Dylan – New Chapter of My Life

I died in a car accident.

In the living room, I thought I could stand watching the fake news with my parents on Monday morning at 7:00. I was wrong.

It crushed my heart.

We had been sitting on our gray couch, intensely watching the tragic incident along the highway. Barriers were scattered. Cars were flipped over. Survivors were bleeding inside their wrecked car.

Some people were dead.

It looked damn real. The police arrived at the scene and blocked the road with orange cones and Do Not Cross tapes. The ambulance cars drove in to rescue people . . . who didn't really need rescuing.

Everyone was acting. It was like a legit movie set.

Dad's servants consisted of pureblood vampires and turned vampires. None of the turned ones were supernatural creatures, originally, as it was biologically impossible. They once lived in Terra . . . as humans. I thought both races couldn't walk under the sun, but they could, and they did their tasks efficiently.

The purebloods had gone to the nearest hospital and police station. They mind controlled the emergency nurses, doctors, and police officers while the other group of purebloods interrupted the morning news and mind controlled the staff and newscaster at the TV station.

Mind Compulsion. Only the pureblood vampires could execute this frightening ability.

The turned vampires were the survivors and dead people. They . . . didn't fake the collision. They made it real. They drove fast down the highway until they crashed . . . for the sake of creating a convincing fake news.

Shortly after showing the devastating footage, the television screen switched to a mind controlled female newscaster. She reported about a popular male idol who got involved in a major car accident. My name and photo flashed on the screen. The headlines read:

DYLAN BELMONT, A YOUNG AND POPULAR MALE IDOL, WAS PRONOUNCED DEAD ON ARRIVAL AT KG HOSPITAL.

The black van that I often used for transportation was flashed on the screen . . . all wrecked and squeezed tight like a pressed tin can of soda. A normal human wouldn't be able to survive that.

Mom, who was seated on my right side, squeezed my hand tight. Hot tears spilled out of my puffy eyes as I watched my fans on the screen mourn for my sudden death. Their pained screams ripped my heart while the mind controlled police officers barricaded the entrance to the hospital. More than one fan fainted outside while others tried to get inside.

Unable to watch anymore, I snatched the remote control on the coffee table and turned off the television. I didn't say anything, but my silence meant that a dark storm was brewing in my head. Incoherent words, voices, puzzled my brain. I couldn't understand myself. They overlapped each other when a gentle touch to my head stopped everything.

Mom had reached out for my head and slowly guided me to her chest. Her heart was beating a wonderful rhythm, effectively calming my thoughts. I closed my eyes and buried my face into her breasts, not allowing any more tears to escape from my eyes.

I knew this day would be painful. Last night, I told myself that I should be brave like a lion, but I didn't expect that this kind of pain was excruciating. My constricting heart felt like it was withering . . . and slowly dying.

Dad, in his human form, was seated on my left side. I sensed him getting up, then he said, "There's no turning back now. I'll give you an hour to calm down." He paused for a moment, then he called Mom. "Clarisse?"

"Don't worry, Asmo. I know what to do," she said.

"Good. I'll leave two of my servants here to keep an eye on you. They will act as your bodyguards, alright? Those fans might try bothering you for a couple of weeks."

"I appreciate that, Asmo. Thank you."

Mom's voice was sweet and musical, but I could tell the sadness behind her words. Dad had told her to attend my fake funeral on Wednesday and act like I had truly died. It was a difficult task to do, but it was needed.

The living room fell silent. I could feel my heart going numb as I stayed within my mom's doting presence. She stroked my hair and hummed a soft lullaby. Out of the blue, I came to understand her perspective as a loving parent. She knew all along that I was a Lust Primordial, but why did she let me stay here in Terra? Simple:

Mother's love.

I recalled that time when I came home early in the morning and eavesdropped on their conversation. She didn't want to let me leave the nest, but my dad had to remind her of my real identity and the so-called laws in the Underworld and Zemoria that I had yet to learn.

Judging by that scenario alone, I figured . . . moms like her was the type who would always believe in their children's capabilities no matter what. She believed—strongly believed—that everything will be fine when in reality . . . it was beyond our control.

I have to look . . . No. I have to be strong for Mom. What was I doing mopping around? I should make her proud and stop making her worry for me.

Taking a deep breath, I let out an exhale and sat upright. Mom wanted to support me, but I held up a hand and shook my head. I looked at her with the best smile I could muster.

She returned a motherly smile.

"Sorry about that," I said, wiping my tears away. "I'm feeling better now. We can leave anytime, Dad." I turned my head and noticed him standing on the far left side of the living room, gazing at an abstract painting on the wall.

Dad turned to me and smiled wide like nothing happened, which helped me moved on a bit. "Excellent! Your new life begins now!"

He snapped his fingers.

On the right side of the living room, a yellow ring, like a portal, appeared out of thin air. A silver haired maiden, whose long hair cascaded down to her shoulders, stepped out of the circle. I gawked at her magical beauty. Her eyes . . . they sparkled like an amethyst stone. I stared at her smooth and flawless skin for quite a while, then at her long white gown dotted with purple gemstones. It hugged her curvy body in the right places that any man would drool over her.

The woman intertwined her fingers in front of her, squishing her melon-sized breasts (that I shamelessly checked out). With a straight and elegant posture, she bowed to me and said, "I am honored to finally meet you, Lord Dylan Belmont. My name is Cordelia Vanderbilt . . . your temporary slave."

My what?