Hell's Actor-Chapter 47: Divine Tragedy

With a dazed expression and a slacking jaw, Beelzebub was staring at the paintings of the seven devils on the wall of his restaurant.

His eyeballs were red and bulged, and his index finger twitched.

As the camera panned, three neat lines of white powder on the table behind him came into focus.

The scene changed.

It was early evening.

Asmodeus was standing outside his mansion.

Unable to find Leviathan, he had returned home for a warm bath and a hot meal. But it wasn’t over. He was planning on continuing the hunt even if it took him forever.

His eyes turned to the overcast sky.

The sun had only just set, and the dark clouds were gathering on the horizon. The wind carried the pleasing scent of petrichor.

It was going to rain.

"Secure the area," he instructed his subordinates.

As they shuffled their feet in silence, Asmodeus approached the entrance.

The main door opened, and the housekeeper greeted him.

"Welcome back, sir."

She took his coat and hung it on the rack.

Asmodeus swept a glance around.

Everything was neat and clean, but none of the servants were in sight.

But before he could ask, the housekeeper answered, "Sarah asked for privacy, so I sent the staff away for the night." fгeewebnovёl.com

He frowned and turned to her. "Sarah?"

"Yes, she returned only about an hour ago." She gestured towards the second floor. "She is waiting in your room."

Asmodeus looked up at the staircase.

Something overwhelmed him. It was a desire he had wrestled with all his life.

He could never understand what it was, but he knew how to fulfill it.

Obsessed with the quest to quench the fire of his loins, he ignored all the important questions.

Why did Sarah return? Why hadn’t she called him prior? Where were the men he had sent to look after her? Why hadn’t any of them informed him of her return?

But most importantly, why was his housekeeper slightly nervous?

Ignoring the shadows of his mansion, Asmodeus climbed the staircase. A close-up of his face showed his ruby eyes shining glamorously.

If ever he looked serene in the entire show, it was now. There was a sense of relief in his eyes.

He loosened his tie and threw away his suit. With each step he climbed, he undid a button on his shirt.

It was a short climb, but it felt extremely long. It was as if every organ and every cell of his body was yelling at him not to walk those steps.

His legs felt heavy, and his arms held the rail a little too long. His skin was cold, and his eyes were hot. His neck hurt as if gravity had intensified.

His instincts warned him, and his body tried to pull him back. Every atom of his being tried to halt him, but like a deaf man, he wouldn’t listen.

Suddenly, he was tired. Twenty-nine years of repressed fatigue had started to catch up to him.

Seeking respite, he envisioned sharing a meal with Sarah. Perhaps, that was what he needed to relax. Weirdly enough, he wanted to hear about her day.

He wouldn’t talk. He knew he wouldn’t talk, but listening to her didn’t sound so unpleasant.

His clenched jaw slightly relaxed.

The camera panned, and the housekeeper came into view.

Standing at the foot of the staircase, she was bowing deeply.

Despite the excruciating pain, she stayed like that as a stream of tears marred her cheeks and fell to the pristine red carpet.

Before he knew it, Asmodeus had reached the top of the staircase.

Squeezing the doorknob, as his fingers twitched eerily, he entered the unlit room.

He took a step in and squinted to find Sarah, but he could not make out anything in the dark.

He walked to the nearby window and opened the curtains.

In the reflection of the glass pane, he noticed three figures standing behind him.

Before he could reach for his revolver, something metallic hit him hard in the back of the head. The glass window shattered as his head collided with it.

The first drops of rain landed on the falling pieces of glass.

Asmodeus’s pain didn’t end there. Someone kicked him. Someone jumped on his abdomen. And someone shattered his favorite record player on his head.

Hearing the commotion, the men standing guard outside rushed in. But they were met with about twenty shotguns firing relentlessly.

Ambushed by about two dozen men, in a matter of seconds, they were reduced to lifeless bags of blood.

Caught in the crossfire, the housekeeper too lay dead, her eyes tearing streams of red.

Bloodied and half-naked, Asmodeus was beaten brutally with anything and everything that could be found in the room.

Like a paintbrush, each article that hit him left a mark behind. In that sense, he was like a canvas, and the three artists painted him primarily in scarlet.

Part of his upper body had turned black and blue.

His lips were bleeding, and he could barely breathe.

His skin was torn; his fingers were broken; and cuts covered the entirety of his torso.

But even such cruelty could not ruin the black paint of his nails. That sight alone helped him remain conscious.

