Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

“Form V: Crimson Guillotine!”

The sky ignited.

But Serika felt it instantly; the stifling weight of corruption, wrong and rotting. The air around God Venthros shimmered like a fever dream, saturated with corrupted flame. The very act of burning felt… forbidden. Her fire met resistance, not from wind or water, but from something deeper. The god’s very presence was a flame-devouring void.

Her qi sputtered as she neared him.

The searing aura leaking off his skin made her insides twist. Her own crimson blaze started to flicker. The guillotine—her strongest attack—was beginning to unravel.

No.

She gritted her teeth, forcing her core to churn harder.

Pain flared down her spine. Blood rushed in her ears. Still, she pushed forward. Because someone had to. Because this thing shouldn’t be allowed to keep existing. Because many innocents have suffered. Because her father had bled.

… Because Quinlan was still fighting and putting his faith in her to do the same. She would rather die than let him down. So, the woman forced herself through all the pain with gritted teeth.

“DIE ALREADY!”

Her flames reignited, roaring back to life with a scream of defiance, blinding red bleeding into gold.

Serika came down heel-first, her qi focused into a scything blade of concentrated fire. The pressure around her condensed into a gravity well so dense the wind itself locked into silence.

Venthros instinctively turned, but it was all too late.

Her heel crashed into the back of his neck with a detonating impact.

A vertical pillar of fire, so blinding it seared the sky, exploded downward. The battlefield down below was split in half. A burning trench, dozens of meters deep, tore across the ground beneath. Even the corrupted qi recoiled in the face of such pure martial will.

Venthros buckled.

The monster groaned as his posture faltered, the rhythm of his body thrown off. His burning form dimmed just for an instant.

That was all Quinlan needed.

He shot through the air like a hawk in freefall, his blade shimmering in the harmony of the elements.

With perfect timing, it carved through the god’s exposed side.

The steel kissed flesh.

And the monster bled.

Black ichor burst out of his veins in torrents. This liquid was vile and smoky, bubbling with malice. Where it touched the air, the sky itself looked as if it shed tears. This was no mere blood; this was the bile of a corrupted existence. The wound sprayed down the trench Serika had made, sizzling against charred earth and stone.

Venthros let out an enraged, gurgling howl.

And then… he erupted.

A tempest of corrupted flame burst from his form. A tidal wave of fire that no longer seemed to obey the logic of heat or qi as it consumed everything in its path. Quinlan twisted his body and redirected his route, folding into the wind, skating along its edges, and narrowly slipping away from the annihilation pulse.

But Serikam, who was still falling from her immensely powerful but just as taxing strike, her body numb from the overexertion and exposure to corruption, was not so lucky.

Her body faltered. Limbs spasmed. Her aura flickered. The god’s flame surged toward her relentlessly.

Then a blur tore through the sky.

“Daughter!” came Rykar’s strained roar.

He launched upward, lugging a massive shape with him. His robes were torn, skin ruined, prosthetic limbs barely functioning, one eye bloodied, his breath ragged. In his arms, the Earth Sovereign watched the scene unfold with unnatural calm.

Rongtai was battered but breathing steadily.

Rykar hurled him upward with a thunderous grunt, sending the monk spiraling toward the oncoming flames.

Rongtai rotated so that he was facing the right way, finding himself between Serika and the incoming attack. His body was crackling with stone-hardened qi as his arms drew an arc with one open palm over the other, forming a downward-facing circle.

“Mountain Sovereign Palm: Earth-Sky Reversal!”

The air boomed.

A colossal ripple burst out from his palm like a bell being rung through stone. The incoming corrupted fire slammed into the ripple, halted, then bounced back upward as if it had hit an immovable wall.

Serika survived the blast unharmed.

Rongtai fell. Spinning, smoke trailing off his robes, limbs limp.

As he descended past Rykar, he weakly whispered through the blood and dirt.

“…I leave…the rest…to you… help the prophesied one…”

He hit the ground moments later with a painful, echoing thud and moved no more.

“Did this bastard forget that we’re in a cultivation world?!” Quinlan cursed under his breath, seeing the wide-scale explosions Venthros was releasing. It was as if he became a spellcaster thanks to his true form’s immense qi reserves.

It was in this moment that Quinlan knew his body needed a lot more upgrades to reach the peak. Thus far, he has always had innate advantages over his enemies thanks to his primordial adaptability, high XP gains, many broken classes, etc… But for the first time, he was facing a superior existence, and that feeling had sunk in bitterly. He didn’t like it one bit. So much so that he steeled his heart with the sentiment:

He would have to evolve.

Into something much greater.

But that had to wait.

For now, he had a corrupted god to slay. Somehow.

…

“Father?!” Serika screamed, her voice cracking with emotion.

Below her, Rykar staggered in the air, his metal arms warping under the oppressive heat. The once-mighty prosthetics, forged to endure the furnace of a Spirit Tempering cultivator, were now smoking violently.

The surface blackened. Metal peeled.

Rykar glanced down at them grimly, exhaling a tired breath.

“These limbs were made to hold back volcanoes… To survive the fire of my own peak… and yet…”

A hiss. A crack.

*Clank.*

Both of his metallic arms detached, falling from his shoulders, becoming nothing more than mere dead weight. His legs followed with only their smoking sockets left behind. He was now limbless with his stumps still smoldering.

“This monster’s flame… is no flame at all,” he sighed with exhaustion.

“No!” Serika cried, her qi burning brighter in panic. She rushed forward in a blaze of crimson, tearing through the air like a rocket.

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