Lord of Entertainment

(Arthur POV)

Watching John's excessive reverence, I reconsidered my plan to erase his memories of my divine identity. Despite his annoying behavior, I owed him - if he hadn't randomly started praying to me, I might never have discovered my System's "Divine Feature."

"You won't be playing a dog," I assured him. "Instead, you'll portray a rebellious, charismatic, and free-spirited man."

John's eyes sparked with excitement. "Such a character sounds fascinating to play."

"The project is called Cuckoo's Nest," I explained. "But don't expect your typical charming action film. This one aims to touch hearts."

I reached into my desk drawer and pulled out the screenplay. "Here's the script. Read it carefully to understand the project and your character."

John accepted the papers as if receiving holy text. "Just holding it, I can feel it's a masterpiece. After all, it comes from the greatest director."

His fawning made me cringe again. Maybe memory erasure wasn't such a bad idea if it would restore his normal personality.

"John," I said firmly, "you don't need to worship me constantly. I want you to act normally around me. This excessive adoration... it makes me uncomfortable."

Surprise flickered across his face. I maintained my serious expression until he swallowed hard and nodded. "If... if that is what you wish, I will do so."

Rising from my chair, I offered a warm smile and patted his shoulder. "Good. I'd hate to erase your memories of my divine identity just to get the old John back."

He nodded fearfully, finally seeming to understand.

This should be enough to curb his obsession, I thought, showing him out of the office.

Watching John leave, I felt satisfied with bringing him into the agency. My "Divine Sense" had revealed his true potential - the raw talent that could make him a remarkable actor.

"One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest" would be the perfect test of his abilities. With my blessing on his acting talent, he should handle the challenging role well.

The film's themes would resonate deeply in this world. Mental health issues plague every kingdom, driven by mounting societal pressures.

The wealth gap keeps widening - ordinary workers earn mere dozens of dollars weekly while corporations amass billions upon billions.

This growing disparity pushed me to consider raising salaries across Hellfire, setting an example for this backward world. With the company's trajectory, reaching hundred billion valuation seemed inevitable.

That would allow me to implement real changes - higher wages, affordable healthcare including mental health services, subsidized food programs. Unless the market crashed, of course.

The dream felt achievable. I caught myself chuckling at the irony, "Why am I worrying about the common people? I'm not even a king." Yet here I was, planning social reforms like one.

***

(3rd Person POV)

The Halo District of Angel City boasted the most diverse population - a melting pot of elves, dwarves, demons, and a human majority. With this diversity came a tapestry of beliefs: dwarves devoted to their God of Craft, elves worshipping their Goddess of Moon, and the dominant Solarus Faith binding them all together.

Beyond these three major faiths, secretive cults flourished in the shadows. Well-established groups like The Scarlet Flame, The Celestial Hand, and The Gilded Accord maintained their mysteries carefully.

But one group eschewed such discretion - the Cult of Dionysus. Their name echoed through every bar and tavern in the district, their ranks swelling with the poor and supposedly mad.

Both major faiths and established cults looked down on these upstarts, yet their numbers kept growing.

The Solarus Faith, particularly alarmed, took aggressive action against these "crazy bastards." Police regularly dragged cult members away.

"You cannot stop the rise of our lord Dionysus!" They would shout during arrests, earning brutal beatings from the officers.

At the Hollow Tavern, the heavy wooden doors with their brass fittings swung open. Three robed figures entered, wine bottles in hand.

"More cultists," an elf muttered to his companion, who nodded grimly.

Sure enough, the robed figures raised their voices: "We are here to preach the goodness of the real God, Dionysus!"

"We don't need your foolishness here!" the owner shouted from behind his polished wooden counter.

The central figure spread his arms, wine bottle dangling. "Sir, we are neither fools nor mad. We're here to open your eyes."

"Take your wine elsewhere," the owner demanded.

The robed leader crossed his arms. "Has anyone here had their prayers answered by their so-called gods?"

Silence fell across the tavern. The leader's laugh cut through it. "None dare speak up. Because your gods are false! They ignore their devoted followers' prayers!"

"What?" A human customer stood, face flushed with anger. "Does your so-called god, Dionysus, answer prayers at all?"

The robed figures exchanged knowing glances and chuckled. Their leader's voice dripped with arrogance. "That is a very great question, sir."

He raised his arms theatrically. "Our lord has always answered our prayers - when we truly need what we ask of Him, and devote ourselves fully!"

Disdain rippled through the tavern. A beautiful elf tossed her red hair, snorting, "That's ridiculous. No one here will believe you crazy fools."

The tavern erupted in agreement.

"That's right!"

"Go somewhere else."

"We're not as desperate as those underprivileged districts you've crawled from!" a dwarf barked, pounding his fist on the table.

"Yeah, go back to your dilapidated houses!"

"Return to your smelly district!"

The angry shouts grew louder, but beneath their hoods, the cultists only smiled. Their leader raised his wine bottle, his voice cutting through the chaos. "See this delicious, most exquisite wine in my hand?"

The tavern fell quiet, all eyes drawn to the bottle. "What of it?" the tavern owner demanded.

The robed leader's smirk was audible in his voice. "This wine was once mere water." He paused for effect. "I simply prayed to lord Dionysus to transform it, and He faithfully did so."

Scoffs and jeers filled the air.

"Obviously a lie!"

"Ridiculous!"

Another cultist stepped forward. "Why don't we prove it then?" He turned to the tavern owner. "Sir, if you'd be so kind, might we request a cup of water?"

The tavern owner crossed his arms, snorting derisively. "Why would I follow the likes of you?"

"If we embarrass ourselves and fail to turn water into wine through prayer to our lord, we'll leave peacefully and surrender to the police," the robed leader offered. His hood tilted slightly. "Besides, aren't you curious to witness water becoming the most delicious wine you've ever tasted?"

The tavern owner hesitated, curiosity fighting skepticism.

His patrons sensed his wavering. "Just give him a cup of water, boss!"

"No - give him a bucket!" another called out. "Let's see them turn that much water into their 'most delicious wine.' They can't pull any tricks with a full bucket!"

The tavern owner mulled it over. "Alright..." He turned to his workers. "Go fetch a bucket of water! Let's watch these fools embarrass themselves!"

"Aye, aye, boss!" The workers hurried off to fetch the water.

The owner fixed his gaze on the cultists. "If you really turn water to wine just by praying to your god, I'll become a follower myself."

The tavern erupted in similar mock pledges.

"Yeah, sign me up too!"

"I'll join! Free wine for life!"

Laughter rolled through the room at their own wit.

The cultists exchanged silent glances beneath their hoods. Their leader's voice carried a hint of cunning. "Then that is a deal."

Under their cowls, smiles spread like predators sensing prey.

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