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Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm

Martin was a succubus who perished at the hands of the Sun God, struck down by a single divine arrow during the epic war between gods and demons. Meanwhile, Martin, a Ph.D. in literature and a seasoned movie enthusiast, lost his life in a car accident in August 2023. By some cosmic twist of fate, the souls of the two Martins converged within the chaotic currents of time and space, merging and eventually settling in the body of an eleven-year-old boy named Martin Myers, living in Los Angeles in 1996. A world without spiritual energy? Fortunately, as a succubus, I don’t need spiritual energy to cultivate; all I need is the essence of desire. Emotions—joy, anger, sorrow, and excitement—are all desires. As long as these emotions are directed at me, they can become fuel for my growth. Alright, let’s see what reliable ways exist in this world to stir people’s emotions en masse. Hmm, becoming a writer—sounds promising; and music, that could work too; but wow, Hollywood movies! They have a global reach; this is perfect! What’s that term again? Right—"Idea Recycler.” I’ll start with writing, but the ultimate goal is to become an international movie star. Acting skills, you say? Don’t worry—I’m a succubus, after all! Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to this novel. All characters, settings, and plot elements belong to the original author and copyright holder. This work is shared purely for entertainment purposes, with no intent to infringe on the original creator’s rights. Note: This is not a BL. --- +70 Chapters Patreon.com/GodOfReader --- 5 Chapters a day.

GodOfReader · คนดัง
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286 Chs

Chapter 86

The set for Hide and Seek was quiet, the air thick with the tension of an impending showdown between actor and director.

Director John Poulson, along with Robert De Niro, stood observing Martin as he prepared for the scene. Martin wore a distressed suit on purpose, his face made pale by makeup, dark circles under his eyes, and a look of exhaustion that mirrored the character he was about to portray.

John scratched his chin, his gaze intense as he scrutinized Martin. A troubled expression passed across his face, and after a moment's hesitation, he turned to Robert.

"What do you think?"

Robert De Niro, unconcerned with Martin's dual role as creator and investor, gave a blunt response. "Martin is still a bit too tall, and his demeanor is too sunny. He doesn't quite capture the vulnerable, pitiful essence of the character. It's too heroic."

John Poulsen nodded in agreement, but Robert's criticism lingered in the air, uncomfortable and sharp. De Niro shot a sideways glance at John, knowing his colleague was hesitant to voice the blunt truth himself.

Despite playing many revered roles—father figures, scholars, and artists—Robert De Niro was known for his no-nonsense approach. Hollywood had been tough on him for years, and his somewhat aloof status meant he had no issue speaking his mind.

Martin, however, was still unbothered. He simply smiled. "Don't be too quick to judge, Mr. De Niro. Give me five minutes."

With that, Martin moved towards the old piano sitting in the corner of the room, part of the set's background. He lifted the cover and placed his fingers on the keys.

Robert raised an eyebrow. "What's he doing?"

"I don't know," John replied, watching in confusion.

Suddenly, the music filled the room. It wasn't just a melody; it was fierce, a storm of sound that felt like a tidal wave crashing through the space. The music seemed to pulse with emotion—screaming, roaring, demanding, carrying with it a violent energy.

As the notes reverberated, Martin's face morphed. His exhaustion became visible, and a subtle but profound change washed over him. His shoulders slumped, his figure no longer radiated that youthful energy, and in its place, a raw, tortured expression emerged. His earlier vitality—so hard to fake, even with makeup—vanished.

De Niro blinked in surprise. This was the first time he'd seen Martin harness his emotions in such a way. He was no longer the energetic young genius. Before them stood the broken, vulnerable boy of the script—the character of Markle.

John Poulsen, equally shocked, removed his glasses and wiped them, his hand trembling. He put them back on, continuing to mutter, "Oh my God… oh my God…"

The intensity of Martin's performance left both men speechless.

"It's like the movie has a soundtrack already," Robert said, snapping out of his daze. He turned to John. "You can leave the soundtrack to Martin. If he can deliver something on the level of The Sixth Sense, I'm happy."

John nodded vigorously. "I'd be satisfied with anything close."

"An Oscar-level soundtrack, huh? You're demanding," Robert muttered.

As the last note hung in the air, Martin paused. He looked over his shoulder, his voice soft and timid. "Do you think I played well?"

The transformation was complete. Martin was no longer the actor; he had become Markle, the fragile, tortured soul of the script.

"Are you… Martin?" John asked, his voice trembling.

"No. I'm Markle," Martin answered softly.

John's body stiffened at the words. He called out frantically, "Start filming! Lights, cameras, now!"

The crew scrambled into action, the atmosphere electric.

Martin's performance was enough to make anyone feel protective of him. The women on set couldn't help but smile at the tenderness in his portrayal. But beneath that smile was an eerie feeling. His way of slipping into character was something beyond ordinary.

"Creech, I need the light dimmer," John ordered. "A side light, casting long shadows to enhance the darkness of the scene. Do you understand?"

The lighting engineer nodded. "Got it, John."

John's anxiety mounted. "I've never worked with an actor like this before. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. I can't screw this up."

Robert De Niro, noticing John's growing nervousness, muttered to himself, "This kid won't put the pressure on you, will he?"

Later that evening, the set transformed into a haunting tableau. In a quiet dining scene, Robert De Niro's character, the father, brought a plate of pasta and meatballs to the table. He called for his son, Markle, but as he turned, he saw the figure standing silently in the shadows at the foot of the stairs.

It was Martin, or rather, it was Markle—his figure swallowed by the darkness, his eyes faint and cold.

De Niro's heart quickened, but he kept his composure. "Markle, when did you come down? Come and eat."

Markle didn't respond. His face, drained of emotion, was unsettling. He moved from the shadows, piece by piece, emerging slowly into the dim light, his expression as empty as the grave.

"Hiss…" De Niro flinched. The air was thick with dread.

John Poulsen, watching from behind the monitor, shivered with excitement. The scene had taken on an energy all its own. Martin had created an atmosphere that was both unsettling and mesmerizing.

The father and son sat down, the tension palpable. Neither spoke. The father tried to make light of the silence, commenting on Markle's apparent lack of appetite. "I thought spaghetti and meatballs were your favorite?"

Markle didn't answer, simply watching his father with an eerie detachment.

As the father struggled to lighten the mood with a silly face, Markle's gaze remained indifferent. Without a word, Markle stood up and coldly announced, "Sorry, I'm full. I'm going to rest."

"Cut!" John Poulsen called sharply, frowning.

"That wasn't quite right," John said, rubbing his temples. "Robert, as Markle's father, you can't be afraid of your son."

De Niro glanced at Martin, still shaken by his performance. "Can you blame me? That was too much. I don't want a son like that!"

John sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Alright, give me a moment to adjust, and we'll try again."

[•———•——•———•]

𝙥𝗮𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙤𝙣(.)𝙘𝙤𝙢/𝙂𝙤𝙙𝙊𝙛𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

✨ • 𝗘𝘅𝗰𝗹𝘂𝘀𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗔𝗰𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀: 𝙂𝙚𝙩 𝟲𝟬+ 𝙖𝙙𝙫𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙙 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙖𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙚.