STELLA
God, how I wish I had followed my mother’s advice to become a chef. These thoughts continue to haunt me. Or maybe I should have become an English teacher or pursued a Psychology course. Regret is always at the end, but what can I do now? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I often wish I had died the first time I saw this man.
I should be dead.
"Isaac!" I yelled, but he didn’t respond.
Shit.
Why are we here?
I don’t know exactly where we are, but it’s clear we are not in Manila anymore. I had fallen asleep in his car earlier, and when I woke up, we were here—surrounded by people. Isaac, or Nullus as he prefers to be called, had dragged me to a rally where a presidential candidate was campaigning. He stood beside me as the crowd gathered, the singer on stage faltering as he ascended to the stage with an unsettling calm.
"Sir, please step down from the stage," the host urged.
I watched in horror as people froze in place, unable to move—he had used his power again. They stood still, confusion etched on their faces. Panic filled the air, and I could feel the beads of sweat running down my face.
I had no idea what he was planning, why we were here—
The noise around me grew. Whispers, surprise, fear… The people had no idea who the real danger was.
I pressed my hands against my face. Especially as he snatched the microphone from the singer. He spoke, his voice echoing powerfully across the rally.
"Hey, I bet you stupid people don't even know who the fuck I am," he began, his voice booming across the crowd.
Sweat dripped down my face.
Too many people.
We were somewhere far from the chaos in Manila, likely in Laguna—a place known for its peace and seclusion. Yet, even here, the elections continued as if nothing else mattered.
It was always about the throne, the power—the money—
Would money save them now?
No.
I didn’t understand why—why they continued the elections despite everything. After moments of silence, why were they so complacent?
This man was unstable. I didn’t know what went through his mind, what plans he had, when his madness would strike—it was a terrifying thought. And I felt responsible to stop him, even if I didn’t know how.
I grew more anxious as I watched him on the stage he had commandeered. He looked like a villain straight from a film, his dark outfit accented with hints of gold, dominating the scene. And despite his beauty, it was an unsettling one—evil wrapped in charm.
"I am nameless," he continued. "But," he cleared his throat, "I am actually your god," he said, smiling at the crowd.
The crowd fell into stunned silence—some trembling, others frantically typing on their phones.
I remembered.
As my face spread across the public, so did Isaac’s. His image was plastered across the media, and he thrived in the chaos.
"Oh, I was wrong: you guys knew me," he said with a grin as he locked eyes with me. His smile widened. "But don’t worry, I’m not planning on murdering anyone today. I have a very good announcement."
He stepped toward me confidently, grabbing my arm with a firm grip. Pain shot through me as he practically forced me to join him on stage.
"This little shit beside me," he began again, "is now marrying me."
"HA?!" I screamed, struggling to pull away. "What are you talking about?! Isaac, no! Stop!"
But without a microphone, my words were drowned out. His voice reverberated across the crowd, overpowering mine.
"Colonel, I know you're watching live on TV," he said with a slight laugh. "I’m stealing your daughter, are you okay with that?"
I scratched his face, but his grip only tightened.
I bit my lower lip, glaring at him with sheer hatred.
He stared back at me, adoration in his eyes. "You're a shitty father, anyway."
For a brief moment, his expression softened, but it quickly returned to his arrogant, villainous facade.
"What—" I began to speak, but he interrupted me.
"Shut up," he said, tossing the microphone onto the stage. The loud echo of its crash reverberated painfully in the silence that followed.
I didn’t know how to react. Now, he was caressing my cheek softly, and I felt paralyzed.
I’m scared—not for me—but for the people here.
"Should I kill everyone here?" he whispered, a smile playing on his lips. "Do you want that?"
I shook my head furiously.
"I figured."
His gaze shifted back to the crowd below, who were panicking, fleeing from the stage. I watched as they scattered, terrified. The echo of the microphone kept ringing in my ears, along with the pounding of my heart.
I felt responsible for their fear.
Isaac stepped down, stretching lazily as if nothing had happened. The crowd could move again, but they only huddled in the corners, too frightened to approach.
I turned my gaze to them, their fearful eyes meeting mine—blaming me for the chaos.
"Come on, soldier. Don't mind those vermins. They’re unharmed for fuck’s sake," he said calmly.
I glanced at him. He looked up at me, waiting.
What do I do?
There are too many options—but escaping isn’t one of them.
Can I run away?
And... do I even want to?
****