ROCKSTAR NERY

CHAPTER 4

Nery’s name was on everyone’s lips, his face on magazine covers, and his songs playing in every corner of the globe. He drove the sleekest cars, lived in a mansion that seemed to touch the sky, and even graced the silver screen. Yet behind the shimmering facade, a storm raged in his heart.

The phone call came on a morning that started like any other, but ended in a haze of grief. His mother, Jessica, had fallen ill and passed away.

As Nery stood in the empty, echoing halls of his mansion, he clutched the phone, the words from the other end still ringing in his ears. A tear slid down his cheek as he realized the cost of his success. He sank to his knees, the weight of guilt and sorrow pressing down on him. The very fame that had lifted him to the pinnacle had also taken away the one person he cherished most.

The mansion felt colder now, the luxury a stark reminder of what he’d lost. Portraits of him in glamorous moments stared back from every wall, but none of them could replace the warmth of his mother’s presence. Memories of her laughter, her gentle scolding, the way she always had a cup of tea ready when he came home from a long shift—they all came crashing down.

He hadn’t been there when she needed him most. The tour had taken him far from home, and by the time he returned, it was too late.

“Mom…” he whispered to the empty room, his voice breaking. “I should have been there. I should have told you how much I love you, how much you mean to me.”

He sank into a chair, his head in his hands. “I was so caught up in everything… I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Memories of his mother’s smile, her comforting words, and the warmth of her presence flooded his mind. He realized that no amount of wealth could ever fill the void her absence left behind.

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” he whispered, a tear rolling down his cheek. “I promise I’ll live with this regret every day, but I’ll make you proud somehow.”

The room remained silent, but in his heart, he knew that he would carry her love and her memory with him, as he navigated the complex world of fame.

The atmosphere was electric as Nery took the stage at the sold-out O2 Arena. The crowd roared like a living beast, their energy pulsating through the air. Lights flashed, music blared, and for a moment, Nery felt invincible. But behind the cheers, a shadow lurked—Azazel’s voice.

As the final song played out, Azazel whispered in his ear, “Nery, there’s one last thing you need to do. The price of this level of fame is steep.”

Nery, still riding high on adrenaline, barely processed the words. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and unease.

Azazel’s expression turned grave. “This level of success… it requires a sacrifice. You need to ensure the crowd’s energy stays at a fever pitch, no matter what.”

Nery’s heart skipped a beat. The memories of disasters he had read about flashed through his mind, and dread coiled in his stomach. “You can’t be serious,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

Azazel nodded solemnly. “This is the cost, Nery. You wanted the world, and now the world demands its price.”

Nery’s mind raced. He looked out at the sea of faces, their excitement blinding him. He realized that the fame he’d chased had led him to a precipice, and the choice he made now would shape not just his career, but the lives of everyone in that arena.

As the final notes of the last song echoed, Azazel's voice slithered into Nery's ear: “Now, Nery, let the true power flow. Unleash the darkness within.”

Without fully understanding, Nery’s voice changed—a deep, resonant vibration echoing through the microphone. The crowd, initially exhilarated, felt an unsettling shift. Panic spread like wildfire. People pushed and shoved, a chaotic frenzy consuming the arena.

Nery’s eyes widened in horror. The energy that had once felt like empowerment now felt monstrous. Security rushed to control the chaos, but it was too late. Several people tragically lost their lives in the stampede. The screams, the shouts, the desperate attempts to escape—each one pierced him like a dagger.

He staggered back, the microphone slipping from his hands, the weight of his choices crashing down. Fame had demanded a price, and now he saw it in its rawest, most tragic form.

In the aftermath, the world was in shock. News outlets exploded with headlines: “O2 Arena Tragedy: Superstar Nery at the Center of Chaos”, “Lives Lost in Stampede During Concert”, “Questions Raised About Safety and Responsibility.”

Social media erupted with videos, eyewitness accounts, and debates about accountability. Nery watched it all in silence, his body trembling, tears streaming down his face. He had everything he had ever wanted, but the cost was staggering.

He remembered his mother’s warnings, her voice soft yet firm in his mind: “Be careful, Nery. Some things aren’t worth losing yourself for.”

Now, standing amid the wreckage of his triumph, he understood her words with a piercing clarity. He had reached the pinnacle, but the summit was stained with loss, guilt, and regret.

He sank to his knees in his mansion later that night, staring at the ceiling. The luxury, the fame, the accolades—they felt hollow. Each award on his shelf seemed to mock him. He whispered into the darkness, “I didn’t mean for this… I never wanted this.”

The world had answered his ambition, but the price was not just money or fame—it was blood, sorrow, and an emptiness that no applause could fill. And in the quiet of his grief, he realized that his journey with Azazel had only just begun.