Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 13: Possession

Cecilia knew the ways a beast could mark their mate.

It was through physical connection. Sharing a bed, sex, even just prolonged, casual touch. As a human, she couldn’t discern the unique signature of a beast’s scent, but the general, possessive musk was sometimes unmistakable.

"Lord Oathran... but..." Cecilia’s voice was small, her eyes widening with a dawning suspicion. "I’m a virgin. And Arzhen... he never touched me. Not even to hold my hand."

Oathran immediately frowned deeply, a troubled line forming between his brows. "What?"

The man’s eyes went completely blank, his mind racing to process an impossible contradiction.

CRACKLE—

The sharp sound snapped Cecilia from her shock. She hadn’t even realized the stone wall behind her was splintering under the pressure of Oathran’s clenching fist. Her own pupils shook, her face draining of all color. "I-if you smell his scent on me... c-could it be... when I wasn’t aware... did he..."

"Sssshhh," Oathran cut her off, pulling her tightly into his arms, cradling her head against his chest. The thought was too vile to let her give it voice. "I can be mistaken. My senses can be too sensitive about you. Saintess... my Saintess, let’s just..."

"A doctor," Cecilia stated, her voice suddenly cold and decisive, cutting through his attempts to soothe her. "I want to see a doctor. Now."

Oathran’s eyes widened.

For what? To confirm her virginity? To be examined for signs of violation in her sleep? The clinical nature of the request, born from such a sickening fear, shattered something in him.

"Saintess Cecilia..." he breathed.

But her body was trembling in his embrace. Anger—and more. The terror of a violation she never knew might have happened.

"Of course," he whispered, his voice unbearably tender as he scooped her up into his one intact arm, holding her as if she were made of glass. "Of course, my love. Let’s find you a doctor. One who loves his life and is clever enough to know how to keep it."

His words were a soft fragile thing, but the rage beneath them boiled so fiercely it was obvious. It was in the fluctuation of his voice, in the barely suppressed tremor of the arm that held her.

***

No.

Impossible.

Out of all people... Eastiel?

Arzhen felt like laughing. No—rage. This was so ridiculous he had to be mad.

His reaction today, when he saw the Meleth Flower fall out of him—anger, sadness, horrified grief... that was the look of a man whose mate got wrenched off his arms and killed right in front of his eyes. A man robbed. Broken. Devastated.

So all this time... that bitch had been attracting the attention of much stronger males than he thought. Ah, of course. Why stop at ruining his life?

CRASH!

Might as well ruin his pride too.

Arzhen swiped his arms over the woman’s vanity, breaking all and everything she owned. He ripped her dresses out of her wardrobe, her sheets, her furniture—everything with her scent on it.

"CECILIA!!!" he roared angrily.

That bitch.

Even in her death, she still managed to infuriate him.

How could a woman not know the effect she had on men? All those years he had to spread his marks all around her things just to make people know she’s owned. Owned by him.

HIM ALONE!

"Eastiel... that motherfucker..."

Arzhen really thought that man hated her as much as he did. No. Apparently, Eastiel hated the way he couldn’t have her as much as he did.

"Hah—" Arzhen piled her things in the middle of her room. His eyes faltered.

The look in her eyes when he grasped her heart...

In that moment alone, she was his.

Completely his.

She was a bitch. His bitch. Nothing but a bitch. He proved it. She wasn’t even a saintess—she was nothing. Nothing without him.

"You... you truly agree to sever our bond?" he had asked. The woman who was nothing but understanding, gentle, and trusting of him... suddenly told him she wanted to leave.

What a joke.

But she nodded. She fucking nodded without a sliver of hesitation. "I won’t stand in the way of your reunion. Just let me find the flower first."

All the years he spent restraining himself for the sake of Ruby, to keep himself pure, trapped in a bond with a fake replacement of her—only for Cecilia to attract the wasps and bees. She would never understand the length he had to go to make those eyes go away.

The huge pile of her things in front of him, like this, like always, as he stroked himself with his hands.

Like this.

Mark her things.

That look in her eyes as he ripped her heart out of her chest.

To make her completely his.

So what if men admired her? So what if they wanted her?

She was his. Forever. Heart in his hand.

"—ahh!"

As his seed spilled all over what was left of her, a sneer bloomed on his face.

Eastiel would never be able to have what’s his. None of them would. He made sure.

Marking her things for the last time, he took a deep satisfied breath.

Cecilia was different from Ruby. Ruby was pure and tender, fragile enough that she could break from the slightest touch. But Cecilia... Cecilia was his unbreakable possession. Cecilia was made for him and him alone.

***

Click.

The door to the small clinic’s examination room opened from the inside. Immediately, Oathran was on his feet.

Cecilia walked out, a placid mask firmly in place. A weresnake nurse followed, offering a kind smile as Cecilia turned back. "Thank you."

"You’re welcome, Madame," the nurse said. Her gaze then shifted to Oathran, her smile gentle but knowing. "Please, set your mind at ease, Sir. Your bride’s vaginal canal shows no signs of tearing. None at all, recent or otherwise."

Oathran’s shoulders slumped in a wave of relief, for a single, foolish second. Then they locked up again, tighter than before. Relief? How dare he feel relieved?

This just meant the violation was more subtle, more insidious. If he hadn’t breached her, then how in the seven hells had that bastard’s scent become a second skin on her? Marking her like a territory without ever touching her? It was worse.

The thickness, the pervasiveness of the stench... it spoke of a violation woven into the very fabric of her daily life for years. That man had polluted her environment, ensuring she was perpetually surrounded by him, drowning in a miasma of ownership she never consented to.

He stepped forward, a low growl building in his chest. He noted the nurse’s discretion, speaking so frankly only because the clinic was empty, closed for the night. They’d stumbled upon it in their distress, and this kind woman had taken them in, performing the examination herself.

"You are a kind and gentle person. You should consider pursuing medicine and become a doctor yourself, Nurse," Cecilia said, her voice soft and appreciative. As if the last hour of terrified silence had never happened. As if she hadn’t just demanded clinical proof of her own bodily autonomy.

The nurse looked at her, understanding in her eyes. This was a woman skilled in burying trauma alive.

"I am happy as I am today, Madame." She hesitated, choosing her words with care. "Rather than talking about me... how do I put this... I have connections, Madame. If you wish to report someone for abuse... even without proof of... breach... I can vouch for you. Your husband clearly would agree to vouch for you, too."

Cecilia blanked for a moment, the mask slipping to reveal the sheer, staggering weight of the offer. Then the mask was back, a gentle, resigned smile. "Thank you, Nurse, but... They’re the kind of people we shouldn’t touch recklessly."

"Nonsense," Oathran hissed. "With me, you don’t have to fear a thing."

Cecilia sneered, and the sound bled into her words, "Of course. But I don’t want it," her face turned to ice, "yet."

Oathran gritted his jaw.

So. This was the world she had lived in. All this time. A gilded cage where her "betters" could mark what wasn’t theirs, and the only sane response was to wait for the perfect moment to strike.

He better destroy it all.