Bitch, lick it clean

"Bitch, lick it clean."  

I crushed the sand-covered compressed biscuit with one foot and casually poured half a can of yogurt over it.  

This was the seventh day since the outbreak of the apocalypse.  

The global power grid was permanently down, and zombies roamed all over Seattle.  

There were no lights, no internet.  

A deathly silence hung inside the towering rooftop safehouse, where a dozen civilians glared at me with hungry and furious eyes.  

My civilian fiancée, Avery, was standing at the door, completely drenched in blood.  

To secure this supply of food, she had just fought for her life to break out of the lower-level supermarket, which had become a zombie nest.  

I looked at Avery blankly, while in my mind, I listened to the cold notification of the system: 

["Complete this 'villainous master' task of humiliating your fiancée to obtain a superpower seed and a complete set of power generation equipment; refuse the mission, and the deadline of death shall arrive."]  

Yes.  

I had transmigrated.  

The heavy, dull pain deep in my mind kept reminding me of an absurd fact—I had transmigrated.  

This was the world of a doomsday survival novel that championed the law of the jungle.  

And my identity was the profligate, villainous young master who abused the heroine in the original book—an incompetent weakling who relied on his pre-apocalypse father, the richest man in Seattle, to monopolize the top-tier safehouse and core supplies.  

In the original script, at this very moment, I was supposed to be subjecting this blood-covered woman to all kinds of humiliation, eventually forcing her to conspire with the second male lead—the self-proclaimed "savior of the common people"—to fight their way out of the fallen zone.  

I looked at Avery.  

Avery still carried the scent of blood from the fallen neighborhood she had just returned from.

Originally exquisite and lovely, she was now gaunt with bloodshot eyes due to going without sleep for a long time.  

Yet, faced with my humiliation, she did not show the slightest hint of grievance or anger.  

I looked down upon her from above, then without warning, flipped my wrist and viciously poured the remaining half-can of thick yogurt over her face.  

The milky-white liquid slid down her cheeks, mixing with the muddy water and blood on her face.  

"I didn't take you in just for you to bring back this kind of sweet treat meant for kids."  

I stepped on the empty can, making a piercing sound of twisting metal.  

"Look at how filthy you are, just like a bitch that only knows how to wag its tail. Want to eat? Fine. Kneel down and lick it clean for this young master."  

The dependents around who relied on my safehouse gasped, and a few civilian men who usually followed Avery even gripped their fire axes in anger.  

However, the expected outburst did not happen.  

Thud.  

Without any hesitation, Avery’s knees buckled, and she fell heavily to her knees before me.  

Her knees slammed right into the freezing muddy water, and the splashed dirt landed on her exposed fair thighs, creating a striking and seductive visual contrast.  

She raised her head submissively, her long, cold fingers trembling, yet tracing the edge of my tactical boots with intense attachment.  

She murmured softly, "If it is Master Cole's command... it is my absolute pleasure."  

[Ding—Mission triggered. Congratulations to the host for obtaining a superpower seed! A complete set of power generation equipment has been deposited into the shelter's warehouse.]  

A violent torrent of black energy instantly surged through my entire body.  

The superpower seed had been planted; as long as I completed one more mission, I would truly awaken.  

I bent down accordingly, my cold and rough fingers clamping tightly onto Avery's chin.  

My nails dug into her delicate yet blood-stained skin, forcing her face upward.  

"What kind of game are you playing?"  

I inquired coldly in a voice only the two of us could hear.  

Avery's chin turned somewhat red under my grip, but she seemed completely impervious to the pain, even proactively leaning her cheek closer into my palm.  

Under the dim glow of the magnesium fire starter, I was stunned to find that in the depths of this woman's eyes, a desire akin to a desperate thirst was flickering.  

She looked straight at me, her lips slightly parted, exhaling a breath scented with blood onto my wrist.  

"I will never leave you, Master Cole. Never."  

What on earth is this woman thinking?  

Why didn't she resist after being humiliated like this by me?  

Just then, the piercing radio suddenly crackled by my ear, and outside the main door, Julian, the second male lead of the original story, kicked open the safehouse's anti-riot iron gate along with several fully armed survivors.