A Short Movie

3,2,1 REC!

That day, the whole world appeared to be enclosed in a foggy garden. The fog veil opened with a gentle breeze, revealing a figure who dominated the fabric of reality.

He was tall, his presence both alluring and terrifying. His black hair danced wildly in the wind, and his silk robe spread the magic he carried throughout the garden like a river. A fan rested in his hand, its surface painted with intricate patterns that seemed to shift and writhe as though alive. His sharp, slanted eyes glinted with secrets too dark to whisper. This was no ordinary man. He was a sorcerer, Heise.

"Yes, I am. And I have something to show you. Come closer."

With a flick of his wrist, Heise snapped his silk fan open. The fog parted obediently to reveal a stage. And there, in the center of the clearing, lay a sight that stole the breath from anyone who might have been watching.

A glass coffin rested on a pedestal, its surface gleaming faintly in the dim light. Inside lay a young man, his naked form alabaster and flawless, as though carved from marble. His dark hair framed a face of striking beauty, his features soft yet hauntingly ethereal. His pink lips were slightly parted, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. He looked like a sleeping prince, a figure plucked straight from a fairy tale.

But this was no fairy tale.

"How innocent he appears," Heise murmured. He stepped closer to the coffin, his fan trailing through the air as though conducting an unseen orchestra. "Who else can claim to be the most wicked in the universe? Only he. He’s stolen something from the dark ones, and now they hunger for his punishment."

Heise's gaze lingered on the sleeping figure, his expression unreadable. "But this is no ordinary punishment," he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. "He’s been thrown into the survival game. The stakes? His life. And the audience? Every eye watching, eager to see him fail."

With a fluid motion, the sorcerer plucked a wisp of mist from the air. It coiled and twisted, transforming into a small dragon that wrapped itself around his wrist, its smoky eyes glowing faintly.

"What they don’t know," Heise said, his lips curling into a sly smile, "is that this boy—this seemingly innocent boy—has the cunning of a fox and a will sharper than any blade."

He leaned closer to the glass coffin, his breath fogging the surface as he spoke. "They think they can break him. They think they can make him beg for mercy. But they’re wrong."

His smile turned cruel as he crushed the mist dragon in his fist, the smoke dissolving into nothingness. “We'll see who’s the real predator in this game.”

The sudden crack of a clapperboard shattered the scene.

"Cut!"

Heise’s demeanor shifted instantly, the menace in his eyes replaced by a playful glint as he turned toward the figure seated behind him. "Do you like my performance, my lord?"

The man in the director's chair exuded an air of royal detachment. Clad in a dark Victorian suit that starkly contrasted with his pale skin, he epitomized aristocratic elegance. His wine-red eyes glowed faintly beneath the brim of a tall black top hat. This was Dekaris Zharqasti, the Lord of the Vampires, a being whose very name inspired both awe and terror.

"Not bad," Lord Dekaris said, his voice cool and measured, as though Heise's theatrics were merely a passing amusement.

"Not bad?" Heise asked, striding closer with a confident swagger. "I gave it my all, my lord."

Lord Dekaris tapped the floor with the end of his walking stick. "Let the audience decide, dear Heise," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Heise smirked, his gaze flicking toward the camera. "Let them decide," he said.

The cameraman focused on Heise's face, catching the hazardous enigma in his eyes: ambition, passion, and sadistic fun desire. The final frame of the trailer? A sphere swirling with the tortured souls of the damned, their silent screams a haunting reminder of what awaited those who dared to play.