Villain Transmigration: Author Transformation

"You're quite well aware how I don't like all of these putrid smells, yet here you are, trying to test me again and again." 

Athan grunted from her complaint. While it was true, he thought that he could take his time and keep himself awake for a little while with a variety of items that were within his arm's reach. The cigar was just the first; drugs have yet to come to and waited to increase his level of awareness, at least at the level he's stable as a sane person.

His gaze roamed around, but it was as though the furniture danced like trees, bowing to and fro, against the storm, and the walls and ceilings began to swirl like sea tides that crashed one another.

'Oh no, I feel weak again—Damn! Not this time! Not yet—!'

Even so, he curbed and fell on all fours as he witnessed his hand wobbling, almost a sudden disintegration from his body.

Though, as much as Athan had to focus his gaze brimming with stark red light, it was hard to keep up with eyes gone too heavy to bear. 

This time he ought to dull his sight, with crimson hues of his eyes brightened, then flickered for every few seconds.

He ended up kneading his forehead while he squinted hard from the absurdness he was in.

Fizzles and sharp hisses almost busted his ears as he heated the thickets of ice around him; with the thick mists and quickly, the room became too hazy.

Not even shutting his eyes saved him from the sudden onset of vertigo that was upon his head.

"... You need to rest, seriously. What's the point of having this 'private meeting' of yours when you're such a lunatic—"

"I wouldn't be like had you not done something crazy to me."

Mystique was still in her sermon, but she took a stop when Athan wasn't in a mood for such, in all seriousness. She began to tilt her head, taken aback as though she leered at him.

"What nonsense! How dare you—"

"Don't try to deny it!" He let out a deep growl; somehow, it caused her to flinch. It started as a glossy sheen of his pale skin became beads of sweat as it became a break out all over his body, drenching his cotton sleeves and trousers.

The utter silence was suffocating.

When dry, it was only the outline of his toned body that hugged him with firmness; now, it was his bare skin with its chiseled outlines seen in the distance. From his chest lifted and down as deep breaths became raspier than ever.

The rage within him had bottled, and at the moment, it was in no way he could even throttle.

"Well, what're you going to do about it?" Mystique let out a giggle, taunting him amidst the misty room. "I'd tell you that you're in no position to threaten me at all."

Athan huffed from her entitled responses. "If that's how you want to get back at me, then feel free to do so..."

A moment of silence now lingered in the room—apart from the desperation for air as his mouth continued to beg for more.

Raw emotions resurfaced and began to overflow from the words he uttered without any rehearsal.

It came from the bottom of his heart.

The natural pain tolerance he had could never keep up with the agony awaiting him if his body shut down, and it terrified him.

"Do whatever you want…" He began to grip his chest from the surge of pain wringing tight. Just—help me relieve this..." 

But just as he tried to lower his guard for her to open up, it somehow backfired him.

"I'm sorry, I won't be able to give you what you want."

Athan got choked from the words thrown at him like knives. He leaned back, grunting, as he was too vexed.

'This won't do—I need the drugs—Where is it?!"

His hand began to rummage, with his frantic voice echoing the chamber. A shatter from the broken ceramics along with the clanking steels resounded as the cluttering sound got intense.

'Curses! I can't seem to find it! What bunch of crap—"

After all that, his hand got restrained from the grip of cold touch; without looking, he raised his head and discerned the sultry voice.

The taps on the floor were soft and slow, oddly enough to savor the time to strut, but it was different for him—with each step of hers made him skip a heartbeat.

"Unless you give me that card…" She began to hum for a while. "Maybe that sweet artifact you got from Marquis too—"

"Take it.... Take it as you will…" he growled under his breaths.

Her stare landed from the 'Hymnic Conch' accentuated its popping black color, almost like swerves and curves in a loop, against his skin. With a nudge on the conch shell, her fingers began to tug it, dragging him close to her.

Athan, meanwhile, scrunched his face from the sudden bind on his neck tightened with such a pull, and his face had sudden tingles that he could never explain.

It was by a hair's breadth, and he could smell the fresh, floral fragrance that bloomed from her face; perhaps it would even drive him insane the moment his eyes would open up to her.

Somehow, she didn't fail to amaze him, for the ambitious woman that she was, he was more than impressed that this was the greatest time he dropped pretense rather early and went straight to the point at that.

He thought the prize was already in his bag after leaving Starbrooke Castle, but she was naughty enough to leave a nasty present.

A present enough to deter his thinking and action from time to time.

In the end, it was what Mystique wanted, and she would get it regardless.

"What comes around goes around; how does it feel to be in my situation?" Her fingertips grazed around his defined jawline, and it was sending him electrocutions he could never break free. 

Her words impaled, deep, enough to puke blood.

Perhaps it was already too late; no matter how much he apologized, things wouldn't change.

As much as he would like her to know, how much he regretted it when he came back….

'Is it too late to say... sorry?'

Even though the damage has been done.

"I'm just kidding, Athan," she giggled. "I'll help you one last time, alright?"

The words both kept now left unspoken for their lips sealed at each other's crashing moment.