The Greatest Showman #1447 - Trance

The human perception of pain is limited. When pain reaches its extreme, tearing at the soul, it loses its original meaning. Likewise, when pain accumulates and the body becomes numb to it, the sensation also loses its significance—sometimes even morphing into something one can grow accustomed to, perhaps even enjoy.

For Renly, it was the latter. Or, at least, it was approaching that point.

The wound at the corner of his mouth burned intensely. It was a pain so sharp it seemed to pierce to the bone, like chili oil seeping deep into his flesh. Thin needles, the size of hair follicles, dug into his pores, tearing at muscle tissue with each passing moment. Layer upon layer, wave after wave, the pain continued unabated. His nerves began to lose control, his fingers and palms no longer responding.

For a moment, there was an illusion that his thumbs had been severed.

He could feel the continuous pain, the tendons of his temples and spine stretched like taut strings. Each pull and restraint seemed to seize his whole body, muscles trembling with each subtle movement.

And yet, he found himself enjoying it—not the kind of pain that screams for release, nor the numbness that begs for escape, but a strange, addictive pleasure, as though the more it hurt, the more it thrilled him. This sensation—the kind that feeds on intensity—began to pull him into a trance, isolating him from the world around him.

The real world and the two-dimensional world existed independently of one another, not in conflict, but in coexistence.

Rather than distracting him, the pain sharpened his focus. The reshoots continued smoothly, almost effortlessly, as though he had entered a state of ecstasy. Every movement was instinctual; he knew exactly what he was doing.

However, the two-dimensional world he constructed in his mind felt like a dream. It was as though he were floating, weightless, and with just the slightest shift, he could ride the winds, spreading his wings, lost in the delicate beauty of fragmented memories. It was a world that pulled him deeper, trapping him in its allure.

Renly had never tried drugs, but according to rumors, this was how one might feel after an injection of heroin.

Now, Renly felt as if he had that very drug running through his veins.

His blood vessels were cold, icy sharpness spreading deep, a pain so intense it even made his bones ache. And yet, within that coldness, his blood was boiling, the heat building until his body seemed to burn from the inside out. Two contradictory sensations fused together, a perfect storm of pain and pleasure.

"Cut!"

The abrupt interruption of the director's voice broke the trance.

"Renly, cut!" Damien called out again. The anxiety in his tone was palpable.

"Stop, damn it! Stop!"

The practice room was filled with a chaotic energy, dark and strange. Damien, his hands gripping his head, paced nervously. His hair was a mess, wild curls bouncing as he moved. He bit his nails, a deep worry etched on his brow.

Though filming had stopped, Renly had not ceased.

The relentless rhythm of drums continued, chaotic, unhinged, sometimes disjointed, other times striking with such intensity that it felt as though the world might collapse under the force. It was no longer music—it was raw, untamed, a manifestation of madness.

Then, without warning, Renly's wound split open again. This time, the pressure of the surge caused blood to spill, staining the drums, the carpet, even the drumsticks with crimson. The sight was shocking.

Even the crew felt the weight of it. Their hearts raced in horror as they witnessed the blood, the pain, and the madness unfolding before them.

"Damien! Do something!" shouted a staff member, unable to watch any longer.

Damien, too, felt the intensity. Initially, he was thrilled to see Renly's obsession, the kind of raw performance he knew would capture Andrew's descent into madness perfectly—just like the character's descent in Whiplash. He had imagined this moment, where the performance would push Renly into the abyss, but he hadn't anticipated how deep that abyss would go.

Renly's performance had exceeded even Damien's expectations. It was no longer just about the scene; it had transcended into something real. The moral decay, the darkness, the bloodshed—all of it was unfolding in front of them. Renly's dedication was too much for Damien to handle. The actor had surpassed the director's understanding.

And now, Damien's thoughts raced: Has the demon been unleashed? Can it be contained? Or has it already gone too far?

Suddenly, the drumbeat ceased.

The room fell into eerie silence. The stillness was so stark it felt like the air itself had frozen.

Renly, unfazed, lifted his head, looked at Damien, and asked calmly, "Was that good? Is it alright?"

Silence.

The staff in the room felt as though they had been struck, as if the silence itself had hit them harder than any of the previous moments. Renly's calmness stood in stark contrast to the chaos that had just unfolded. The unease in the room was palpable, and many couldn't bear to meet his eyes.

"What? Not good enough? Should I do it again?" Renly asked, his tone curious, even playful.

"No, no, no!" Damien responded, snapping out of his shock. "It was perfect! Everything was perfect! We're done for today." He rushed to reassure everyone, eager to move past the tension.

Damien paused, then remembered Renly's injury. "Your wound... is it okay?" he asked, concern creeping into his voice. "Do you need it treated before we continue?"

"Don't worry," Renly said, lifting his right hand. His palm was half-closed, and though the exact extent of the injury was hidden, the blood was unmistakable. Yet, despite the severity of the injury, he smiled slightly. "It's just a tool for success. It's nothing to worry about."

For a moment, it felt as if Andrew was speaking through him—something detached, almost disassociated from Renly's real self.

Renly stood, exhaling deeply. The sensation of two worlds—the real and the imagined—still lingered. Every motion felt like it belonged to two different versions of himself. It was a surreal experience, but one he had learned to navigate.

Perhaps exhaustion had caught up with him, or perhaps it was the wound that was wearing him down. Either way, Renly needed a break. The performance, the pain, the sensation—they all demanded a moment of rest.

He looked at his friends, standing off to the side, concern evident on their faces. With a smile, Renly raised his right hand, offering a playful gesture. "I'm off to the hospital for some treatment. Want to come along? Or are you waiting for me to finish up and come back?"

The lighthearted remark eased the tension in the air. This was the Renly they knew, the actor they were familiar with. The dark aura of Andrew was slowly fading.

Ryan, always the first to joke, raised his hand eagerly. "I'll come! I'll take a picture, post it, and tell everyone I'm dating Renly."

His comment broke the tension, and despite the previous chaos, the group found themselves chuckling.