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Lord of Entertainment C375 Casual Miracle
🕑 Added 2025-07-20 10:00:23 +0000 UTC(3rd Person POV)
The Skull operatives fell swiftly before Hellsing’s forces, magical bonds snapping into place around their limbs with ruthless efficiency. Despite their defeat, the captured soldiers clung to defiance, straining against their mystical restraints.
“This can’t be happening!” one operative gasped, sweat beading on his forehead as he struggled. “Lord Viper will save us—he has to!”
“That’s right!” another shouted, his voice cracking with desperation. “You fools don’t understand what you’re dealing with! When Lord Viper unleashes the Skull of Calamity, none of you will escape his wrath!”
Their desperate proclamations hung in the air like bitter smoke. Firfel and Vivienne exchanged a meaningful glance, both women feeling an unexpected pang of sympathy for their captives.
‘Who’s going to tell them?’ The thought passed silently between them.
They didn’t have to wait long for an answer.
A blood-curdling shriek pierced the night air, echoing off the surrounding buildings.
“AHHHHH! Please—I beg you—have mercy!”
The voice was unmistakable. Every Skull operative’s head snapped toward the sound, their eyes widening in horror as they witnessed their supposedly invincible leader. Lord Viper knelt in the distance, both arms severed and bleeding, groveling before a figure in an expensive suit.
“Is that... is that really Lord Viper?” one operative whispered, his voice barely audible.
“No—no way! This has to be some kind of trick, an illusion!” Another’s denial came out strangled, desperate.
The scene before them shattered every belief they’d held. Their mighty Lord Viper, reduced to a broken, pleading wretch.
Yuna, one of Hellsing’s newest recruits, stepped forward with undisguised pride radiating from her posture. “Your precious Lord Viper is nothing compared to our boss. You might as well surrender now and save yourselves the humiliation.”
The operatives trembled as they watched their leader—the man they’d believed could conquer nations—cowering before what appeared to be an ordinary businessman.
No magical aura emanated from the suited figure, no supernatural presence that would explain his dominance.
‘How is this possible?’ one operative’s mind reeled. ‘He looks like he just stepped out of a boardroom meeting. How could someone so... normal... completely destroy Lord Viper?’
Their horrified fascination reached its peak as they witnessed the final degradation: their once-proud leader being stomped into the ground with casual, almost dismissive brutality.
The psychological impact was devastating. In mere moments, their entire worldview had crumbled to dust.
Arthur continued his merciless assault on Viper, who writhed pathetically beneath his polished shoes.
“Shut up, insect,” Arthur’s voice carried an arctic chill that made even his own allies shiver.
“I don’t recall giving you permission to speak.” His foot connected with Viper’s jaw with a sickening crack, eliciting another agonized groan.
Firfel and Vivienne stood frozen, horror etched across their faces as they watched the transformation before them.
The man they knew—warm, gentle Arthur who smiled at their jokes and worried about their safety—had become something else entirely. Something cold. Something frightening.
They understood his rage toward Viper, but witnessing this brutal display made their stomachs churn with unease.
Arthur delivered another vicious kick to Viper’s ribs, the sound of impact echoing through the silent street. Viper’s pained whimpers filled the air like a broken symphony.
Unable to bear it any longer, Firfel rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Arthur from behind, her trembling body pressed against his rigid frame.
Arthur froze mid-motion, his raised foot hovering inches from Viper’s broken form.
The familiar warmth of Firfel’s embrace cut through his fury like a blade, and he felt heat creep up his neck as her soft curves molded against his back.
‘What am I doing?’ The thought struck him like lightning. ‘This isn’t who I am.’ He exhaled slowly, the tension bleeding from his shoulders as he turned within her embrace.
“Firfel,” his voice had returned to its usual gentle cadence, though traces of that earlier coldness still lingered at the edges. His hand found her hair, stroking it with careful tenderness. “I’m relieved you’re safe.”
Firfel tilted her head up to meet his gaze, her cheeks flushed pink with a mixture of fear and something else entirely. “For a moment there, I didn’t recognize you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “You were... terrifying.”
