Averie found himself standing in front of a rather vast church.
Behind the fence, reporters were busy taking pictures of the celebrity guests—one of whom happened to be him.
And once again, after what felt like months spent on hiatus, he was the target of camera flashes.
Min-Ha, who was beside him, discreetly fixed the cuffs of his black suit. If he had more time, he would have dressed comfortably and not inside the car.
It was a sad occasion after all.
Sophie Moon was dead.
He continued forward with a brisk pace.
A shiver passed through him as he crossed the arch crowned with a cross.
The devil’s friend was in the enemy territory.
He worked his way up the stairs with fleet feet and an impassive face. Nᴇw novel chapters are publɪshed on novel•fire.net
The large doors of the church were open, inviting him into the hall, which was filled with guests dressed in black attire.
The air was heavy. It stirred with his steps and countless whispers.
They feigned sadness, but the devilish man knew they didn’t mind as much. It was never about true feelings; it was always about pretence and empathy.
Averie knew death; he knew it well.
It was an unforgettable experience, which was neither as dramatic nor as painful as romanticists made it out to be.
It was the forever silence of the heart.
It was the exhaled breath followed by nothing else.
It was the last signal received by the brain.
It was the stiffening of muscles.
It was a goodbye to the mortal world.
But none of it concerned him today.
Sophie Moon was dead but not gone.
Even if not on Earth, he knew she was somewhere else—either the promised land, the mountain of judgment, or the fiery pit of pain.
The death of a loved one, to Averie, wasn’t as sad as others made it out to be.
But today, he needed to act like it did.
After all, in a hall filled with actors, why wouldn’t he want to compete?
In one of the corners, he found a familiar man waving his hand for attention.
Within the church walls, which felt naturally hostile, the actors from Hell arrogantly walked up to his friend.
"Hello, Peter," he said with a face exuding seriousness. "How have you been?"
He was surrounded by the main cast of BSPH, which felt nostalgic.
"I have been—" He looked around "—fine. What sad news, huh?"
Even though they wanted to, neither seemed daring enough to crack jokes.
At Peter’s request, Averie went around greeting some familiar faces, one of them being Director Lee of BSPH.
"Again, my condolences."
He returned to Peter after greeting Sophie Moon’s family.
The whole affair was too dull for his tastes; he especially didn’t like observing formalities.
"I was planning a vacation when this happened." Peter lowered his voice. "Couldn’t she have picked some other month to die?"
Raymond Lee glared at the two, hoping no one else had heard their odd complaints.
But Averie wasn’t worried. Sophie’s sister was weeping nearby, hindering their voices from travelling far.
The hellish actor found her actions over the top.
"She is not good at acting, is she?"
Peter nodded. "Never was. She tried to become one, you know?"
"Didn’t go well, I assume?"
"She had enough chances to prove herself—Sophie wasn’t exactly against nepotism. Honestly, this industry is full of it."
He pointed his chin at the woman receiving sympathy. "Exaggerated everything, did she?"
"Every time. It was awful to watch." Peter shrugged. "I doubt she cared enough about Sophie to cry like that."
"Maybe she is crying at the thought of her dead career."
Peter grinned. "If I had to put my money on it, I would put it on Sophie’s revival rather than her sister’s acting career."
Averie wanted to give him a high five, but a glaring Raymond Lee halted him.
"So, why is she acting up?"
"She likes attention, especially when it’s coming from celebrities—men mostly."
"Did it really happen in front of the building where Patricia died?"
The conversation between Do-Yun Park and John Strom piqued Averie’s attention.
"They say the car was totalled, burnt for an hour before fire trucks arrived."
"Could she have survived? Why were they so late?"
"I don’t know if she would have lived, but the firefighters weren’t too happy that day. Across the city, too many fires broke out, and they were short-staffed."
Do-Yun Park sucked on a candy that he had snuck in. His habits from BSPH still hadn’t gone away.
"Everything under her chest burned."
John exposed his gums in simulated pain. "Really?"
