Who The Hell Is Main Character?

Smoke filled the sky, draping beneath the clouds and blocking the bright sunlight of the day.

There was no edge to the noise. No direction he could turn to make it smaller.

The screams came from everywhere at once.

A whole nation’s throats screamed his name like a curse. Like it was the worst word they had.

"BURN HIM! BURN HIM ALIVE!"

"MONSTER!"

"DEATH ISN’T ENOUGH FOR SOMEONE LIKE YOU!"

"SKIN THAT MURDERER ALIVE!"

He could hear the screams of those people.

Riot Shields locked overhead where the rooftops tinned out, and still things came down.

Alcohol bottles, brick, a shoe, feces, anything that people could throw, they threw it past the soldiers blocking the gates.

Despite their massive steel frame, the gates bent under the pressure of hundreds of hands trying to tear it apart.

He looked up and scoffed, as his white stained lab coat fluttered in the stormy breeze of smoke.

His banner went up ahead, hundreds and thousands of them as far as he could spot them. Puppets with his picture slapped in the stead of head, all burning alike.

They didn’t just burn, people stomped on those banners, they’d throw feces, and spit on them.

"MOVE," someone was shouting from close, and was right against his ear. He was surrounded by soldiers who moved shoulder to shoulder so that he wouldn’t have to face the crowd.

A burning puppet came sailing over the shield wall, and landed almost at his feet.

"Dr. Zavian," A soldier screamed his name.

"Don’t stop mov-"

Before that soldier could complete his words he noticed a sudden movement at the gate as crowd backed off a little, paving way for an aged woman.

Above the torn woolen loose top, she wore a military strapped weight over her chest, with visible faint red and green lights and exposed wires.

She had a detonator in her hand.

"YOU---" She looked dead in Zavian’s eyes.

"YOU TOOK MY SON FROM ME!" She screamed as tears rolled down her face.

"HE WAS STILL EIGHTEEN..." She screamed.

"HE SAID HE WILL COME BACK..." Her voice cracked into a broken scream.

"YOU TOOK MY SON YOU DEMON!"

"I WILL CURSE YOU EVEN AFTER MY DEATH! I WILL CURSE YOU FOREVER!"

For one last time, she smiled even though her eyes never let those tears stop.

As if, she was finally about to see her son again.

Her thumb pressed down the detonator.

The world expanded outward with a deafening flash.

The steel gate screamed as the rods that held the mass folded and burst with the explosion.

The shield wall disappeared beneath a wall of dust and twisted metal.

The blast’s heat struck Zavian while soldiers shielded him with all their might.

Shapes emerged through dust as people without a thought started running through the entrance.

Thousands and thousands of people just ran towards one single person.

"Doctor!" He couldn’t hear the words, he was losing his senses with each passing second.

"Doctor Zavian!" The soldiers repeated that name gripping his collar.

The world dimmed into darkness while he heard those screams.

"Doctor Zavian!"

"Docto---Master!"

Oddly, he felt something was wrong.

"Young Master!"

The hands that gripped his collar weren’t as rough as before.

"YOUNG MASTER!"

"Huh? Yes? Yes?" Marcellus opened his eyes.

"I’m up! I’m up!" he repeated.

"Oh My Goodness, what happened to you?" Maeve asked, her voice was filled with worries.

She was sitting on his chest, with an oversized white shirt slipping off one shoulder, and thighs pressing against his sides. Then fabric of her shorts had ridden up.

Her hands were still gripping his collar which was damp with sweat, and strands of her hair fell messily around her face as she leaned over him, with eyes wide open.

"You were mumbling gibberish and shivering! ...And look at all the sweat! Are you alright?" she asked.

Marcellus drew in slow and steady breath. The screams still echoed faintly.

"I’m fine, just an old memory but..." His hands rose to rest lightly on Maeve’s waist.

"What’s this?" he murmured. He was still in his room, and the touch felt real.

"You were...screaming in your sleep," she whispered.

"Haha..." a faint laugh escaped his face.

[Affective Integration Progressed.]

[Neural Response Rate Stabilizing: ====== ]

"If the reward for having nightmares is this...I wouldn’t mind them at all," He slid his hands higher, fingers slipping under the hem of her shirt to rest against the warm and bare skin of her lower back.

In one smooth motion, he flipped them both. Maeve let out a soft gasp as her back met the sheets and Marcellus settled between her thighs, pressing his weight down her.

"Now this...this is something," he voice was low but it felt more expressive than before.

Since the day she had met him, Marcellus had shown little emotion. Only calm curiosity.

But right now, something darker and more alive flickered in his eyes.

"The rosy scent of your perfume, warm touch of your skin, this clear view," he continued, almost whispering the words like a man feeling sensations after emerging from hell.

"I feel more lively than yesterday." He had no idea that his expression...eyes with unsettling hunger, a sharp, and almost feral grin tugging his lips looked like horrific madness to her.

He pulled back slightly, rolling his neck to ease the tension, the sweat-soaked shirt still clung to his sculpted body.

[Neural Response Rate: 51%]

[Cognitive Dissonance Reduced.]

Marcellus looked at the notifications floating in front of him.

’...Already?’ He almost scoffed at that.

"Come to think of it..." he turned around and looked at Maeve, who was laid on his bed and still processing the sudden change in him.

He could feel pulse jumping in her throat, the slight dilation of her pupils, the force that her core constantly circulated, as if seeing this was just...natural.

"Shallow breaths, elevated heart rate, flushed skin, and the thought of gauging who I am...You really are quite over responsive for a woman."

’That tone! His tone is completely different!’ Maeve caught her breath.

The man above her no longer looked like a composed, charming heir who was agreeing to everything she was saying until now.

This version of him felt unpredictable, and raw. Like this is the real him.

She forced a small, nervous smile.

"Young Master...Maybe you should rest more. I’ll---I’ll go get you some water."

Before he could say anything, she slipped out under him, sliding off the bed, and tugged her shirt down.

She could feel his gaze on her back.

"I’ll be right back," she said in a high voice, and left the room, closing the door shut.

She stormed into her own room, as her bare feet slapped against the cold floor.

The door slammed shut behind her with a loud bang, and her fingers fumbled with the lock, clicking it into place twice before she backed away.

"What...what the hell was that?" she whispered to herself.

He wasn’t looking at her with lust...No...he was looking at her like she was a fascinating new toy to break apart.

The outcome of a fight within awakeners is usually predicted by the level of potential, and current assigned rank. But sometimes, some few rare times, there had been occasions where it wasn’t statistics that decided outcome, but instincts.

For the first time throughout her career, she had felt her instincts scream to her, that he was dangerous.

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