Arthur’s eyebrow arched in genuine surprise. “Terrifying? Me?” He gestured to himself with an almost boyish confusion, and Firfel nodded emphatically.
“Absolutely terrifying,” Vivienne confirmed as she approached, though she maintained a careful distance. Her usual playful demeanor had evaporated, replaced by wary calculation. “I never would have imagined that someone as kind-hearted as you could become so... ruthless.”
The weight of their fear hit Arthur like a physical blow. These women, who meant everything to him, were looking at him like he was a stranger—a dangerous one.
Arthur forced a smile, though it felt brittle on his lips. “Come on, don’t look at me like that, Vivi. Work stress has been eating at me lately, and this bastard just happened to be a convenient outlet.” He punctuated his words with a dismissive kick toward Viper’s prone form.
Vivienne flinched at the casual violence, her eyes never leaving Arthur’s face.
She was struggling to reconcile the man who had just severed another person’s arms with the gentle filmmaker who brought them tea and worried about their comfort on set.
The contradiction was terrifying, yet she found herself grateful that his warmth toward them remained unchanged.
“Please don’t be afraid of me,” Arthur’s laugh carried an edge of desperation as he gently tucked a strand of Firfel’s hair behind her pointed ear. “I’m still the same Arthur. I promise you that.”
The gesture was achingly familiar, yet somehow it felt different now—like watching a wolf try to remember how to be a dog.
Firfel exhaled slowly, the tension leaving her shoulders. “Then I’m relieved,” she murmured, though her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Vivienne nodded in agreement, but Arthur didn’t miss the way her gaze lingered on him—analytical, searching, as if she were seeing him for the first time.
Arthur felt a wave of gratitude that they were willing to accept his explanation, but beneath it lurked a deeper anxiety that gnawed at his chest. Their relationship—everything he’d built with them—suddenly felt fragile, balanced on a knife’s edge.
‘What if Firfel can’t look at me the same way anymore?’ The thought struck him like ice water. He loved her with an intensity that surprised even him, and the possibility that his moment of brutality might drive her away made his stomach clench with dread.
The realization hit him with uncomfortable clarity: somewhere along his transformation into a deity, he’d developed a casual disregard for mortal life. Mortals had become... lesser. Expendable.
Especially his enemies—their deaths would mean nothing more to him than crushing insects beneath his heel.
‘When did I become this cold?’ The question disturbed him more than he cared to admit. ‘When did I stop seeing them as people?’
But that very detachment was exactly what terrified him about Firfel and Vivienne’s reactions. If they truly understood what he was becoming—what he’d already become—would they still want him in their lives?
‘I was careless,’ he thought, self-recrimination bitter in his mind. ‘I should have controlled myself better. They didn’t need to see that side of me.’
“Where’s sister?” Firfel’s voice cut through his brooding thoughts. “I don’t see her anywhere.”
Arthur blinked, refocusing on her concerned expression. “Sylwen’s safe,” he assured her, his voice regaining some of its natural warmth. “Her injuries have been healed completely. She’s resting at my house right now.”
Relief washed visibly over both women’s faces, and Arthur felt some of his own tension ease at their obvious care for Sylwen.
As the Hellsing operatives efficiently loaded their bound prisoners onto a waiting transport vehicle—including the barely conscious Viper, who continued to emit pitiful moans—Vivienne’s patience finally reached its limit.
“Alright, Arthur, I need answers.” Her voice carried a steely determination that reminded him why she’d always been such a formidable actress.
“What the hell is really going on here? Why was Sylwen targeted? And who are these people?” She gestured toward the operatives who were calling him ‘boss’ with obvious deference. “Are they your employees? Because last I checked, filmmakers don’t have private armies.”
Firfel stepped closer, her expression equally serious despite the lingering softness in her eyes. “She’s right. You’re hiding things from us—important things. I thought we were past keeping secrets.”
The weight of their combined scrutiny felt heavier than any physical burden Arthur had ever carried.
