such attire still in fashion months after the end of BSPH.

'They are really impressionable, aren't they? Or perhaps, this is normal these days?'

He wondered if films and dramas truly wielded this much influence on the common man.

'Is that a good thing?'

He couldn't determine that.

Yet niggling at his mind was another, more important thought.

'Could Lady Ethereal have just as much influence?'