The Illusionist

Prologue

HE was shot by a god. Three reasons were: his history, crime, and his blabbing mouth. If he could recall the scene right before he pissed one god, the mask he carried for a long time unveiled right before his audience. The entertainment he built crumbled into bloodshed as he was sent into a place by shutting his vision off, and even his heart.

Kanina niya lang naramdamang muli ang pagpitik ng kaniyang puso, subalit siya'y parang naging bingi at hindi magawang marinig ang tibok nito.

"Mic test for my sanity. Hello? Hello?" he uttered, testing his ears if he really had gone deaf. To his relief, he could hear perfectly fine. However, the sound wave echoed, making him guess if he was brought to hell or a cave.

Dahan-dahan, iminulat niya ang kaliwang mata. Nang mapuno ng kulay puting bubong ang kaniyang tanawin at masilaw sa malaking chandelier, muli siyang napapikit. Napahawak siya sa kaniyang noo kung saan tumama ang bala kanina, ngunit wala siyang maramdamang sugat.

He whistled. "I guess I'm dead, no?"

Shrugging, he opened both of his eyes and rose from the glass-like floor. When he felt a pair of eyes staring his back, he stretch both of his arms up, acting like a person who just woke up. A big, exaggerated yawn circled his lips. "Is it morning already?"

He turned to look at the person--uncertain, however, if it was really a person. It was sitting on a smokey chair on top of an altar. The elevated platform resembled an erupting volcano, oozing with viscous magma and overly contrasting the white room aesthetic.

"Oh, hello there! Is this your room?" He flashed his teeth to the unmoving man wearing a black Hanbok. Ang kasuotan nito ang nagsilbing tanda na posibleng isang god ang kaharap niya. Inikot niya ang paningin sa silid habang nakasalampak pa rin sa sahig. Sila lang dalawa ang nasa loob ng pabilog na kuwarto.

Tumango-tango naman siya. "I could say your room is clean, empty, and--ahm--kind of boring. Let me guess, you like the trendy minimalist, no?" Hindi niya inaalis ang tingin sa gawi nito.

Hindi naman ito sumagot o kahit gumalaw man lang ng kahit kaunti. Estatwa ba ito?

"Don't get me wrong though. Your room is nice but it's not just my type." Pinagpag niya ang mga kamay bago napagdesisyunang tumayo. Kamuntikan pa siyang matumba nang hindi pantay ang kaniyang pagtayo. Napayuko siya bago binalik ang tingin sa estatwa. "Uh, by any chance, have you seen one of my heels?"

"Song Seo Hyo," the man on the altar suddenly spoke in a loud grumbling voice, making him jolt in surprise. "Who do you think has given you the right to speak to me in that manner?"

'Whoa! I was just asking. I just do not like putting my feet bare. It's unsanitary." One of his feet tiptoed to equal the other one; his toes waggling because of the cold. "Oh, by the way, I love the voice effect. It's frightening. What mic did you use?"

"Silence!"

Muli siyang napaigtad sa biglaan nitong pagsigaw. Mabilis na napataas ang dalawa niyang kamay. "Okay, okay. Chill. No need to be angry, Mister--uh--" He squinted his eyes as he looked at him from head to toe. "I'm sorry, may I know what breathing creature are you?"

"I am the god of this house, Yeomna, you impudent child." Tinaas nito ang isang kamay. He just snapped his finger and viola! A chair appeared beside him.

"Oh, thank you very much!" masigla niyang sagot at hinala ang upuan. He crossed his legs as he sat on the chair. "You are very kind for a god of death."

Yeomna, the god of death, held the power to decide the fate of the souls. Meeting him meant that he had died, and now he would face his judgment. Napakamot siya sa kaniyang noo sa reyalisasyong natapos na nga nang tuluyan ang kaniyang buhay. Ni hindi man lang siya nakapagpaalam sa kaniyang ina o makakain ng paborito niyang manga sa huling pagkakataon. Higit sa lahat . . .