Become the MC. How am I supposed to do that in this pathetic body? Oh God… oh God… oh God…
Star's hands trembled as he stared at the floating screen. The text in front of him didn't blur or vanish; it burned on, mocking him.
He had tried to play it cool but somehow, it still bothered him.
"Oh, dear God," he muttered like a child caught with his hand in a jar, "I promise I won't be a bad person, or a playboy, or a bad boss again... just get me out of here!"
He was still praying when a sharp knock rattled his door.
"Master Steve, is everything all right? I-I... I heard screams!"
A female voice, warm but worried, floated in from the corridor.
For a split second Star froze. He glanced from the screen to the naked woman sprawled on the carpet, her skin draining of colour by the second, then to the mirror. His own reflection was naked too, wild-eyed, hair tousled like a man caught mid-storm.
He spun about, desperate. All around him lay black and blue panties and bras, scattered across the floor and the bed like guilty conspirators. In his head they seemed to hiss and laugh: Ha-ha-ha, we killed you.
"Oh, hell." His eyes darted, spotting the wardrobe, fast, he strode toward it.
"Master, are you all right?" the voice insisted.
Star who have already accessed the wardrobe like someone going late for an interview had picked a cloth, he hopped on one foot, wrestling the pair of black jeans.
"Yeah, I'm good" He called out but...
Thud!
"Ouch!" He tripped, smacking his shin, betraying the lie.
"I'm fine!" he croaked, jerking the jeans up properly, snapping the button shut and staggering upright. Then, with a grunt, he dragged the dead woman across the plush rug, heaved her into the wardrobe, and slammed the door in a single desperate flourish.
When he spoke again his voice was calm, as he put on his best nothing-to-see-here tone.
"Come in."
The door opened.
She entered like a character out of an old-world painting, more like a maid from the 70s. she has Bright green eyes, hair the colour of crimson silk cascading to her hips.
The button of her white maid dress was taut to the very end, and the threads of her top was stretched as well by her breast. The skirt with she wore together with the purple apron ended on her thighs showcasing it's softness and the curves of her legs. She carried a wicker laundry basket, a scent of lavender soap trailing after her.
Her gaze fell on Star who was still bare-chested. His abs stood out like six muffled squares of dark chocolate under golden light. One of the few perks of being his own creator: since the real him had abs, he made sure most of his male characters did too.
"Well, come in, Vanessa," Star said smoothly. He knew her name courtesy of Steve's memories.
She cleared her throat.
"Thank you, Master Steve." she replied.
As she stepped inside, Star felt something he hadn't expected; some echo of Steve's own urges toward this young maid, though Steve had only moved into the house two days ago, then why did her presence stir him so much?.
His eyes lingered on her backside with treacherous curiosity, His hands twitched involuntarily, tempted to feel what his eyes couldn't. To test the softness, to uncover the secrets hidden beneath that gentle fabric.
But as his thoughts wandered, the girl spun around to face him, her green eyes glistening, oblivious of her masters thoughts.
"I came to take your clothes for laundry, Master."
"Master…" Star echoed inwardly, still staring at the twin curves on her chest. "Oh. Okay, Nessa. Feel free."
This was unlike him, if this is how Steve behaves towards ladies with big packages, then that means he has a lot more work to do based on his self control. In fact he needs to take over Steve body and mind fully.
The lady walked to the wardrobe. Star had already forgotten what he'd hidden there, while he was busy eyes undressing the lady, but the moment her fingers touched the knob, he remembered.
"No...wait..."
Too late.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!" Vanessa screamed, slapping her hand over her mouth. Tears welled and spilled down her cheeks as she began to tremble.
Star rushed forward. There were countless ways he could have shifted her aside, but instinct drove his hand straight to her waist. It filled his palm, warm and full, making it hard to let go.
Calmly, he leaned over her, his shaft brushing her back. The softness, the warmth, the scent; all of it made his fangs elongate. He could hear the pulse at her neck. He clenched his jaw. Not now. Not something stupid. He tried to pull himself together but, it was like he hadn't fully taken over Steve.
God he is having too much urge and that is unlike him, this Steve's body is really making him look like a sex pervert.
Leaning closer, voice dropping to an icy whisper, he said in a way to draw her out of his room: "Go downstairs, find Skull. Tell him to come clear the mess."
She nodded, panic written across her face. In all the time Steve had been here, he had never spoken to her in such a tone. She bolted from the room like a frightened deer.
"Ghhuuuuuh…" Star exhaled and straightened, scanning the chamber. something he did to clear his head.
The room was opulence itself: walls hung with heavy velvet drapes and gilt-framed oil paintings, one of a half-naked lady poised like a goddess; crystal sconces shaped like blooming lilies shedding warm light; The floor was covered with a Persian rug so thick it swallowed footsteps; a rug that looked like it had cost a million dollars.
The bed was a massive four-poster with carved dragons at each corner of the frame, sheets of Egyptian cotton spilled on it like cream. The wardrobe, an ebony armoire inlaid with silver, stood like a silent sentinel.
Against the far wall a marble fireplace flickered, with a lion's-head mantel, and on a sideboard gleamed decanters of old wine and a silver tray of cut fruits. Built-in bookshelves groaned under leather-bound tomes.
Even the air smelled expensive; a mixture of cedar, candle wax, and faint perfume. It was less a bedroom than a royal suite.
Not exactly the type of room Star himself would have decorated in real reality, but For the fact that he had created the house, the room, all of it, he gave himself a mental thumbs-up.
"Not bad," he murmured.
He slumped onto the bed, eyes roaming but mind elsewhere now; it was on the missions, the system screen, and the movie he himself had written.
…
His movie had been enormous in scope, but at its heart it began with a family: the family of Zaro Morris.
Zaro Morris. The greatest of men, at least according to the script. King of Nethrus City. Breaker of Chains… and more:
– Father of Iron Roads (he built the first rail across the region)
– Rider of Dawn (he was the first king to travel by automobile while others still clung to horses; a creaking brass-and-wood machine like the earliest Benzes, crowned with the royal crest)
– The Black Fang's Bane (most feared vampire hunter of his age)
– Keeper of Silver Gadgets (he devised ingenious weapons hidden in canes, rings and pocket watches)
– The Midnight Tactician (a master of war strategy on vamps)
– The Crimson Judge (because of his merciless justice against vampires and criminals alike)
– Sealer of Shadows (he codified the laws that drove vampires from his city)
He had all a man could wish for, lands, wealth, glory... and had performed a deed no other vampire hunter had ever equalled. At the mere whisper of his name, vampires fled.
With his fortune and power he forged gadgets that made hunting easy, and According to the script, he was the man who discovered the formula for vervane, the deadly vampire poison... the lethal poison that had just been used on Steve... It was the only poison that destroys a vampire. Thanks to him ironically, the vampire population dwindled to almost nothing; in his city not a single one remained alive or at large.
And yet, amid this glory, this accomplishment, fame, wealth and fear, he had no heir.
He only had Four daughters, and no son.
Originally he would have had twelve girls, but after the fourth every other newborn daughter was killed at birth, because the rage of daughters only consumed him.
All he wanted was a male child and no one granted it. Time was slipping. He was aging, his strength slackening. Knowing his name and legacy would end with him, he crafted a terrible pact, a will that would echo beyond death…