Leaning against the foot of his bed and coughing up spittle mixed with blood, Asmodeus turned his gaze upward.

The faces of his three brothers entered his sight.

Satan. Mammon. And Leviathan.

"Of course..." he muttered. "What else was I expecting?"

Satan stared at him with ferocity in his eyes.

"Do you have any idea what you are doing?" Breathing heavily, Asmodeus continued in his sinister voice, "There will be consequences."

"We will see."

On the verge of falling into the deepest of slumbers, Asmodeus had a sublime thought.

’At least, she isn’t involved.’

He looked at Mammon.

"I suppose you planned this?"

Mammon took a bow.

"You are smart, Brother." He grinned widely in a voracious fashion. "Any regrets? Any last words?"

Asmodeus did have those.

Just like how he provided escorts to Bella and Sarah, he wished he had ensured the safety of his servants. Perhaps then, his housekeeper would not have betrayed him like this.

That was an oversight.

His eyes suddenly turned sharp. There was no time for regrets.

He glared at Mammon.

"Your schemes are pathetic," Asmodeus whispered, "and you overestimate your abilities. Just like how I was betrayed, you will be too."

Mammon looked at him in displeasure.

"You are just like Lucifer."

That was no compliment.

Asmodeus wondered if he could have seen it coming if he hadn’t spent so much time with Sarah. Was overindulgence the cause of his demise?

He turned his gaze to Leviathan.

"Every last man under you will bleed, I promise you that."

His gaze held a deep hatred, and his words sounded like a promise from the devil.

"You are nothing, and your death will be as disgraceful as your life."

Leviathan felt shivers running down his spine. Hairs on his body stood up, and he felt unsettled.

Watching him, an unlikely question rose in Asmodeus’s mind.

In the depths of Hell, if he were to be reunited with Sarah in the future, would she ever choose him over her husband?

’Why would she?’

Genuinely, he wished she wouldn’t follow him to Hell. Imperfect though she was, she deserved a place in Heaven.

Her sins were a result of his influence. Otherwise, she was clean as one could be. He had caused her suffering, and she deserved better.

What a funny thought he entertained as death approached.

Did he regret his life?

Certainly not.

He slowly turned his head to Satan and stared into the abyss of those hateful eyes.

"Look where your insanity—your temper—has brought us," he spat, malice spewing from his resolute, red pupils. "Delude yourself if you wish, but you will never be the head of the family. You are an unworthy, untalented, incapable snake. You are the worst thing that has ever happened to the family. Even your mother despised you. She wished Lucifer were her child instead of you."

The fury in Satan’s eyes burned brighter.

A fierce pouring of rain began, and all sound was enveloped in it.

Consumed in madness, Satan lifted the crowbar in his hand.

And so, Asmodeus closed his eyes, hoping never to open them again.

For a brief moment, he envisioned vast barley fields.

He was standing among the crops while a bright sun shone over his head. A fierce gust of wind blew, and in the distance, he saw a woman with pale skin and red hair.

He couldn’t clearly see her face, but he knew who it was.

It was his mother.

The crowbar came down with extreme ferocity as Asmodeus—for the first time in his life—felt at peace.

The brutality continued for a long time.

Watching it from so close, Mammon held back his quivering lips from forming into a grin.

Even as the blood of his brother sprayed over his clothes, he felt nothing but elation. Greed had long taken hold of his heart, so much so that nothing else mattered to him.

On the other hand, Leviathan’s face exuded only foul emotions. As his brother was being murdered, he could feel only dissatisfaction and envy.

The sound of heavy rain was taken over by a slow-tempo, melancholic classical song that began with a cello.

Marred by their respective sins—Wrath, Greed, and Envy—the three reveled in their endeavor as the blood of their kin spilled, coloring the carpet in red.

The tragic melody flared as the camera showed a stream of blood.

It snuck out from beneath the main door of the mansion and flowed down the cold front steps, where it was washed away by the storm.

In the end, its journey could only continue through the drains, where the grime of the city gathered.

In the lavish room, Asmodeus’s cruelly beaten body lay limp, his head out of frame.

The tempo of the music rose. It turned thrilling, vindictive, and grand. The sound of the organ mixed seamlessly with the strings of the violin, and church bells rang as a choir sang a shrill song.

The screen faded.

The grand and morose music continued throughout the credits.

After six episodes, the Prince of Lust, Asmodeus Binsfeld had succumbed to death.

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