(3rd Person POV)
The announcement that Star Wars would release on December 25 brought a wave of relief across rival studios.
At Mr. Mouse Studios, and among others vying for box office attention, executives breathed easier.
In a lavish apartment overlooking the Wales skyline, one of Mr. Mouse's film directors leaned back on his velvet couch, exhaling deeply. "Thank the gods," he muttered. "With Star Wars out of the way until Wintermas, my horror film actually stands a chance."
As for Hellfire's upcoming horror project? He couldn't care less. His only concern was clear—his own film now had room to breathe.
Meanwhile, across taverns, tea houses, and the buzzing forums of Hellbook, Hellfire fans weren't as pleased.
"Damn it! Why is Hellfire dragging this out? Who asked for a horror movie right now?"
"I just want to see that story—about life beyond our world! Star Wars was supposed to be that!"
But not everyone was angry.
While many expressed frustration, movie lovers—those truly passionate about cinema—found themselves intrigued.
Disappointed? Yes.
But curious.
They turned their attention to Nightmare Before Wintermas, and the trailer left them… surprised.
There were no actors.
No familiar faces.
Instead of live actors, the screen filled with strange, almost eerie characters. They moved like cartoons—but something about them felt… different. Not quite drawn. Not quite real.
Confusion spread—until Hellfire's official page posted an explanation:
"Nightmare Before Wintermas introduces a new technology called 'Stop-Motion.' Each frame of the film is created by photographing physical models, moving them slightly between each shot, and bringing them to life without traditional animation."
The post included behind-the-scenes glimpses—miniature sets, carefully crafted figures, and the painstaking process that went into every frame.
Understanding dawned.
Articles followed. Film critics praised the innovation. While some viewers remained hesitant, others found themselves intrigued by the artistry.
---
On November 1, 1275, Nightmare Before Wintermas hit theaters across the world—screened in Bharat, Morningstar, the U.S.E., Choson, Japon, Wales, Leaf, Roses, Moonlight, and the Lunar Kingdom.
At first, Mr. Mouse's horror film, "Cultists in the Woods," dominated. Its conventional scares and live-action appeal earned it 4 million global dollars at the box office in just two days.
Meanwhile, Nightmare Before Wintermas lagged behind, sitting at 2 million.
But on the third day, everything changed.
Word-of-mouth spread. Audiences returned for repeat viewings. The film's uniqueness, its atmosphere, its charm—captivated viewers.
By the end of the third day, Nightmare Before Wintermas soared to 7 million, leaving Cultists in the Woods struggling to catch up.
---
Inside Mr. Mouse's boardroom, confusion reigned.
"I don't get it," one producer said, pacing. "We were ahead—and now they've left us in the dust?"
Silence.
Then, the director of Cultists in the Woods cleared his throat. "It's the stop-motion," he said quietly. "Hellfire's film… it's using a technique we've never tried. They didn't draw anything. They moved real models—frame by frame."
The room tensed.
At the head of the table, Carter, the new CEO of Mr. Mouse, stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Stop-motion, huh? Could we do it?"
The director hesitated. "In theory, yes. I tried it once—just with my Impact camera at home. Got a stick to move… but it took hours."
Carter's eyes narrowed. "But if we scale it… turn it into a full production?"
The room shifted. Producers exchanged looks.
"It's possible," the director admitted. "With resources, it could work."
Carter nodded slowly, the spark of opportunity flashing in his eyes. "Then maybe it's time Mr. Mouse learned a new trick."
---
The so-called "unwanted" horror film, Nightmare Before Wintermas, became an unexpected hit.
Not only did the unique stop-motion visuals captivate audiences, but the film's musical numbers gained immense popularity—especially one track that left theaters buzzing: "Thriller" by Joseph Jackson. The song, featured in a key scene, quickly became the talk of the city.
Outside a bustling theater in Horn Kingdom, a group of moviegoers walked out, still caught in the film's spell.
"Alright, I'm not gonna lie—that was a breath of fresh air," one of them admitted, shaking his head in disbelief. "Didn't expect it to be that good. And the music? Damn."
"Yeah, Joseph Jackson's song... it blew me away," another added, nodding eagerly.
"It's stuck in my head already," someone laughed, throwing his arms up and mimicking the stiff, eerie dance of the stop-motion characters. "You know it's thriller, thriller night!"
The group burst into laughter as they walked down the street, their voices fading into the night.
Not far behind them, a man strolled quietly, hands in his pockets, a bucket of popcorn and a drink still in hand.
It was Enyalius.
Weeks had passed since he first tasted freedom, and in that time, he had immersed himself in the world—watching films, exploring arcades, attending football games. Everything was so different from the world he once knew.
As he made his way back to his apartment in Hellfire Park, his thoughts wandered.
'I could get used to this,' he mused. 'Seems like Solarus and those other gods are letting the world be... living peacefully.' His eyes flicked to the demons strolling nearby. 'And they're sparing the descendants of Aides… interesting.'
What surprised him most was that these descendants, unaware of their divine bloodline, believed themselves to be offspring of some "Evil Lord"—not knowing they were born of a god.
He shook his head at the irony.
When he reached his apartment, he paused.
Arthur was already there, waiting.
Inside, Enyalius stepped in, setting down his half-finished popcorn. Arthur turned to him, arms crossed.
"It's been a few weeks since you've been out," Arthur said, his tone light. "I wanted to know—what do you think of this world now?"
Enyalius stayed quiet for a moment, then cleared his throat.
"I'm not gonna lie… everything's changed." He gestured vaguely. "Movies, TVs, video games, music… nothing like the songs of the past."
Arthur chuckled, stepping closer. "Not to brag, but most of these changes? Yeah, that was me."
Enyalius rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I figured." He crossed his arms. "But one thing I've noticed—you're not openly worshipped as the God of Entertainment, like you claim."
Arthur gave a small cough. "Of course not. But I am worshipped... unconsciously."
Enyalius's expression grew serious. "I can see that. And even with just that—you've grown powerful. Very powerful. I wonder how..."
Arthur smiled faintly. "Don't concern yourself with that." He patted Enyalius's shoulder. "Now that you've seen more of the world—what's next for you, besides chasing revenge on Solarus?"
Silence.
Then Enyalius spoke, voice low, uncertain. "I... I don't know."
Arthur looked at him, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Who would've thought? The great God of War, lost." He chuckled. "How about becoming my actor?"
Enyalius blinked. "Actor?" He frowned. "You want me to entertain people?"
"Why not?" Arthur tilted his head. "You've got the looks. The presence. You've been admiring those actors in the films, haven't you?"
Enyalius hesitated, then nodded slowly. "It... might be interesting. I've never thought about it, but... maybe."
Arthur grinned. "Good. Then it's settled. But—" he paused, "you'll need a screen name."
"Screen name?" Enyalius furrowed his brows.
"You can't exactly go around calling yourself Enyalius Mars. That'll draw attention from the wrong people." Arthur stepped closer, his grin widening. "We'll give you a name that fits."
Enyalius nodded again, this time with understanding.
Arthur snapped his fingers. "How about... Keanu Reeves? Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
Enyalius raised a brow. "Keanu... Reeves?"
Arthur clapped him on the back. "Trust me. It suits you."