These two women meant everything to him, and he could see the hurt beneath their curiosity—the pain of realizing that the man they trusted had been living a double life.
Arthur sighed, knowing that the moment of reckoning he’d been dreading had finally arrived. There would be no more half-truths or deflections. If he wanted to keep them in his life, he owed them the truth—all of it.
“Before we talk, let me fix this mess first.” Arthur sighed as he surveyed the devastation around them.
The once-pristine street looked like a war zone—spider web cracks ran through building facades, storefront windows lay in glittering shards across the cobblestones, and overturned vendor stalls had scattered their contents everywhere.
Apples rolled lazily down the empty road like crimson marbles, while torn awnings fluttered in the evening breeze.
Vivienne’s eyebrows arched with curiosity. ‘Fix this mess? How exactly does he plan to—’
Firfel shared her confusion, tilting her head as she watched Arthur step into the center of the destruction.
Without warning, an immense pressure erupted from Arthur’s form, invisible yet overwhelming. The very air seemed to thicken with power that defied comprehension.
Firfel and Vivienne stumbled backward, gasping as the force pressed against their chests like a tangible weight.
‘What is this energy?’
Vivienne’s mind raced as she activated her Mental Analysis skill. Her magical sight pierced through illusions and deceptions, yet when she focused on Arthur, she found... nothing. No magical aura, no mystical energy signature—just an ordinary-looking man who somehow radiated power that made her soul tremble.
‘This is impossible,’ she thought, her analytical mind struggling to process what she was experiencing. ‘He’s not using magic, but this pressure... it’s beyond anything I’ve ever encountered.’
Through her enhanced perception, Arthur appeared as nothing more than a low-level demon with minimal magical capacity.
Yet the contradiction was staggering—how could someone so seemingly powerless exert such overwhelming force?
What Vivienne couldn’t perceive, what her mortal senses couldn’t grasp, was the divine energy flowing through Arthur’s being.
The sacred power that belonged exclusively to the realm of gods pulsed within him like liquid starlight.
Arthur raised his hand, his voice carrying an authority that seemed to resonate with the very fabric of reality itself.
«Entertainment Sovereignty: Rhapsody Restoration»
The words left his lips like a divine decree, and the world responded.
Time itself seemed to bend and flow backward around them. Shattered glass rose from the ground, fragments spinning through the air before melding seamlessly back into pristine windows.
Cracked walls smoothed themselves, stone and mortar healing as if the damage had never existed.
Overturned stalls righted themselves with elegant precision, while scattered fruits rolled back to their proper places in neat, organized displays.
Within moments, the street had been transformed from a battlefield into the picturesque thoroughfare it had been before the chaos began.
Firfel and Vivienne stood frozen, their mouths agape in sheer disbelief. The impossibility of what they’d witnessed left them speechless, their minds struggling to process the casual miracle they’d just observed.
“How... how is this possible?” Vivienne’s voice came out as barely a whisper. “Everything was destroyed, and now...” She gestured helplessly at the immaculate street around them. “It’s as if nothing ever happened.”
Even the hidden observers were stunned into silence. From upper-story windows and shadowed doorways, civilians who had been cowering in fear now pressed their faces against glass, trying to make sense of what they’d seen.
Lady Adrianna Mercy Rook, who had been watching from her vantage point in a boutique’s second floor, felt her elegant composure crumble entirely.
She had always known Arthur Pendragon as the innovative filmmaker who had revolutionized entertainment with his captivating telenovelas.
Never in her wildest imagination had she considered that the charming director might possess such godlike abilities.
‘Incredible,’ she thought, her aristocratic bearing forgotten as she stared at the figure in the distance. ‘Just who is Arthur Pendragon really?’
“Adrianna, what’s happening?” one of her companions called from behind, unable to see the street from her position. “Was that terrible commotion? Are we safe now?”
Adrianna continued staring at Arthur, her mind reeling with the implications of what she’d witnessed. When she finally found her voice, it carried a strange mixture of awe and uncertainty.
“Everything’s fine,” she murmured, though she suspected that nothing would ever be quite the same again.