"The taxi driver was practically a piece of charcoal. You know what’s even more off?"
"Even though everything else burned, a single note survived. It was laminated."
"I think the serial number ended with a triple six. People keep those kinds of notes."
Suddenly, Averie felt Peter elbowing his side, which the hellish actor didn’t appreciate.
"You should probably greet her." He pointed towards the casket at the end of the room. "It’s an open casket. It’s better to show you care."
He threw a glance around the room. "They would like nothing more than to talk nonsense about you, and the journalists wouldn’t mind starting a few fires if they got the news."
Sighing, he made his way towards the casket.
There, lying in her little box and dressed in black, was Sophie.
"Look at you, with all that makeup," Averie muttered, whistling lightly. "You look better dead than alive."
Her family, unable to hear him, inferred the good actor’s bored expression for sadness.
Noticing something clenched between her front teeth, Averie slightly leaned forward.
It was a folded paper.
"Why would it be there? Did no one care to remove it? Or did no one notice?"
Without hesitation, he leaned in to kiss her forehead and discreetly pulled out the paper.
After leaving for what he described to his friend as ’the nature’s call,’ he opened the note.
In the middle of it, the mistresses receive a phone call. They are informed of their boss’s death.
Averie’s eyes narrowed. "What is this?"
Finding themselves with at least three dozen hostages, they are left wondering what to do. They are sorrowed and lost. Asmodeus was dear to them.
The hellish actor’s eyes widened. "Asmodeus? Is this about the show?"
Bella suggests killing them. Otherwise, these men—once freed—would surely seek vengeance now that their boss was dead and no one left to protect them. They overdose and drown most of them, slice the wrists and necks of others.
Lucifer shoots Mammon’s leg as he is trying to find cover. He shoots him in the arm as he is trying to pick up his fallen gun. He stands over the groaning, wailing Mammon and puts a bullet right between his eyes.
Averie was sure now. "This is the summary of BSPH’s finale."
Beelzebub shoots Leviathan dead as he is running away, but continues to shoot him in the face out of spite, which results in him having a third heart attack. This one kills him.
Meanwhile, Lucifer is chasing Satan through the house. He shoots him in the shoulder.
Unfortunately, before he can kill Satan, a stray bullet hits his artery. He bleeds out on the floor.
Satan is shown running away from the scene while blue lights of police cars are lighting the dark night, looking back every now and then for pursuers.
"Shown?" The wording felt off somehow. "Why shown?"
Suddenly, something metallic hits him straight in the face, making him fall to the ground. Breathing rough and bleeding heavily, Satan recognizes the weapon that hit him—it was the same crowbar he had used to kill Asmodeus.
The person waiting for him in that dark corner was none other than Sarah, the woman who had lost all source of warmth—both her husband and lover—in a single month.
She looked deranged, breathing heavily, her hair all over the place. Frenzied, she hits Satan again and again and again.
"It’s all your fault," she keeps mumbling, just like the prostitute she had killed. She makes a bloody mush out of his head, avenging her lover.
Suddenly, she starts crying, sitting down and hugging her knees. Belphegor, who had switched on his phone late, arrives on the scene.
He is dazed and confused, seeing the dead bodies of his brothers. Suddenly, he finds himself surrounded by police, telling him to drop the gun. But Belphegor knew nothing good awaited him.
He raises the pistol to his head, but before he can pull the trigger, the police shoot him down. As his body hits the ground, a metal tin falls out of his coat.
The pills inside spill and roll onto the floor. They were antidepressants. The screen cuts to Sarah.
She has picked up Satan’s fallen revolver. With trembling hands, she holds it to the roof of her mouth.
Over the blaring cars and subtle music, a shot is heard. Blood splatters as her hands fall lifelessly.
For a moment, the camera focuses on her twitching fingers before they settle down.
The screen cuts to the fresh bodies of six brothers. It shows Sarah’s hand and finally a rotting torso that is Asmodeus.
Averie clenched his jaw.
The odd way of writing was familiar to him.